One Last Song Part 17

I laughed, shook my head. That was the thing about Zee. Even while she was insulting you, you were just glad she'd taken the time to compliment you first.

"So," she said, leaning her head back against the couch. I could see the strain on her thin face from the exertion of being here, of sitting up, of holding her mug of cocoa. "What's going on with you and Drew?"

I kept blowing air into the balloon, afraid of what I'd say if I stopped. We'd been talking on the phone several times a day, but I hadn't had a chance to see him again. He'd been busy with practicing his music with some guys he knew. Finally, when I couldn't put it off any longer, I tied off the balloon and looked at her. "That's a nebulous question."

She raised her eyebrow. "And that was a nebulous answer." Setting her mug on the coffee table, she leaned back again and pulled the throw up to her chin. "All I know is, every time he said your name these past couple of days, he grinned. Like an idiot. Over nothing."

I found my own mouth smiling in response. "Really?"

"Really, really."

I rummaged in the packet for another balloon and pulled out a red one, studiously avoiding Zee's eye. "So, like, what did he say?"

"That you two f.u.c.ked long and hard."

I jerked my head up, my mouth falling open.

Zee burst out laughing, her narrow chest heaving with the effort. "G.o.d, I'm just kidding! But you should see your face right now. It's priceless."

I snapped my mouth shut. "f.u.c.k you," I muttered, pulling the balloon tight. It looked like a long red tongue between my fingers.

"Someone's touchy." Zee grinned. "Hit a little close to home, did I?"

I glared at her and began to blow up the balloon.

"Oh, all right. I'm too tired to tease." She took a deep breath, then reached out for the mug and took a languid sip instead of telling me what Drew had said. I couldn't tell if she was genuinely tired or if she was lording her power over me. With Zee, either was equally possible. "He said he really liked you. That you were special or made him happy or something." She waved her hand around, like what she said was inconsequential. Like she wasn't holding information in her hands that had the power to put me on top of the tallest mountain, my arms out like I was flying, wind gusting through my hair.

I tied the red balloon off and began to blow up a turquoise one. I didn't trust myself to speak just yet. The memory of him, the smell that was like the beach and soft smoke mixed together, filled me up until I was sure I'd pop.

"You two are good for each other," Zee said. "You're healthier than he is, you know, and he needs that. He needs to do stuff other than all the euthanasia, TIDD group, sick-people things he usually does." She blinked quickly, several times, and drained her cocoa.

That's when it dawned on me, like a fire slowly catching, that Zee really liked Drew. Maybe she hadn't acted on it because she wanted him to have better, to have someone who wasn't so ill. Maybe she felt guilty about dating him and then dying. If I was any kind of friend, I would've asked her.

But I didn't. I didn't want to know. It was easier-for me-that way.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

At two thirty I loaded Zee's car with her boxes and the balloons, banners, and party bags we'd a.s.sembled. I decided to drive the BMW because I needed to pick up Drew and Pierce. Zee would pick up Carson, and we'd meet at Prescott Park.

Pierce was first, because he lived closer. When I pulled into his apartment complex, he was already sitting on the curb in a heavy white coat with his white surgical mask covering half his face as usual. I noticed immediately just how still he was, almost preternaturally so. With the snow all around, he just about blended in with the sidewalk. It was his shock of black hair that attracted my eye.

I pulled up to him and got out. "Are you okay?"

Grabbing the hand I offered, Pierce pulled himself up. He was incredibly light, and in his big white coat, he looked like a feather-transient, delicate.

"Fine," he said, his voice weak. "Just cold."

I helped him into the car. Once I was in my seat, I turned up the heat as high as it would go and turned on his seat warmer. After a minute, he unfurled and leaned back.

"Okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Thanks. The seat warmer's kick-a.s.s."

"You could've waited for me inside," I said.

"Yeah, well, my mom was driving me crazy. I had to get out of there."

"Ah." I kept my eyes on the road as I got on the highway. "She didn't want you to go?"

He put on a strong, mocking Chinese accent. "Prescott Park in March. Bad idea, Pierce! You stay home. You have gay disease." Then, sighing, he said, "I'm exaggerating. It's not really that bad. I just... sometimes it's hard to understand her way of dealing with it."

I shook my head, tried to look sympathetic. If my mother hovered that way, would I be tired of it? Would I feel bad that she didn't understand who I was? I couldn't imagine the luxury of having an opinion about how my mother felt about me. "Sorry."

"She means well, I guess." He watched the plowed snow out of his window, a steady, solid stream of white. "I can't believe Jack's turning twenty-five," he said, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

"Really?" I signaled left and came to a stop at the light. I glanced at Pierce. "Have you known him long?"

"Nope." He began to laugh this really wheezy, throaty laugh, still looking out the window. His left hand rubbed absently at the tumor on the back of his right. "I met him three months ago when I joined TIDD. And even back then, you know, I was sure he was going to be the first one to die. I mean, the cancer had spread everywhere. He was a f.u.c.king skeleton even when he was able to come to group. And I just looked at him and thought, 'There is no way. There is no f.u.c.king way that guy is going to make it to his next birthday.' And now, yep, he's turning twenty-five. It's like there's a game of Russian roulette going on, and as long as somebody kicks the bucket, the rest of us have some time left." He turned to look at me then, and I saw that he was crying, not laughing. His mask was soaked with tears and snot. "Jack's still here. Hanging on by a f.u.c.king thread. And meanwhile the gun keeps spinning. It's slowing down, but it hasn't stopped yet, and I have a feeling when it stops, it's going to stop on me." He slammed his fist into the window, and I jumped.

The car behind us honked-the light had turned green. I began driving again, but I put one hand on Pierce's arm.

Pierce could be a scarecrow. Under my hand, I could feel the down of his jacket, the bunched-up sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt. Layers and layers of clothes. But no matter how hard I pressed, I couldn't feel any body at all.

Drew got in the car smiling, but when he saw Pierce's red eyes, his smile faded. He looked at me. I knew he had questions, but all he said was, "Thanks for the ride."

I nodded and started the car back up. The drive to Prescott Park was quiet, the only sound the hum of the tires on the street. It seemed wrong to turn on music when Pierce was feeling so low, as if I should pay homage to him by listening to his breathing. It was a stupid, petty thought, the kind that healthy people think about the ill. Even though I hadn't been in their midst long, I knew that. It was as if I was picking up on bits of their culture, their language.

Jack's dad had come early to help Zee put up the decorations. When we walked into the little community room they'd rented for his birthday party, I saw the banner I'd helped tape together hanging up in the doorway. The balloons were scattered all over the room and taped to the chair I guessed would be Jack's. There was also a framed, poster-sized photograph of the actress Katie Henson in a silver bikini that left little to the imagination. The photograph had been autographed to Jack.

"Do you think he'll like it?" Jack's dad asked Drew. He was a big guy with a bright pink face, the b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt barely holding the fabric together. I could see some hairy belly skin through the holes between the b.u.t.tons. "We got it last month and kept it secret."

"Hey man, it's Katie Henson. What's not to like, you know?" Drew clapped Jack's dad on the shoulder. He turned and winked at me, as if to show he was just humoring Jack's dad. Did he think I might be jealous? I realized it hadn't even occurred to me to be. Whatever was going on between Drew and me seemed beyond the scope of petty things like jealousy over pretty actresses.

Pierce and Zee were sitting at the table already, talking quietly. I couldn't tell if Zee was comforting him. She didn't seem to me to be the type to comfort someone anyway, even if she knew exactly what the other person was going through. Zee was the personification of the tough love mentality. If things had been different she might have made a good high school teacher, the kind kids simultaneously love and fear and thank decades later when they make it big.

"How's Jack been?" Drew asked Jack's dad, who still hadn't introduced himself to me. He seemed nervous, on edge; it probably hadn't even occurred to him.

"Oh." He actually wrung his hands. "You know. He has good days and bad days, of course, just like anyone else..." His eyes s.h.i.+mmered, and he swallowed a few times.

Jack arrived then, hanging heavily on his mom Jeannie's arm. I wondered why they weren't using the wheelchair I'd seen beside his bed, but maybe he, like Drew, saw it as "the chair," something heinous to be avoided unless absolutely necessary. When he saw the room, all done up in carnival colors with balloons floating around his guests' ankles, he stopped short. His face twisted into something like a grimace. I wondered if he was smiling, but from the look on his dad's face, I guessed probably not.

Jack stood there, panting, leaning heavily against Jeannie. When she tried to get him to move forward, he shook his head and yanked weakly on her arm.

"What's... all... this?" he asked, gesturing at the banner and balloons. He wouldn't look at any of us, choosing instead to look at some point on the floor between him and the table.

We were all preternaturally quiet. Finally, his dad said, timidly, "Your friend Zee thought it would be nice to do this room up a bit. Don't you like it?"

Jack kept his eyes on the floor. "I... said no... presents."

"These aren't presents," Zee piped in, sounding cheerful in spite of the situation clearly beginning to unravel in front of us. "It's just decorations. You know, 'cause it's a party."

Jack's dad looked like he was going to cry or throw up or both. Jeannie kept halfheartedly pulling on Jack's arm, as if she thought there might still be a chance he'd come inside, sit at the table, and eat some cake.

"It's... not a party," Jack said, each word punctuated by his heavy hissing inhalations and exhalations. "I didn't... want anyone... rejoicing. f.u.c.k!" He kicked at a balloon that had bobbed up to him, and almost fell over-Jeannie caught his elbow just in time. His dad was openly crying now.

"It's okay, Jackie," Jeannie said, rubbing his back.

"Don't," he hissed. "Don't call me that. I'm... a big drain... on everyone. I know... that. No need... to... lie."

"That's not true." Jeannie was trying valiantly not to cry. Her double chin quivered with the effort. "That's not true, and you know it."

"Take... me back... to the car." He half turned and began to tug on her arm. "Now. Now! Now!" He began to hit his forehead with his open hand, over and over again.

"Okay, okay, we're going," Jeannie said, tossing a look over her shoulder at his dad. "We're going right home, bud."

The door swung shut behind them. Somewhere in the room a balloon popped, startling us all.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

The horrible silence seemed to stretch on and on, pulling taut against my eardrums. Jack's dad finally broke it by shuffling forward, his eyes fixed on the wall before him. He began peeling off the decorations one sliver of Scotch tape at a time. He moved slowly, but his nails dug into plaster, gouging out bits of the wall. Drew rushed to help, but the older man didn't seem to register his presence.

Zee approached Pierce, Carson, and me. "Uh, I think we should split." Her voice was just a whisper. It was the most toned-down I'd ever seen her.

Pierce and Carson nodded, but I took a step closer to Drew. "I think I'll hang out here for a bit."

Zee cut her eyes to Jack's dad. "Okay. We'll talk later." The three of them trudged out, and the door shut softly.

When I turned back around, Drew was talking to Jack's dad. It was difficult to say if Jack's dad was even paying attention-he just stood there, holding a yellow balloon in limp hands.

As I got closer I saw he was crying. Not sobbing or whimpering, though. Tears just kept leaking out his eyes, as if he had so much hurt inside that his body couldn't contain it anymore. He didn't even react as the tears pooled under his ma.s.sive chin and then dripped off, staining his s.h.i.+rt. I watched in subdued fascination. What was it like to feel that amount of pain on account of someone else?

"It's getting harder for him," Drew was saying. "And for you and Jeannie."

He shook his head, his wide fingers pressing into the rubber flesh of the balloon. "I want to fix this, Drew. G.o.ddammit, it's all I want. And the only way I can think of to do that is to help him die." His voice broke on the word die; it fluttered out as just a hitching of the chest.

I wanted to melt away, to leave this defeated man to Drew, but I knew movement would draw attention. So I stood there bearing witness to his agony instead, flashes of compa.s.sion flickering inside me like fireflies at twilight.

Drew stepped closer and wrapped his arms around him, the balloon wedged between them. "I'm going to try as hard as I can, Dave." From the way his voice was pitched higher than usual, I knew he was fighting tears himself. My chest ached at the realization, a sudden pang that made me gasp softly. "This pet.i.tion... it's going to get their attention."

Dave pulled back, clearing his throat. He looked straight at Drew. The tears were gone; his eyes were bright with anger now. "Even if it does... then what? You saw him today. He's slipping away so fast. Will they even be able to do anything for him in time?"

Drew sighed, his entire torso-shoulders, chest, back-moving with the force of the exhalation. "They've expedited the process in other states for people like Jack, those so close to... the end. We'll keep fighting."

Dave smiled, cradling that balloon against his side. I'd never seen a smile like that before; vacant, bleak, just a slash of lips across the face. "Yeah. What else are we going to do?"

Dave insisted that he could dispose of all the decorations himself. I suspected he needed some time to himself, and Drew seemed to sense that, too. After a quick good-bye, we headed out.

"I feel so bad for his parents," I said, driving out of the park. "Do his mood swings just happen without warning?"

"Usually," Drew said. "Sometimes it's more of a steady dip. It seems to be happening more and more, though. I'm worried about him."

"So... what about the pet.i.tion? I heard you guys mention it, but it didn't seem like Jack's dad really seemed to think it'd help."

"He doesn't think the pet.i.tion would go through in time. Anyway, they're having trouble with their finances, so they're not sure they can even hire the lawyer they want. It's a criminal defense attorney who's supposed to be the best with out-of-the-box cases. He won't do it pro bono, though." He shook his head. "f.u.c.king lawyers."

"Who is it?" My dad was in criminal law, and he was fairly well-known. I couldn't imagine him taking on a case like this one, where he had to help a poor young dying kid, but maybe it was one of his friends. And what if it is? a small part of my mind asked. What are you going to say? Dad, I need help because one of my friends in the terminal illness support group I joined for fun is dying and he needs representation?

"Noah Preston," Drew said. "Some guy in Portsmouth."

The name stuck in my mind like a piece of melted candy. There was something about it, something familiar. I shook my head. "Sorry Jack's not doing so well."

Drew's hand covered mine, firm and cool. "Let's not talk about Jack anymore tonight."

I looked at him. In the fading light, his eyes seemed to be rimmed with gold. "Okay." I flipped my hand and entwined my fingers with his.

He squeezed mine and then, as if he was whispering a secret, he said, "I don't know what I'd do. Without you. When Pierce told me you were in the ER and I couldn't get a hold of you, I was terrified. Like, really f.u.c.king terrified. Almost more terrified than I was when they told me I had FA."

Guilt dropped like a heavy curtain. "I'm sorry." I tried to keep my voice even, but it came out strangled, like there was an invisible fist wrapped around my throat. I had so many reasons to apologize, none of which Drew knew about.

He turned to me, studying my profile as I drove. "I'm so lucky you decided to come to TIDD."

I stared at him, imagined what would happen if I blurted the truth in that moment. The longer he looked at me, the longer I was confronted with those blue eyes, the closer I came to saying it. This whole thing is a lie. I'm not who you think I am. Please forgive me.

But then he leaned forward and kissed me softly on the cheek. And the truth remained untold, like a jagged razor in my mouth.

The next morning I was making my way down the hall, when I heard a sort of murmuring coming from my parents' room. I stood in the doorway and watched Mum sitting on the edge of the bed, her head bent. "G.o.d grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."