Had it only been a dream?
***
The doctors had done all they could. But the tumor was too large, too deep, and two weeks later she battled for life. Wonderland was a fairy tale that no longer existed for her in the new reality of doctors and cancer. In a matter of days she’d become an emaciated skeleton. Doctors had been shocked at her rapid decline. Even she’d been amazed, as if the three months she’d been missing and healthy suddenly spun time forward the moment she’d stepped foot back on Earth. She was skin and bones, with nothing but a few stray hairs on her head. She looked dead already.
She’d had a dream last night, one where she’d called his name and he’d screamed hers in return. It’d been wonderful, but too soon she’d woken up and now the pleasure was pain.
Tabby grabbed her hand. “This room’s so much nicer than the last one,” she said with a weak grin. “Yellow too,” she pointed to the walls, “your favorite color. Yup,” she nodded, “I like this one.”
“It’s okay, Tabs.” Her voice was weak. She was so tired, so very tired. It was time and she was ready. But first she had to let them know it was okay. “I’m dying. And it’s okay.”
Tabby’s beautiful face twisted up into an ugly mask and she pressed a white tissue to her face as the silent cry wracked her body. “I love you, Alice. You know that, right? Sisters?”
Alice smiled. “The best.”
Beany-- a.k.a. Mr. H.P.D.-- grabbed Tabby’s shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. Alice closed her eyes. Tabby would be okay-- she’d found her man. They were going to marry next year. For a second it hurt, hurt so bad Alice’s jaw trembled. They’d have beautiful kids, a beautiful life.
Tabby wiped her nose with a tissue. She glanced at Beany then back down at Alice. “You should know we’ve renamed the Shoppe. It’s now going to be called Alice and Hatter’s Cupcakery and Tea Shoppe.”
Tears lodged in her throat. She wouldn’t cry. It would kill Tabby to think she didn’t love it. She did, it was a comfort to know in a small way she’d always be a part of the place that’d brought her so much joy.
Alice opened her mouth to say thanks when a stab of pain shot down her spine and broke her out in a clammy sweat. She hissed.
“Does it hurt, sweetie?” Her mother’s voice was soft as she gently pushed Tabby aside to grab Alice’s hand. She nodded, fighting the nausea, the need to puke food she’d not eaten in days. Her mother’s hands were warm. Loving.
The machine beeped as her mother increased her dose of pain medicine. It wasn’t enough, never enough to fully blunt it. She trembled when the worst of it passed, opening weary eyes.
Her mother’s face, lined with wrinkles, so like her own smiled down at her. She closed her eyes. Doctors said it would be any day now. They kept saying that. Kept whispering, thinking she couldn’t hear, but she heard.
A part of her wanted to go now. But something kept her hanging on. More than the dreams of him, more than the memory still as clear as a picture in her mind, she had to wait, and so she did, astonishing her doctors, family, and friends. But soon she wouldn’t be able to hang on.
Alice took a rattling breath. The cancer metastasized on a daily basis. It was in her lungs, blood, spleen, kidneys, you name it… it was there. At first doctors had suggested surgery, but she knew it was like trying to put a Band-Aid on an arterial bleed. Useless. Eventually, the doctors had decided to “control the pain.” She’d known what that meant: it was over. No more hope.
“Alice,” her mother rubbed her fingers over Alice’s bald brows. “Tutu is here. She wants to speak with you.”
Since returning Alice had refused to meet with her great-grandmother. Not because she was still angry, but because seeing her would make her remember him.
“Please talk with her,” her mother pleaded, “She’s old and travels down here every day only for you to say no.”
Alice didn’t say anything, but gave a gentle nod. Her mother gave a swift smile, glanced over her shoulder and nodded.
“Love you, Alice,” Tabby whispered, leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek as Alice’s father wheeled her great grandmother into the room.
Her frail grandmother-- covered in wrinkles and liver spots-- looked the epitome of health compared to her. Filmy brown eyes studied her. Tutu let out a heavy sigh.
Alice looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet Tutu’s scrutiny.
“The fairy-” Tutu began.
Alice sucked in a breath.
“She came to you.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
Alice’s heart bled anew, she bit her bottom lip as the tears she’d refused to cry in front of Tabby finally came. She nodded.