Tiny Drops, Page 9

  I sit on the floor, pulling my feet out of my ruined slippers. Mom’s staring at me, one arm wrapped around her middle, the other pulling at her lip.

  “I’m sorry. Wearing your slippers out on a cold, wet day was a terrible idea.”

  I hate that she’s tormenting herself over this. “It’s no biggie, Mom. I think my toe would feel even worse right now if it had been crammed in a shoe all day.” I offer her a smile that I hope she’s willing to accept.

  I glance around the living room, noticing all the boxes and decorations are gone. Christmas has mysteriously disappeared. “Somebody’s been busy today.”

  I spot a bit of fishing line still hanging from the corner, its snowflake nowhere to be found—the last remaining evidence of what has been. I have a sudden pang of longing for what once was, but I’m grateful we don’t have to worry about cleaning it up tonight like we’d planned.

  I push myself up from the floor and carry my bag over to the sofa. Sitting down, I pull out the monitor, open the case, and push the button. I pop the top off the vial that holds the strips and retrieve one. When the monitor says to, I insert the strip, pick a finger, push the gun into the side, and press the button that releases the needle. I jump—but just barely. Squeezing my finger, I apply the blood to the small dot in the center of the strip and hold my breath. I hope it’s a good number, I hope it’s a good number—my silent mantra continues as the machine counts down the seconds.

  “379.” My shoulders slump, and I bite my lip to hold back the tears. I was 105 this morning. The only thing I’ve had to eat since breakfast was the two peanut butter cracker sandwiches at the doctor’s office. I’ve never been this high before when it wasn’t a direct result of being low. I’ve been nauteous since we left the doctors office, but I thought it was his words causing it. Not my sugar.

  “Whoa, that’s high.”

  Her words make me jump, transporting me back to the here and now.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I answer, dejected. “Why is this so hard?” I don’t expect an answer. I know there isn’t one. Not really.

  She sits beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, giving me exactly what I need.

  We sit in silence—her holding me tightly, me letting her—until we hear voices coming up the hallway.

  “You’ve got to get over this, Jesse. I told you I wouldn’t do anything, and I meant it. But I’m not going to stop being her friend, and I sure as hell won’t stop trying to make things easier for her.”

  I can feel Mom stiffen around me as Harrison’s words make their way to us.

  “Why don’t you go start your bath. I’ll get dinner started.” She practically pushes me up off the couch.

  My eyes lock on Harrison’s as he and Jesse both emerge from the hallway. He gives me a soft smile, and some of the terrible from the day falls away—that’s how powerful his smiles are. They can make a disaster like today seem insignificant.

  My mouth tugs up to return the gesture before I remember the sleet. My hair. I start to panic, wishing I had moved more quickly. I shouldn’t be here—standing before him like this. I reach a tentative hand up, trying to gather my mess of curls. Curls and water are a toxic mix.

  Jesse steps forward, grabbing me in a bear hug. “Hey, sis. What’d the doc have to say?”

  His question hits me like a punch to the gut. I don’t know how to answer.

  “Honey—” Mom drapes her arm across my shoulders, “—go start your bath,” she says, effectively shooing me from the room. She even gave a little shove.

  I don’t know whether to be thankful or irritated, so I settle on something in between. Maybe it’s melancholy. Doesn’t that sound so much prettier than depressed or dejected?

  I start the water in the tub, wondering what its sound is drowning out. I hate knowing that they’re out there talking about it. About me. Somehow, I became a problem everyone needs to figure out. I try to clear my mind—strip it of thoughts as effectively as I strip my body of clothes.

  The warm water is a shock to my throbbing toe. I bite my tongue to hold back the scream that wants to come as the pain intensifies. I relax into the tub and pull my foot up out of it, resting it on the side. It’s bearable like this. I lay my head in the bottom, and let the sound of the water filling—rising over my ears—drown out everything else. I push out everything that happened at the doctor’s office. If I hold onto it, it will be my ruin.

  15

  Bernard the Magnificent

  “So, then what happened?” Bernard asks.

  He’s sitting across from me at Mel’s. The sweater vest he’s wearing is the exact same shade of navy blue as the hat that’s sitting next to him on the bench seat. Mom is working a rare evening shift, and he decided it would be a treat if we surprised her. I think he enjoys our family. Feels like he’s a part of it. I can’t imagine living alone. It just seems so…lonely.

  “I don’t know. Mom practically shoved me out of the room to take a bath.” My eyes dart around the diner, searching for her. She’s waiting on the people at the table closest to the door. “They keep arguing about me—I hate it.” I feel like I can tell Bernard anything. So I do. He knows all about how in love with Harrison I am. He thinks it’s meant to be. He keeps telling me that all of the best things in life take time and patience. Rome wasn’t built in a day. What does that even mean? I don’t see the comparison.

  “It’s just because they love you.” He pauses for a moment, but I know he isn’t finished. He enjoys the pause. I’ve come to believe it’s part of the lesson. “But—” his finger goes up, as if making a point of its own, “—they love each other, too. I’ve seen those boys together since they started high school. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two friends closer. They’re like brothers—are brothers. This is the first time they’ve disagreed on anything. They’ll figure it out. But it’s gonna take time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” He winks, picking up his teacup, and everything is right in the world. Even if I still don’t get it, it comforts me to hear him say it. Because even if it wasn’t built in a day, it’s still standing now, thousands of years later. It may have taken them a while, but they did it right.

  He leans to set his cup back on the table, and I notice his hand is trembling.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He makes this all look easy, each day he just…is. I’ve seen him get low, eat something, and carry on as if nothing happened. He doesn’t stop for it. I hope I get there. It’s only been a few months, but I’m tired of this disease controlling me.

  He clasps his hands together on the table in front of him, but the tremble doesn’t stop. He breathes, and I see a flash of something I’ve never seen from him before—sadness. I’m compelled to get up and go to his side. I pick up his adorable little hat, placing it on my head as I slide into the booth beside him. His mouth turns up a smidge, but the sadness remains.

  “What is it? What has you so sad?” I lay my hand on his arm, unsure if I should hug him.

  “This day is always hard, but this is the first time in a long time I didn’t have to spend it alone.” He reaches into the pocket of his trousers, pulls out his wallet, flips it open, and plucks a picture out of the sleeve, passing it to me.

  “She’s beautiful,” I say because it’s true. She looks like him, but not. She has the same caramel coloring, the same freckles gracing her cheeks, but her eyes are a startling blue. A red ribbon is tied in her hair, and her smile is bright, happy.

  He looks me in the eye for a moment before he responds. It feels like he’s trying to make a decision.

  “She was.” His voice is a soft whisper. “Evelyn, my wife, used to say she was the prettiest girl to walk the earth in all of its days.” His voice strengthens as he continues. “She was right. Leila was the prettiest girl, and smart, and funny—like her mother.” His smile is in the past, remembering some long-forgotten day. “Today makes thirty years since she’s been gone, and I still feel the ache as if it were yesterday. The day it h
appened always makes it real hard—because instead of remembering all the good things about her like I do most of the time, the morning just plays over in my head, over and over and I wish, I wish, I wish.” He stops, overcome with emotion.

  I slide closer, draping my arm across his back, and lay my head on his shoulder. “If it helps, you can give it to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me and I’ll help you carry it. That way, maybe it can feel a little less heavy.” I give his arm a little squeeze, hoping this is the right thing. Hoping I haven’t just made it worse by asking him to talk about it.

  This time, his long pause isn’t about weighing the information that’s going to be given; he needs it to collect himself. I sit back up, giving him space, and pick the picture back up. The thought of this girl being in his life one day and then simply not, makes my heart hurt. The ache is physical, as if someone walked up and hit me there. I play over what he said and wonder about his wife.

  “Where’s your wife?”

  I glance up just in time to see Mom coming our way. Our eyes connect and I shake my head subtly, hoping she changes course.

  “I shouldn’t have said, ‘my wife.’ She hasn’t been that in years.” His words startle me. He’d been quiet just long enough for me to be lulled by it.

  “She left about a year after. She blamed me. She never said, but I could feel it. Maybe she didn’t blame me for that morning, but still she blamed me for Leila’s fate.”

  My mom stopped when she saw my subtle indication, but she’s now frozen, standing in the middle of the diner with her order pad in hand, a towel draped over her shoulder. I dip my face and pull it back up quickly, trying to give her a mental shove. My gesture’s effective; she turns to wipe the empty table closest to her.

  “That’s terrible.” I know I should say more than that, but I can’t imagine losing everyone I loved in the course of a year. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that…it just sucks, and I’m so sorry for you.”

  “It did suck, but I think we both needed it. She moved on, remarried, and had a few more kids. I’m glad she was able to do that. I never wanted to. I had my little piece of heaven, and it lasted nearly fifteen years. That’s more than a lot of people get. When we met?” His eyes hold mine for a moment before they slip to the past again. “Evelyn and I—it was magic, the type of love that filled the atmosphere. And from that love came beautiful Leila. She was twelve when she passed. Twelve years old.”

  “That’s so young.” I’m appalled at the things that keep slipping out of my mouth.

  He reaches up and squeezes my hand. “Yes, much too young. She was diagnosed when she was eight. Evelyn and I, we discussed it when she got pregnant. Of course, we should have thought about it before, but you don’t think about those kinds of things when you’re thinking about babies. At least, I didn’t. To me, it didn’t matter. Even if she did end up with it, we’d just deal with it the same way we dealt with mine. Ha—” the laugh he lets out is so harsh, I momentarily imagine it as a sharp blade slicing through the very fabric of existence, “—what I failed to realize until it was too late, is that this disease looks so different from one person to the next. It affects each of us differently. There’s no neat little box it’ll fit into.”

  His voice breaks, and he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. A light tap on my hand tells me I’m squeezing too tightly. I pull my arm back and lay my head on his shoulder.

  “Leila—she just never felt it—ever. They call it Hypo and Hyper unaware. We didn’t have too much trouble from the highs—Evelyn and I watched for symptoms constantly. But the lows… They would sneak up on her, and she would just go white and drop. The first few times it happened—I can’t even explain that kind of fear. But we got comfortable with it. It got her in the night. By the time morning came, it was too late.”

  Tears are streaming across my nose, dripping onto his shoulder. I feel him take a big, shaky breath and I sit up, trying to control my emotions.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping at the tears on my face. I blow my lips out, making them flutter. He gives me a soft smile.

  “You don’t need to apologize for your emotions.” He pats my leg. “Our emotions are a part of the vast universe inside each of us. Sure, we can learn to contain them—hold them inside with no visible cracks—but we can no more control them than the weatherman can control the weather. I say let it out…before the storm inside grows so big that it consumes you. Besides, I laid some heavy stuff on your shoulders, and you were already carrying a big enough load of your own.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Mom slides onto the bench across from us. For a moment, I had completely forgotten we were in a public place. I glance around, making sure no one is watching.

  “Yeah, I was just talking to Bernard about the doctor and my day from hell,” I say, quickly, hoping she buys it. I don’t want to tell her about Leila. I couldn’t.

  “Brice, you watch your mouth,” she says, in true mom fashion. “Although it was a pretty terrible day.”

  “Julie, why don’t I give you the number for my doctor. He has a small family practice, which I think is a lot better than those big corporations that switch doctors from one visit to the next—you never know who you’re going to see.” He shakes his head as he casually drops his hand on top of Leila’s picture, scoops it up, and places it back in his wallet. Then he pulls out a business card and passes it to my mother. It’s all so slickly done. I sit, amazed. I had completely forgotten about the photo.

  “He’ll treat you right,” he finishes, winking at me.

  “Dr. Banting,” Mom reads out loud.

  “Irony at its finest.” Bernard smiles, putting his wallet back in his pocket.

  “What do you mean?” my mom and I both say at the same time.

  “He’ll fill you in; he never misses a chance for a quick history lesson.” He chuckles, all traces of the sadness—I now know he carries—missing from his voice.

  My mom slides out of the booth and pulls her notepad from her apron pocket and the pen from behind her ear. “So, what are we having?”

  16

  The Weight of It All

  “What kind of surgery did Kristy’s parents have?”

  It’s Wednesday, and we’re driving to the library for another support group. I haven’t seen Bernard since he told me about Leila, and it sort of feels like this thing between us. I’m not sure if I should talk about it or not. I tap my boot, waiting for his reply. I’m so thankful to be wearing them again. I’ve been condemned to sandals for the last week, waiting for my toe to heal.

  He smiles, turning his eyes back to the road. “Ask her about it tonight. It’s a really great story. It certainly gave my morale a boost when I heard it. Love is a wonderful thing.”

  What does love have to do with surgery? Maybe one of them gave the other one something. Like an organ donation. I’m full of questions, but I don’t voice any of them because he’s already told me to ask her when we get there. Maybe it was for the liver. I’ve heard it has regenerative properties. You can donate a small part and it can regrow. Now I have even more questions than I started with. Sometimes I wish I could just turn my brain off.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the other night.” His words are the switch, effectively turning off my obscure thoughts.

  I shift from the window and study him. Tonight, he’s wearing a dark brown wool hat. How many does he have? At least four that I’ve seen, but I get the feeling that’s just the start. I’m stalling—letting my mind wander to hats, of all things. I pull myself up nice and tall in the seat.

  “Sure.” Sure?

  He glances at me again. This time, he looks a little uncertain. “There are some things I should explain about Leila’s condition. Testing wasn’t like it is today. Back then, it took over five minutes—start to finish—before you got an answer, and it was just a range. We didn’t have monitors then.” He clears his throat. “Medicine has come a long way in the last thirty years. And the
research they’re doing? It’s amazing. I think they’re right on the brink of something big—something life altering for people with this disease. Anyway, what I mean by all of this is—I don’t want you to think what happened to her is going to happen to you.” His voice catches at the end. My heart trips over it, spilling over.

  He’s worried about me—how this could affect me. I hadn’t even thought about myself once since he told me his story. Only how hard it must be for him. The fact that he’s so worried about me makes me love him that much more. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve gotten low a few times in the night already. I wake up like a jackhammer’s going in my chest. There’s no way I could sleep through that.” I smile, shrugging my shoulders. I try to look at ease, but the thought of the nighttime lows makes my heart race. I turn away, taking a big, calming breath. It’s not the middle of the night. I’m not there.

  “It’s nice when our body sends us signals that we’re in trouble.” He turns the whale of a car into the parking lot. “Not everyone is so lucky.”

  “Everything about your car reminds me of the ocean,” I say, changing the subject because I have to—I don’t know what to say to his last statement. I can’t go there right now.

  “Oh, yeah? How’s that?” he asks as he slides the car into park.

  “There are so many things, it’s hard to know where to start.” I pick at the rip in my jeans as I try to figure out what it is about it that really reminds me of the ocean. It’s sort of nothing and everything, but I can’t possibly tell him that—that’s the sort of stuff only Mom understands. “Well, of course you’ve got the color—blue—it’s easy to see why that makes me think of the ocean. But it’s not just that. Here, inside, we have the sand.” I wave my hand over the dashboard. “But that’s just what you see. I think what truly does it, is the way it feels like we’re floating—a boat on the ocean.”