Chapter Two Portland, OR 1999
Chapter Two
Portland, OR
Scarlett saw the new girl three times before she got up the nerve to speak to her.
At seven years of age, Scarlett should have been absolutely drowning in friends. She was funny, she was nice, and even though people said she talked too much, she didn’t say even close to all the things that were bursting inside her heart.
Unfortunately, just about her whole life had been spent inside this stupid hospital, being poked and prodded and stabbed with so many needles that she had a favorite one.
(The 24-gauge was the nicest, but only if Nurse Penny was the one putting it in.
She always sang a little song that made it slide in like butter.) That was Scarlett’s excuse, anyway, for why she took one look at the new girl and fell hard.
For one thing, the girl was probably the most beautiful person Scarlett had ever seen, all big blue eyes and long, silky hair.
Scarlett coveted that hair more than anything else in the world, even more than the pretty flower scarves some of the other kids wrapped around their heads when they came in for treatment.
For another thing, the girl was sad. Not the usual kind of sad, like when people watched movies where everyone died in the end or got a tour of the pediatric cancer ward for the first time, but a different kind of sad—one that she tried to hide in the way she shuffled her feet and kept her eyes fixed on the floor.
Scarlett knew everything there was to know about people trying to hide their sadness. When you were a kid who had cancer-with-a-capital-C, that was all anyone did.
Getting stabbed with a needle? What a big, brave girl you are! (Smile.)
Puking your guts out from your recent bout of chemo? There, now. Doesn’t that feel better? (Smile.)
Wheeling past the empty bed in the room next to yours, where just yesterday your friend Paco was playing checkers with his dad? Don’t cry, love. He’s in a better place now. He wouldn’t want you to be sad. (Smile.)
“Psst!” Scarlett called from her position on her bed.
She longed to spring up and chase the girl down the hall, but she was trapped by her IV.
This was the good part of chemo, when the bad drugs hadn’t hit yet but the good ones had.
Scarlett always had a few hours where she longed to climb out the window and scale the hospital walls, certain that if she didn’t make it to the rooftop, she could at least fly back down to the ground again.
“You!” she called again. “Girl with the hair! C’mere!”
The girl with the hair stopped in the middle of her slow shuffle down the hall. “Are you talking to me?” she asked in a soft voice.
She blinked at Scarlett without any of the usual embarrassment the other kids showed when they visited.
People who weren’t used to hospitals didn’t know where to look, so their eyes darted around like the whole room was on fire—and like Scarlett was on fire, too.
This girl’s straightforward gaze was the opposite of that, like a splash of cool water on her heated skin.
In that instant, Scarlett decided this girl was her new best friend.
“Yes. You have the longest hair of anyone I’ve ever seen. Can I touch it?”
The girl found nothing odd in this request. She came closer to the bed and bent her head, letting the beautiful strands tumble like a waterfall over Scarlett’s hand.
“Oh, it’s perfect,” Scarlett breathed as she ran her fingers through without hitting a single snag. “Even before all mine fell out, it was short and brown and boring. When I grow new hair, I’m gonna get some exactly like this.”
“I’m growing it out so I can donate it,” the girl said. “My brother’s nurse said it’s a nice way to help.”
Now her eyes were doing that avoiding thing, only not in the way that meant she was uncomfortable with the dripping IVs and beeping monitors. She was back to looking at her toes in that sad way.
“Your brother is the one with leukemia, right?” Scarlett asked.
The girl shifted her body toward the door like she was getting ready to leave, so Scarlett rushed, “I’ve seen him a few times, but only from far away.
They keep him pretty isolated. There was a boy in here once who could only be visited from behind a plastic curtain, but we all kinda liked it.
If you wanted to touch him or play with him, you had to stick your hands in these huge, blue alien gloves.
He used to challenge people to Lego-building races, only of course no one else had a chance against him with those big ol’ gloves.
I don’t really like Legos—they hurt my fingernails—but I always played anyway.
He knew all kinds of weird facts about tortoises.
Did you know that the oldest tortoise in the world is a hundred and sixty-seven?
His name is Jonathan, which seems like a silly name for an animal, but that’s grown-ups for you. They have no imagination.”
The girl relaxed as Scarlett’s chatter continued, which was the exact thing she was hoping for.
“What would you name a hundred-and-sixty-seven-year-old tortoise?” the girl asked.
If Scarlett hadn’t been chained to her bed with all these stupid needles and cords, she’d have jumped up in excitement.
“Ooh, I never really thought about it before. Reginald von Otterwinks, maybe? Or Mr. Higgypiggles? Ol’ Stompyfoots?”
“Sir Hides-a-Lot?” the girl suggested.
Scarlett giggled. “Yes! That’s the one. You must be really smart, huh?”
The girl’s cheeks turned pink. “I don’t know. No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“Probably because they can already tell,” Scarlett said with all the confidence of her seven years of life on earth. “Can I share a secret with you?”
“Oh, um.” The girl looked around, her blue eyes wide. “Are you sure you should?”
Of course she was. All the secrets and hopes and fears that bubbled up inside her had been waiting for this chance to break free. She clasped her hands in front of her and, forgetting the machines hooked up to her veins, sat up straight in bed.
It was a mistake.
Before she could say even a little bit of what was in her heart, a swarm of nurses and techs came running into the small, one-window room that was both her jail and her home.
All of a sudden, voices were demanding to know what she’d done to her port and was this girl bothering Scarlett and would they like them to remove her so she could take a nap—
“I’m not a baby,” Scarlett said, fearful lest her new friend get the wrong idea.
“No, you’re not. But your vital signs are all over the place, so I think it’s best if we let Chrissie get on with her visit to her brother, don’t you?”
Chrissie. Even the girl’s name was perfect, like a whisper that slipped off the end of the tongue.
“Please don’t take her away,” Scarlett begged. She cast her biggest, saddest eyes up at Nurse Penny, but it was no use. The girl—perfect Chrissie with her perfect hair—was already retreating toward the door.
“You’ll come back,” Scarlett said—not as a question but a plea. She clawed like a wild animal to get out of bed, but Nurse Penny had already put something into her IV to make her sleepy. “Tomorrow, Chrissie. Promise me. Promise me you’ll visit.”
She couldn’t hear Chrissie’s response, but the girl nodded so seriously that Scarlett felt sure she could count on her.
People who looked that serious always kept their word. They had to. After all the cancer and pain and goodbyes, promises were the only thing they had left.