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“I’m sorry,” she moaned between retches.
When her father reached impatiently for a button at the bedside, Zoë saw that a few strands of dark hair still clung to his fingers. He shook them into the trash can, which was half full with needle covers and stained gauze.
The smell of the room was overpowering. She backed out of the door, the bile rising in her own throat. Her heart pounded. She wanted to run to her mother, but she couldn’t bear to stay and see her that way. Mothers are supposed to be strong, she thought. She’s supposed to take care of me.
A nurse bustled by her.
Zoë knew the treatment made her mother sick, but she’d never seen her this bad, so weak she couldn’t even make it to the bathroom. Zoë felt awful, embarrassed, like she was spying on something private.
Carol tried to put an arm around her, but Zoë shook her off.
I should go to Mom, Zoë told herself. She needs me. But she couldn’t go back into the room and face that sick woman. She leaned against the wall of the corridor in a cold sweat, shaking. Carol hovered close by, looking hurt and anxious.
This is stupid, Zoë thought. You wanted to help, to prove you belonged. Here’s your chance. Her mind argued logically, but her body refused to move. Finally, she began to edge toward the door. I could hold her hand, at least, she thought, and comfort her. I owe it to her.
But before she got there, her father came back out. He put his arms around her. “She’s a bit better now,” he said. “She might be able to sleep.” He sounded drained. She hugged back, relieved that the decision had been taken away from her, hungry for comfort, but he pulled away too fast.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you both home.”
“I’ll stay, Harry,” Carol said. “I want to stay.” She smiled tentatively at Zoë. “Zoë, hon. Call me, okay? If you need something. You know you can.”
Zoë nodded vaguely—Carol meant to be kind—then followed her father, eager to get away, and ashamed of it.
On the silent trip in the car she began to feel guilty. I could have helped her, she thought. He didn’t give me a chance to get myself together.
“Are you going back?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I thought so.” It was like he wanted to keep her all to himself. Carol got to stay. She slouched in the seat beside him and dug her hands deep into her pockets. I’m sulking, she thought. Then, I don’t care. But she was being silly, and she knew it. He’d always been a wonderful dad, and he loved her too. But we never do anything together now, she thought, not even be unhappy together. He makes decisions without asking me, like I’m a little child.
Her hand found a small object in her pocket. She had discovered it on the back steps this morning when she took the garbage out, lying there spiky and shiny. Zoë the bird, the magpie, had picked it up, attracted by its sparkle. But she was late for school, and had shoved it into her coat pocket while she ran to gather her books, then forgotten it. She pulled it out to look at it again, rolling it between her fingers. Little points jabbed her. It looked like a star, a sort of stud. Funny how things get around, she thought. Go on, ask me what it is, she dared her dad silently, but he didn’t notice, so she shoved it back into her pocket.
“Drop me at Lorraine’s, please,” she asked as they pulled into the neighborhood. She tossed her notebook into the backseat before she got out of the car. She hadn’t even had a chance to read anything to her mother today, and her mother was her truest critic. “I’ll get it later,” she said. “Bye.” He smiled vaguely and pulled away, his mind already back at the hospital.
Lorraine looked pleased to see Zoë. “Hi, Zo. Just in time. I was thinking of going out.”
Lorraine will understand, she thought, and that triggered the tears, because she wasn’t sure. She collapsed on the couch, and Lorraine crouched in front of her, one hand lightly on Zoë’s knee, waiting for her to stop crying. Zoë pulled herself together. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t help it.” She told Lorraine what had happened at the hospital, briefly, simply. She didn’t mention the embarrassment, or the shame of not being able to respond.
Lorraine squeezed her knee. “You’ll go again. It’ll be better next time.”
“Yeah.” Zoë wiped her eyes with an offered tissue. “I’m such a wimp,” she said. “I always seem to be crying.”
Lorraine smiled and punched Zoë’s shoulder gently. “Listen, Dad sent me some guilt money. He said to buy some clothes to impress my new friends with when I get out there.” She made a face. “Want to go shopping?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh, come on. You deserve an outing.”
Zoë swept the hair from her face with short, tense movements as she thought about it.
“Well, I’ve got to get out anyway, before Diane comes back,” Lorraine continued. “She’s pissed she didn’t get any money. She was clomping around like a madwoman all morning. Please, please, please!”
“All right,” Zoë said, and stopped frowning. She felt a little uneasy, though. It didn’t seem right to go shopping, as if everything were normal.
Lorraine got her jacket, and they left. “Pity you didn’t know we were going shopping—you could have asked your dad for money too.”
