Dana's Valley Page 9

  “Who are you guys? Do you live in that new house?”

  “Yup,” Corey answered confidently. “We were building it this summer, and now we’re all moved in.”

  “What’s your name?” the girl prodded.

  “I’m Corey. This is Erin. And my brother back there is Brett. See?” Corey pointed back to Brett’s seat with a wide wave. “That’s him. That’s my brother.”

  Brett pretended not to notice, looking busy adjusting a strap on his backpack.

  “What grade are you in?”

  “I’m in first grade because this is my first day of school. But it’s not really my first day of school because last year I went to kindergarten. It’s my first day of all-day school, though.”

  “I’m in first grade too.” The little interviewer in the seat ahead announced the fact as if the two now shared a special position in society. I was beginning to like her. She had a funny, matter-of-fact way of speaking. And I was glad she was conversing with Corey. I had been a little afraid he wouldn’t find the new school very friendly, though I couldn’t imagine him not being able to chatter away with someone.

  I smiled at the girl. She had an upturned nose and a cute little curly ponytail with a red bow. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Rayna. We live in the house next to yours. We built our house too. But Daddy says we paid too much for it. I like it though. I think it’s nice.”

  Corey puffed out his chest and commented, “It costs a bunch to build a house, my daddy says.”

  These two seemed perfectly suited to each other. I watched out the window and tried not to think about the long day that stretched out in front of me. I wondered what Marcy was doing right now, and whom she’d be sitting with this year on the school bus. I supposed it would be Carli. Then I thought of Dana. I missed her. I hoped with all my heart she would be better soon—maybe by tomorrow.

  By Wednesday night it was all I could do to keep myself from rushing into our church in search of Marcy. I forced myself to walk at a dignified pace. Dana followed along behind, apparently much more patient about sharing stories of the new school than I was. Thankfully she had felt well enough to come on Tuesday. I described to Marcy the teachers and the building. I told her about the kids I’d already met and the odd ones I had observed.

  Marcy was dramatically empathetic. Then she, in turn, groaned about the classes she’d begun and enthused about seeing some of the familiar faces again. It made me homesick to listen, but I drank it all in anyway.

  Dana and Carli were standing near us, speaking in quieter tones. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I noticed Carli rush toward the rest room and Dana leaning back against the wall holding her nose. I could only stare. There was blood dribbling down Dana’s hand and splashing onto her shirt. I hurried over just as Carli ran back with tissues.

  “Dana, sit down,” Carli instructed. “Tip your head back and pinch your nose.”

  For a fleeting moment I wondered if it was possible that Carli had actually hit Dana. But the ridiculous thought was immediately dismissed.

  “What happened?” Marcy and I asked the question at the same time.

  “I don’t know.” Dana’s voice was muffled behind the tissue. “Erin, please go get Mom. Please!”

  I ran. By the time I reached the preschool room I was breathless and a little panic-stricken. “Mom.” My whisper was breathy and loud. “Dana’s nose is bleeding. She wants you.”

  Mom hurried out of the room, stopping only to tell the neighboring teacher to please watch her class. Then she headed back toward the stairs where Dana was seated. Already a small crowd of concerned adults had gathered, and Dana was pressing herself against the wall as if she’d like it to swallow her up.

  “Honey, what happened? Can you get it to stop? Did you bang it?”

  I could see tears forming in Dana’s eyes. She looked frightened and embarrassed. “I want to go home. Mom, can somebody take me home?”

  “Yes, honey, just as soon as we get the bleeding stopped, we’ll take you home.”

  I saw the blood on Dana’s shirt, and I knew she couldn’t go to youth group with Carli now that she had ruined her clothes. But it hardly seemed fair that the rest of us would have to leave too.

  “Erin, please go see if you can find Dad.”

  I marched up the stairs with Marcy in tow, her questions flying after me. “What happened? Do you know how it started? Did she hit it on something? I’ve never seen anybody get a nosebleed without hitting it on something.”

  I assured Marcy that I had absolutely no idea.

  We knocked on the door of the boardroom and timidly peeked inside. Dad was seated on the opposite side of the room. When he saw us, he excused himself and moved quickly to the door.

  The news of Dana’s nosebleed brought an unprecedented response. He flew down the stairs two at a time and sat down beside Dana who, by then, had stopped bleeding. “Honey, are you okay?”

  She answered by leaning her head against him and starting to cry. Carli was hovering close, holding Dana’s hand.

  But the crisis seemed to be over. I breathed freely again. Dana appeared to be okay. I turned toward Marcy, ready now to go to the youth room. But Mom hurried up with a bundle of coats.

  “Here’s your coat.” She handed it to me and crouched beside Dana. “We’ll get you home, honey.”

  People still shuffled about. No one had really left. But Mom was helping Dana into her jacket. We were the ones who’d be leaving.

  Dana was the center of attention, and we were all going to pack up and go home without ever going to our activities of the evening. It was unbelievable. There was still so much I hadn’t had a chance to tell Marcy.

  “Erin, get the boys, please.”

  I obeyed. But my heart was far from cooperative. It was so unfair. It wasn’t my fault Dana had to go home. Why did we all have to go? But even as I was complaining I knew it was unreasonable to expect my parents to make a special trip back.

  It was still early when we arrived home, but I headed up for bed anyway. I had finished my homework as quickly as I could after school in anticipation of my first night in youth group. With this milestone stripped away, there was nothing left to do except to watch TV, and I wasn’t in the mood for that. I was much more interested in lying in the dark feeling sorry for myself.

  Dana walked in and out of the bedroom two or three times in preparation for bed. I ignored her, feigning sleep. She was the last person I wanted to talk to just then. Finally, I could hear her slide her feet down between her sheets and snuggle into her pillow to get comfortable. There was a long, heavy silence, and I thought she must have been drifting off to sleep. Then she whispered across to me in the stillness.

  “Erin, I think I’m going to die.” The words seared themselves into my mind. Surely I hadn’t heard correctly.

  I flipped over to face her and whispered back anxiously, “What are you talking about?”

  I realized then that she had been crying silently. And I felt horrid for having been feeling and acting so selfishly. On impulse, I slipped out of my bed and crossed to sit down beside her. My voice had softened with sympathy. Suddenly I really wanted to understand what was troubling her.

  “There’s something wrong with me,” Dana said, her voice muffled. “I can feel it. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, but now I’m just so scared. I really think I’m going to die.”

  “Dana, don’t say that. You’re not going to die. It was just a nosebleed. Lots of kids get nosebleeds.”

  “But I’m so tired, Erin. I’ve been tired for months and months. And this summer I kept getting sick. Then the aches started. Sometimes during the night I can hardly sleep I ache so much. I don’t know what to do. I get so scared.”

  “Why didn’t you wake someone up? Why didn’t you tell Mom and Dad it was that bad? Why didn’t you even tell me? I didn’t know you were that sick.”

  “I was hoping I could be wrong. I thought I was just being paranoid. But then, the n
osebleed. I can’t ignore it anymore. Something is very wrong.” Her voice broke, and I dropped down closer to her.

  “It’ll be okay. Mom’s going to take you to the doctor. They’ll find out what’s wrong, and they’ll fix it.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “You’re not going to die, Dana,” I repeated with emphasis. “You’re not even old.”

  We sniffled together for a while, neither of us talking. The weight of Dana’s words was just too great. I couldn’t imagine being thirteen and being scared of dying. It was just too incredible to think about.

  “I want you to talk to me, Dana,” I whispered hoarsely. “I want you to tell me how you’re feeling every day. Even if you don’t think you can tell Mom and Dad. I want you to promise that you’ll tell me.”

  “I promise.” There was a hint of relief in her voice.

  It was some time before we fell asleep, and by then I had crawled under the covers on Dana’s bed. It seemed safer if we stuck together.

  Dr. Miller eventually chose to refer Mom and Dana to another doctor—a woman, who was an OB/GYN. It would be a week until they’d be able to see her, and we were all anxious for the day to arrive. In the meantime, Dana walked mechanically through her first days at our new school, colorless and frail. It made me want to throw my arms around her and protect her.

  Daddy had asked each of us to pray for Dana whenever we thought of it through the next days, and I noticed that he and Mom spent extra time in the evenings together with their door shut. I imagined that Mom also used a great deal of the school hours praying. I thought back, but I couldn’t remember all of us praying so intensely for anything before. Even the new house and the decision about buying the land. It made the knot in my stomach grow tighter, and I worried that my prayers were too vague.

  I wasn’t sure what you were supposed to pray in a situation like this. Did you demand, like the television preacher said, showing God how much faith you had? Or did you let God choose His own answer, trusting in “His good will,” like our pastor had suggested? I didn’t really know much about either. So I stuck with what I had always prayed. “God, bless Dana. Please make her better soon.” It sounded young and a little silly under the circumstances, but I guessed that I wasn’t really a “righteous man” anyway, so my prayers probably wouldn’t “avail much.” I was glad so many other people were praying too, people who were more qualified than I was to ask God for something so important.

  On the day the visit with the new doctor occurred, we expected to return home from school to a full report. But Mom still looked distracted and jumpy as she welcomed us to the kitchen for our after-school snack. I knew without asking that she wasn’t content with the results. Though she wasn’t offering any information to us. When Dad finally arrived home, they sequestered themselves in his office, speaking in low voices for some time. I learned nothing by watching Dana’s eyes across the table as we laid out the plates, and I decided not to press her for information.

  We gathered for supper in near silence. I studied Dad’s face and then watched Mom. It seemed that they might be ready to make some type of announcement. Corey cheerfully prayed to bless the meal, and then we began passing serving dishes around.

  Dad cleared his throat. “We need to tell you what Dr. Britrich suspects is the cause of Dana’s problems. I’m afraid it sounds rather serious.”

  I watched Brett’s eyes dart across to Dana. Corey seemed somewhat oblivious, but Grandma had begun to tear already. I swallowed hard and turned back toward Daddy.

  “There are still more tests to be done, but Dr. Britrich suspects that Dana has something called lupus. It’s a disorder that affects the immune system—not altogether uncommon in teenage girls. That means her body has trouble fighting disease. Which could explain why Dana has had so many colds and fevers—and even the rash earlier this summer. It also explains the fatigue and muscle aches.”

  “Is it … serious?” My voice trembled.

  “It can be. The doctor says she thinks this is a fairly mild case.”

  Dana refused to look up at any of us as we discussed her. Her fork stabbed restlessly at her mashed potatoes, but she wasn’t eating.

  “What’re they gonna do?” Brett’s hand was clenched by his plate as he asked the question, the way it had been when Daddy announced Grandpa had died. It made me even more frightened.

  “There are a number of medications we can try. They treat the symptoms.”

  “What do they do to cure her?” Grandma’s voice squeaked at the end of her question.

  For a moment Daddy was quiet. “There isn’t a cure yet for lupus. I’m afraid it’s something that Dana will contend with throughout her life—if the diagnosis is accurate. As I said, there are still more tests to be done.”

  Silence fell over us as we attempted to take it all in. I wanted to reach out to Dana. To promise her that it would be all right. But not even Daddy could tell her that anymore. I choked a little and let my eyes drop to my lap. Tears had already begun to roll down my cheeks. There wasn’t much more that anyone could say. Our meal proceeded in near silence.

  After supper Dana retreated quickly to our bedroom. I followed after a moment or two, anxious to see if there was any way I could comfort her. The door was closed, so I knocked softly and whispered, “It’s me.”

  “Okay. Come in.”

  Dana was stretched out across her bed, but she wasn’t crying. Her fingers plucked carelessly at a loose string on the comforter and her eyes looked hollow.

  I approached her cautiously. “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  I lowered myself onto the bed beside her and waited for her to speak again. Many minutes passed before she was ready.

  “It’s not fair,” she finally whispered. “I thought I was—I don’t know—a good person. At least, I thought I was healthy and normal. And instead I’ve got this terrible disease, and my body wants to quit fighting and just die. So I’m going to have to take all this medication to make my body go on living. It’s not fair, Erin. It’s not fair. I had plans!” At last her tears began to flow. The little bed quivered with our sobs.

  “It’s not fair,” I choked out. “It’s just not fair.”

  In the morning, when Dana and I rose, we didn’t speak about her illness. We hardly spoke at all. But its presence colored everything, no matter how hard we tried to ignore it. The awful diagnosis traveled with us on the school bus. It was evident in her eyes when we passed each other in the hallway. It was still hanging thick as we traveled home again. I hated this lupus. I hated the darkness it draped across our home. I hated the lifelessness it had inflicted on my sister. And I determined in my heart to hate it forever.

  This new loathing stayed with me, even though our family life did proceed with some normalcy. It’s not that anyone hated it any less. I saw it in Brett’s cold stares whenever it was mentioned. I saw it in the glassy, tearful expression that Mom wore so often and in Dad’s tired, pinched face. Even worse, we were each powerless to make it go away. And we were given no choice but to go on as if there had been no diagnosis or dreadful disease. There was still school and church and chores and even play. But each conversation about a doctor’s visit or a slight rise in Dana’s temperature brought the ugly specter back. And the growing row of pill bottles along the windowsill above our kitchen sink was a constant reminder that we were never to be completely free of it again.

  I missed Marcy. I still hadn’t found anyone in our new school to replace her as a best friend. Not that I really tried. I guess I was waiting for them to invite me into one of the little circles. They didn’t. So I just hung back, pretending I didn’t care. My grades were the best they had ever been, but that was small consolation. I felt dreadfully alone, and it made it hard at times.

  Tryouts for basketball were set to take place before Thanksgiving break. Brett had spent many hours practicing at Travis’s house in anticipation. I, however, had no place to practice. We still didn’t have the promised concrete pad and hoop at the new house. The p
ossibility that I’d make the team without any practice at all was quite remote, but Brett patted me on the back and tried to be encouraging.

  The gymnasium was crowded and noisy when we walked in together. It was easy to see that they’d already divided off the girls from the boys, but kids were still milling around waiting for the tryouts to start. Brett crossed to the far side of the gym and did some warm-up dribbling. His ball-handling ability was what had set him apart on his last team. I think it helped him calm down to show off a little.

  I had no such skill to display. So I took a seat along the bleachers until I was called upon. The tryouts were rigorous. First we did several running drills backward, forward, and sideways. Then we split into groups of five and were given basketballs for the dribbling exercises. I could feel my nerves tense as I waited for my turn. Then Brett caught my eye and grinned at me from across the room. It made me feel much better.

  The results were not to be posted until the next weekend. I left the gym feeling very little hope, and Brett left certain that he’d have no trouble making his team. He had sized up the competition and remained confident. They were all taller than he, one of them by almost a foot, but he was quick.

  For Brett, there were now two sports to pursue. On the one hand, basketball had long been his passion. On the other, he’d discovered a natural ability in skateboarding. As often as he could, he borrowed the car for a trip to the skateboarding park to improve on the various tricks he’d learned. Mom had gone to watch him once and I think had determined that she’d better not do so again. It was breathtaking.

  On the Saturday morning when the fall basketball lineups were to be posted, Dad drove Brett and me over to our school. We searched around a little until we found the designated bulletin board in an entryway and discovered the postings that we wanted. Brett’s eyes were quicker than mine. He realized first what had happened.

  “You made it.” His voice was flat.

  “No way!” But then my eyes fell on the boys’ roster. Brett’s name did not appear. He hadn’t even been placed on the junior varsity team. “Oh, Brett, I’m sorry.”