"Yes, go," Poppy said. There was nothing else she could say and still pretend that she di dn't know. Besides, her mom undoubtedly needed some time by herself, away from this.
Just as her mother left, a nurse in a flowered blouse and green scrub pants came in to take Poppy's temperature and blood pressure. And then Poppy was alone.
It was late. She could still hear a TV, but it was far away. The door was ajar, but the hallway outside was di m. A hush seemed to have fallen over the ward.
She felt very alone, and the pain was gnawing deep inside her.
Beneath the smooth skin of her abdomen, the tumor was making itself known.
Worst of all, James hadn't ca lle d. How could he not call?
Didn't he know she needed him?
She wasn't sure how long she could go on not thinking about It.
Maybe the best thing would be to try to sleep. Get unconscious. Then she couldn't think.
But as soon as she turned out the light and closed her eyes, phanto ms swirled around her. Not images of pretty bald girls; s keletons. Coffins. And worst of all, an endless darkness.
If I die, I won't be here. Will I be anywhere? Or will I just Not Be at all?
It was the scariest thing she'd ever ima gined, No tBeing. And she was definitely thinking now, she couldn't help it. She'd lost control. A galloping fear consumed her, made her shiver under the rough sheet and thin blankets. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to
"Poppy"
Her eyes flew open. For a second she couldn't identify the black silhouette in the darkened room. She had a wild idea that it was Death itself coming to get her.
Then she said, "James?"
"I wasn't sure if you were asleep."
Poppy reached for the bedside button that turned on the light, b ut J ames said, "No, leave it off. I had to sneak past the nurses, and I don't want them to throw me out."
Poppy swallowed, her hands clenched on a fold of blanket.
"I'm glad you came," she said. "I thought you weren't going to come." What she really wanted was to throw herself into his arms and sob and scream.
But she didn't. It wasn't just that she'd never done anything like that with him before; it was something about him that stopped her. Something she couldn't put her finger on, but that made her feel almost ... frightened.
The way he was standing? The fact that she couldn't see his face? All she knew was that James suddenly seemed like a stranger.
He turned around and very slowly closed the heavy door.
Darkness. Now the only light came in through the window.
Poppy felt curiously isolated from the rest of the hospital, from the rest of the world.
And that should have been good, to be alone with James, protected from everything else. If only she weren't having this weird feeling of not recognizing him.
"You know the test results," he said quietly. It wasn't a question.
"My mom doesn't know I 'know," Poppy said. How could she be talking coherently when all she wanted to do was scream?
"I overheard the doctors telling her.... James, I've got it. And ...
it's bad; it's a bad kind of cancer. They said it's already spread.
They said I'm going to . . ." She couldn't get the last word out, even though it was shrieking through her mind.
"You're going to die," James said. He still seemed quiet and centered. Detached.
"I read up on it," James went on, walking over to the window and looking out. "I know how bad it is. The articles said there was a lot of pain. Serious pain „
"James," Poppy gasped.
"Sometimes they have to do surgery just to try to stop the pain.
But whatever they do, it won't save you. They can fill you full of chemicals and irradiate you, and you'll still. die. Pro bably before the end of summer."
"James-"
"It will be your last summer-"
"James, for God's sake!" It was almost a scream.
Poppy was breathi ng in great shaking gulps, clinging to the blankets. "Why are you doing this to me?"
He turned and in one movement seized her wrist, his fingers closing over the plastic hospital bracelet. "I want you to understand that they can't help you," he said, ragged and intense. "Do you understand that?"
"Yes, I understand," Poppy said. She could hear the mounting hysteria in her own voice. "But is that what you came here to say? Do you want to kill me?"
His fingers tightened painfully. "No! I want to save you." Then he let out a breath and repeated it more quietly, but with no less intensity. "I want to save you, Poppy."
Poppy spent a few moments just getting air in and out of her lungs. It was hard to do it without dissolving into sobs. "Well, you can't," she said at last. "Nobody can."
"That's where you're wrong." Slowly he released her wrist and gripped the bed rail instead. "Poppy, there's something I've got to tell you. Something about me."
"James . . ." Poppy could breathe now, but she didn't know what to say. As far as she could tell, James had gone crazy. In a way, if everything else hadn't been so awful, she might have been flattered. James had lost his consummate cool-over her.
He was u pset enough about her situation to go completely nonlinear.
"You really do care," she said softly, with a laugh that was half a s ob. She put a hand on his where it rested on the bed rail.
He laughed shortly in turn. His hand flipped over to grasp hers roughly; then he pulled away. "You have no idea," he said in a terse, strained voice.
Looking out the window, he added, "You think you know everything about me, but you don't. There's something very important that you don't know."