Now That You Mention It
Page 55
Sullivan didn’t look away from my face, the furrows between his eyes deepening. “What causes this?” he asked. “Did we do something wrong?”
“No, not at all,” I said. “If she does have it, surgery will take care of the tumor.”
“Surgery?” Sully asked.
“It’s not bad, though it sounds kind of gross. They’ll probably go in through your nose, Audrey. It’s a very treatable problem.”
Audrey was staring at me with a mixture of fear and relief. “So there’s a reason I’m like this?” she said.
“Like what?” Sullivan asked.
She started to cry. “I’m fat and ugly and short, Dad. I’m tired all the time and have backaches like I’m an old lady! I have hair on my back! I hate myself!”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Hush,” he said. “You’re beautiful. You’re the best thing in the world. And if you have this Cushing’s thing, we’ll get it taken care of. But don’t you ever say you hate yourself. That’s my best girl you’re talking about. My favorite person in the whole world. I love you, and Mom loves you, and we think you’re perfect.”
She tightened her grip and had a good cry. Sully murmured to her, stroked her hair, and I turned away so they could have a little privacy. Timmy and I looked at each other and smiled damply.
Grabbing a box of tissues, I went back to Audrey’s bedside and handed them to her. Took one for myself and one for Timmy, too.
“I think you should go to Boston for this,” I said. “I know a couple of great doctors at Boston City who specialize in this. I’ll call them tomorrow, okay? In the meantime, Audrey, just go home and enjoy the rest of the weekend.”
She pulled back from her dad and gave me a dazzling smile. “Thank you so much, Nora,” she said. “My stupid pediatrician never said anything about this. Just told me to eat more vegetables and stuff.”
“Well, Cushing’s disease is rare. I’m still not positive you have it, but we’ll know pretty soon.” I was sure, but doctors didn’t get to say those things.
“I can’t believe I can get fixed! This is probably the best day of my life.” She got off the bed, grabbed her clothes and bounced into the bathroom to change.
“I’ll be up front,” Timmy said, leaving the room. We could hear Teeny’s indignant squawking. Well. I could hear it. In this case, Sully might be lucky not to catch everything.
Sullivan stood up. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
“Just doing my job.”
“You’re good at it.” He let out a shaky breath. “What would’ve happened if this hadn’t been caught? Is it...you know. Fatal?”
I hesitated. “It can be.”
“Jesus H. Christ.”
“If you have any questions, and I’m sure you will, just ask me, okay? Don’t be—”
My words were cut off by his hug. A hard, long hug.
Sullivan Fletcher was lean and strong, and his neck smelled like the sun. He held me tight for a long moment. “Thank you,” he said again, quietly, and his voice caused a ripple down my side.
Then he let me go, and the bathroom door opened. I got another Fletcher hug, from Audrey this time. “I can’t believe all this,” she said.
“Well, let’s get it confirmed,” I said. We doctors, always covering our butts in the face of too much hope or too much darkness.
“I want to be you when I grow up,” Audrey said, beaming at me. She slid her arm around her father’s waist and tucked her head against his arm.
Sullivan glanced at me. He put his fingers to his chin and then moved them away and down, almost like he was blowing me a kiss, but not quite.
I knew that gesture. It was sign language for thank you.
Yeah. Not falling in love with Sullivan Fletcher was going to be quite a challenge.
18
When I was a junior and Lily was a sophomore, we both went to the prom.
I went with another girl—Emily Case, who, like me, was on the fringe of high school, another invisible girl with bluish-white skin and hair the color of dirty dishwater. We weren’t friends; we were simply united in the knowledge that no one would ask us, we wanted to go, and there was safety in numbers, even if that number was two.
I honestly don’t remember where I got the guts to go through with it. I remember that I simultaneously didn’t want to go and couldn’t not go. I had no delusions of a Carrie-like turn of events where, even if for a little while, the freaky girl got to be popular. So what if she was drenched with a bucket of pig’s blood? Small price to pay.
No, I knew how it would be. Emily and I would barely exist at the prom unless someone took it upon herself (because it would be a girl) to mock us. But even at the age of seventeen, I knew that on prom night, the Cheetos would be too obsessed with themselves to notice people like Emily and me.
Without telling anyone, I took the ferry to Portland, went to the Goodwill store and bought the first dress that didn’t pinch too much, an utterly unremarkable royal blue halter-top dress with sequins along the neckline. There was a tear along the zipper, but I could fix that.
On the Saturday of the prom, my sister announced that she’d be going to Darby’s house to get ready.
“I’d like to see you all dressed up,” Mom said.
“Then come to Darby’s,” Lily said. “If you have to.” The disgust in her voice was so thick you could cut it with a dull knife.
“Are you goin’ to Darby’s, too?” Mom asked me.
Lily’s head nearly spun off her shoulders. “You’re going to prom?”
“Yes,” I said, feigning calm. “Emily and I thought it would be fun.” Things that were also on par with prom fun would be performing a limb amputation on oneself or eating a live rat. Still. Had to do it.
“Emily who?” Lily asked.
“Case.”
“Who’s that?”
I sighed. “She’s someone in my class, Lily.”
“Why do you even want to go?”
Excellent question. I started to answer, but Lily cut me off. “Just try not to talk to me.” Even after all this time, her cruelty slashed like a razor.
“Lily, apologize,” our mother said, her voice harsh.
“Sorry,” she sang.
“Who’s your date?” I asked. I knew, of course. Everyone knew.
“Luke Fletcher.” She looked at me and smiled evilly, her pure blue eyes narrowing like a cat’s.
That’s why I was going, of course. To see them together. To see what it would be like to be as effortlessly beautiful and confident as my sixteen-year-old sister, to have the attention of the best-looking, most popular boy on the island. To torture myself with unrequited love for both of them.
I didn’t go to Darby’s, of course. I stayed home and tried to flat-iron my hair, which was having none of it. I ended up putting it in a puritanical bun. Emily’s father picked me up, Em sitting in front, me in the back of their minivan, which smelled like dog. There was a bag of pretzels on the floor, reminding me that I was hungry.
Back then, Scupper Island couldn’t afford a big prom at a banquet facility or hotel, so it was held at the gym each year, the decorations comprised of tired crepe ribbons in yellow and black—our school colors—with clusters of black and yellow balloons tied to a weight for centerpieces.
“No, not at all,” I said. “If she does have it, surgery will take care of the tumor.”
“Surgery?” Sully asked.
“It’s not bad, though it sounds kind of gross. They’ll probably go in through your nose, Audrey. It’s a very treatable problem.”
Audrey was staring at me with a mixture of fear and relief. “So there’s a reason I’m like this?” she said.
“Like what?” Sullivan asked.
She started to cry. “I’m fat and ugly and short, Dad. I’m tired all the time and have backaches like I’m an old lady! I have hair on my back! I hate myself!”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Hush,” he said. “You’re beautiful. You’re the best thing in the world. And if you have this Cushing’s thing, we’ll get it taken care of. But don’t you ever say you hate yourself. That’s my best girl you’re talking about. My favorite person in the whole world. I love you, and Mom loves you, and we think you’re perfect.”
She tightened her grip and had a good cry. Sully murmured to her, stroked her hair, and I turned away so they could have a little privacy. Timmy and I looked at each other and smiled damply.
Grabbing a box of tissues, I went back to Audrey’s bedside and handed them to her. Took one for myself and one for Timmy, too.
“I think you should go to Boston for this,” I said. “I know a couple of great doctors at Boston City who specialize in this. I’ll call them tomorrow, okay? In the meantime, Audrey, just go home and enjoy the rest of the weekend.”
She pulled back from her dad and gave me a dazzling smile. “Thank you so much, Nora,” she said. “My stupid pediatrician never said anything about this. Just told me to eat more vegetables and stuff.”
“Well, Cushing’s disease is rare. I’m still not positive you have it, but we’ll know pretty soon.” I was sure, but doctors didn’t get to say those things.
“I can’t believe I can get fixed! This is probably the best day of my life.” She got off the bed, grabbed her clothes and bounced into the bathroom to change.
“I’ll be up front,” Timmy said, leaving the room. We could hear Teeny’s indignant squawking. Well. I could hear it. In this case, Sully might be lucky not to catch everything.
Sullivan stood up. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
“Just doing my job.”
“You’re good at it.” He let out a shaky breath. “What would’ve happened if this hadn’t been caught? Is it...you know. Fatal?”
I hesitated. “It can be.”
“Jesus H. Christ.”
“If you have any questions, and I’m sure you will, just ask me, okay? Don’t be—”
My words were cut off by his hug. A hard, long hug.
Sullivan Fletcher was lean and strong, and his neck smelled like the sun. He held me tight for a long moment. “Thank you,” he said again, quietly, and his voice caused a ripple down my side.
Then he let me go, and the bathroom door opened. I got another Fletcher hug, from Audrey this time. “I can’t believe all this,” she said.
“Well, let’s get it confirmed,” I said. We doctors, always covering our butts in the face of too much hope or too much darkness.
“I want to be you when I grow up,” Audrey said, beaming at me. She slid her arm around her father’s waist and tucked her head against his arm.
Sullivan glanced at me. He put his fingers to his chin and then moved them away and down, almost like he was blowing me a kiss, but not quite.
I knew that gesture. It was sign language for thank you.
Yeah. Not falling in love with Sullivan Fletcher was going to be quite a challenge.
18
When I was a junior and Lily was a sophomore, we both went to the prom.
I went with another girl—Emily Case, who, like me, was on the fringe of high school, another invisible girl with bluish-white skin and hair the color of dirty dishwater. We weren’t friends; we were simply united in the knowledge that no one would ask us, we wanted to go, and there was safety in numbers, even if that number was two.
I honestly don’t remember where I got the guts to go through with it. I remember that I simultaneously didn’t want to go and couldn’t not go. I had no delusions of a Carrie-like turn of events where, even if for a little while, the freaky girl got to be popular. So what if she was drenched with a bucket of pig’s blood? Small price to pay.
No, I knew how it would be. Emily and I would barely exist at the prom unless someone took it upon herself (because it would be a girl) to mock us. But even at the age of seventeen, I knew that on prom night, the Cheetos would be too obsessed with themselves to notice people like Emily and me.
Without telling anyone, I took the ferry to Portland, went to the Goodwill store and bought the first dress that didn’t pinch too much, an utterly unremarkable royal blue halter-top dress with sequins along the neckline. There was a tear along the zipper, but I could fix that.
On the Saturday of the prom, my sister announced that she’d be going to Darby’s house to get ready.
“I’d like to see you all dressed up,” Mom said.
“Then come to Darby’s,” Lily said. “If you have to.” The disgust in her voice was so thick you could cut it with a dull knife.
“Are you goin’ to Darby’s, too?” Mom asked me.
Lily’s head nearly spun off her shoulders. “You’re going to prom?”
“Yes,” I said, feigning calm. “Emily and I thought it would be fun.” Things that were also on par with prom fun would be performing a limb amputation on oneself or eating a live rat. Still. Had to do it.
“Emily who?” Lily asked.
“Case.”
“Who’s that?”
I sighed. “She’s someone in my class, Lily.”
“Why do you even want to go?”
Excellent question. I started to answer, but Lily cut me off. “Just try not to talk to me.” Even after all this time, her cruelty slashed like a razor.
“Lily, apologize,” our mother said, her voice harsh.
“Sorry,” she sang.
“Who’s your date?” I asked. I knew, of course. Everyone knew.
“Luke Fletcher.” She looked at me and smiled evilly, her pure blue eyes narrowing like a cat’s.
That’s why I was going, of course. To see them together. To see what it would be like to be as effortlessly beautiful and confident as my sixteen-year-old sister, to have the attention of the best-looking, most popular boy on the island. To torture myself with unrequited love for both of them.
I didn’t go to Darby’s, of course. I stayed home and tried to flat-iron my hair, which was having none of it. I ended up putting it in a puritanical bun. Emily’s father picked me up, Em sitting in front, me in the back of their minivan, which smelled like dog. There was a bag of pretzels on the floor, reminding me that I was hungry.
Back then, Scupper Island couldn’t afford a big prom at a banquet facility or hotel, so it was held at the gym each year, the decorations comprised of tired crepe ribbons in yellow and black—our school colors—with clusters of black and yellow balloons tied to a weight for centerpieces.
