CHIP
Brenda plops next to him on a chair at the hospital with a tired sigh. “It’s quiet today, but don’t tell anybody I’m slacking.” She flashes him a smile and puts another cookie down on the tray. “Nurse’s orders to eat that.”
“You haven’t finished that darn book yet?” She shakes her head. “I figured you for a better student than that.”
He looks down at it. “I guess I don’t want it to end.”
He looks at her and doesn’t know what to say.
She puts her hands on her knees and groans as she stands.
“Well, back to work.” He watches her white shoes as she ambles toward her stack of file folders, her stethoscope staying put on her shoulders.
He eats the rest of his cookie and drinks the water, cold and still.
He opens the book and decides no matter what happens to Holden, no matter how it ends or whether he ever gets to read it again, he’ll be okay.
“Just because somebody’s dead, you don’t just stop liking them, for God’s sake—especially if they were about a thousand times nicer than the people you know that’re alive and all.”
Vicky waits in the hospital entrance and seems to assess him as he walks off the elevator. “There’s the phoenix himself.” She smiles. She wears a sleeveless shirt and cutoff jean shorts. “You need any help?”
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
“Where’s your book?”
He smiles. “I left it.”
“On purpose?”
He nods. “Yup. All done. It was time.” They walk down the main steps, and Vicky’s car is parked in the shade of an elm tree.
“Well, time to start another.” She opens his door for him.
“Such service,” he says.
Vicky bows with a flourish. “Your chariot, Sir Charles Henry.”
He tries to do an English accent. “The most elite Volkswagen in all of northeastern PA.” The seats are hot, and they both roll down their windows.
Chip reaches under his seat. “Here, Vic. For you.”
She turns to him, and he hands her a card and small package. She takes it carefully. “It’s not my birthday.”
“It’s not for your birthday.” He tries to sit up straight and watch her.
She opens the package. She’s the only person he knows who doesn’t read the card first. She tears with abandon, not doing that thing about saving wrapping paper like his mom and grandmother do.
She opens the small box and takes out the brass deer figurine.
She holds it up in front of her and the sun hits it with a golden glow.
He got it from the Red Maple gift shop, and Amy, who was on shift that day, asked him if he wanted it wrapped.
Vicky swallows.
“Read the card, goofball.” She sets the deer carefully on the dashboard and looks down at the card like she doesn’t know what to do with it. He looks over, and he reads the words as she does:
Thank you for your trips here to keep my blood okay. Thank you for your jokes and your perfect laugh. Thank you for caring, for being my oldest friend. Yours, Chip.
She holds the card against her chest. “Chip.”
“Hey, it’s supposed to be funny. Don’t look so sad.” He swallows. “I just wanted to say thanks. I don’t know what I would’ve—”
“Stop,” she says.
“Stop?”
She picks up the deer and looks at it, and he imagines her putting it on a shelf in her bedroom.
He sees her life unfolding, and he imagines her moving out of her dad’s house and visiting new places.
He imagines her one day being in her fifties or sixties, and he wonders if she’ll still have that deer.
Will she remember the sound of his voice?
Will she remember how he waited for her, watched for her on the school bus, and how much he cared about her, how much purpose that gave him?
It wasn’t a selfless act because it helped him, made him feel like a person who could look out for someone.
And now, she has been the fairy who saved the rabbit.
“Do you know how much I love you, Chip?” She looks at him, and her eyes are filled with tears. She doesn’t blink.
He turns and looks straight ahead at the trees in front of them, at the clear blue sky beyond. “I love you, too,” he says. He stays still, and it is so hot in this car he feels like he’s getting a sunburn. “I always have.”