Chapter 19
The Happiest Girl in the World
I was seven when I got chicken pox.
The sores popped up all over my skin and turned to tiny liquid-filled blisters.
My mother took Lucy to Grandpa’s to keep her from getting infected.
They did that every time I got a cold because her immune system was so delicate even the slightest thing could endanger her.
So I ended up alone with Dad. I remember my head hurt, I had a fever and chills, and my whole body itched. Still, it was the best week ever.
He let me eat ice cream. I didn’t go to school. We watched cartoon movies. On the third day, while we were curled up on the couch and I was licking a strawberry popsicle, I told him, “Dad, I don’t want to ever get better.”
“Greta, don’t ever say that again.”
“Why? Lucy doesn’t have to go to school and she’s always with you guys. I don’t care if it itches. I’ll scratch it and that’s that,” I said, picking at one of the sores.
I still remember my father’s expression, confused and full of sorrow.
He hesitated, I know he did. He probably asked himself if it was worth it to try to tell me the difference or just let it go.
Finally he kissed me on the forehead, got up, and went for the lotion we’d gotten from the pharmacy, which he spread softly on my skin to calm the pain.
I was the happiest girl in the world.