She finally lifted her head and bluntly said, “Because I was a walking disaster.”
Her use of past tense encouraged me.
I brushed the hair off her neck and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “No you weren’t.”
“I really was, Sam.” She smiled tightly. “I couldn’t shut down anymore. You know that feeling you get in your stomach from a sudden drop? Mine felt like that all the time. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I was just stressed about everything. Especially all the kids like Morgan dying at children’s hospitals.”
My head snapped back. “What?”
“I can’t visit them all. I just can’t. I do my best, but do you have any idea how many dying kids there are out there?” She pushed out of my arms and got to her feet. “It’s so fucking unfair.” Her chin quivered as she began to pace while chewing on her thumbnail.
I sat up on the bed. “Levee, Morgan isn’t dying.”
She stopped, and her eyes jumped to mine.
“She was released a few days ago, actually. She was only at the hospital because she kept getting sick during her treatments. So they moved her to a more sterile environment.”
She swallowed hard, and tears filled her eyes. “Really?”
“Do you even ask about these dying kids you go see?”
“No. I’m not going to invade their privacy by asking a million questions. When I go, it’s to offer them a diversion, not to remind them why they are there in the first place.”
“Levee, you’re killing yourself with guilt over sick kids who are fighting and winning.”
“They aren’t all winning, Sam.” Her voice cracked at the end.
I kept my tone soft but firm. “But a lot of them are. Focus on the right part of that equation. No wonder you’re depressed. You think every kid who visits a hospital is dying.”
“I don’t think they all are….but—”
I interrupted her again before she had the chance to muddle it back up in her head. “Hospitals are where kids go to get better. Yes, some lose their battles, but most do not.”
“But some do,” she snapped. Hanging her head, she whispered, “My sister, Lizzy, died in a hospital three weeks after she was diagnosed with leukemia.”
And there it was.
Levee had a past of her own.
And just knowing that we shared something so similar gutted me.
“C’mere,” I said, but I didn’t wait for her to obey. I went to her.
Her arms were tucked between us, but she accepted my embrace, leaning her head into the base of my neck. I backed her toward the bed then turned at the last second and pulled her down on top of me.
“How old were you?” I asked as her stiff body relaxed.
“Eight,” she squeaked.
“That’s a long time ago. Have you ever seen someone…ya know…to talk about it?” I smoothed her curls down and kissed the top of her head.
“Yeah. I did when I was a kid.”
“And recently?” I prompted.
“I don’t really remember her all that well. I mean, I do. But it’s not like she’s haunting me or something. Most of what I remember of her was in the hospital for those three weeks. Then how lonely I felt when she died. She was two years older than me. I wanted to be just like Lizzy when I grew up. Then, one day, I was older than she was. That was really hard.”
I nodded in understanding. It did suck. Anne was three years younger than me. I was older than she’d ever be.
“It’s funny. I don’t remember a ton about Lizzy, but one of my clearest memories of her was the day a celebrity visited the hospital she was at. She was so sick at that point, but the moment he walked in the room, bearing nothing more than a stuffed animal and a T-shirt, she perked up completely. She was laughing and smiling. We thought meeting someone famous was the coolest thing in the entire world. I swear she was a different person for at least a week. It was crazy how something so small meant so much to us back then.”
“Who was the celebrity?” I asked, smoothing a hand down her back in understanding.
“Ric Flair.”