When they arrived in oncology they stopped briefly at a desk for Kate to grab some documents and Alice surveyed the waiting area. A group of three women in their fifties or sixties—sisters perhaps—giggled quietly. A young girl, probably no older than twenty-five, lay with her bald head in (what must have been) her mother’s lap. A blond woman flicked through a magazine while her husband dozed beside her.
After a moment Kate appeared with a folder and steered Alice to a large communal room at the end of the corridor. Along each wall was a row of beige vinyl armchairs of which about half were occupied. Green curtains hung open between each chair. Support people sat beside their charges, reading magazines or talking to nurses, while the patients stared at iPads or portable DVD players. Alice watched a bosomy nurse theatrically sneak some cookies to the husband of a patient.
“These are the fancy ones,” she whispered, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “They’re s’posed to be for patients only. Don’t tell anyone or I’ll lose my job.”
“This is you,” Kate said, leading her into the far corner. Alice was grateful to be tucked away. There was something about being in this big long room alone that made her feel exposed.
“The nurse will come over soon. She will attach the IV to your PICC line and start with some saline solution. Then, once your chemo cocktail arrives from the pharmacy, she’ll start that. You might start to feel tired, maybe a bit woozy. Make sure you tell your nurse if you’re feeling faint, nauseated, or tingly.”
“And then what?” Alice asked.
“And then the fun part.” Kate held up an iPad. “I’ve put some movies on here for you. Titanic. Gatsby. Romeo and Juliet. The Wolf of Wall Street.”
Alice stared at her. “But … how did you—”
“Zoe told me.” She smiled, then added, “Who doesn’t love Leo?”
Alice wondered why this sweet gesture suddenly sat like a bad prawn in her belly.
“Oh, and I’ll take that,” she said, swiping Alice’s phone from her hand. She tucked it into her pocket. “You can have it back when you’re done.”
“Are phones not allowed?”
“Well, they are. But I want you and Leo to have a good time. And patients report they are far more relaxed if they’re not checking their phone every five minutes.”
“But what if Zoe—”
“I’ll answer it. If it’s important, I’ll bring it to you,” Kate said, dumping the iPad in Alice’s lap. “Watch Leo. Iris will be here to hook you up in just a minute.” The nurse who had handed over the contraband cookies turned and waved at the sound of her name. “You’ll love Iris,” Kate said. “She’s everyone’s favorite. And I’ll be back to check on you throughout the morning.”
“You’re leaving?” Alice said, suddenly vaguely panicked.
“Just going to my office at the end of the hall. If you need me, you tell Iris, I’ll come right back.”
Alice suddenly felt very small in her large leather chair, waiting for poison to be intravenously tubed into her bloodstream. Kate paused and came back to her side. “You know what? Why don’t I wait awhile?”
Alice wanted to tell her No, it’s fine, you go on back to work. Instead she smiled and accepted the offer from the woman that she wanted so much to hate.
*
Once Alice was attached to the IV, Kate returned to work and Alice started thumbing over her iPad. Then she noticed Paul squeaking across the large room toward her.
“You’re back!” she exclaimed.
“Of course.” He was swaying a little. “How are you feeling?”
“Not bad. No nausea yet.” Alice sniffed the air. Paul smelled of some kind of spirit—bourbon or maybe whiskey. “Paul. Are you drunk?”
“No. I mean…” He looked guilty. “A little.”
“Why did you come back here?” she asked. “It’s not like you’ll be able to drive me home in your state.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I ran out of money and didn’t have anywhere else to go. And I thought you might like someone to talk to while you had your treatment.”
Alice stared at him. She and Paul had been close once, but since he’d discovered alcohol, their relationship had fizzled to the odd phone call for money or visit to drop off food. The idea of making small talk with him—while he was drunk—was oddly unsettling.
“Um,” she said finally. “Well, what did you want to talk about?”
Paul looked pleasantly surprised—clearly he’d expected to be thrown out. He glanced behind him and located a chair, which he pulled up to Alice’s.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
It was a nice gesture, leaving it to her, but it was too broad, and she didn’t have the brain capacity right now to narrow it down. “You decide,” she said.
“All right,” he said. “There is something I’ve always wondered about.”
This should be interesting, Alice thought. She’d never thought Paul wondered about anything, these days, other than alcohol. “Go on.”
“It’s just,” he continued. “You never did tell me who Zoe’s father was.”
Right at that moment, Alice had her first wave of nausea.
38
I am calm, confident, and in control. I am calm, confident, and in control. I am calm, confident, and in control. Zoe silently recited the affirmations on the stage while her legs bounced under the table. She felt a thousand eyes on her (even though there were probably only twenty-five people in the room), but none of them were Harry’s. Beads of sweat ran from her armpits down her sides. Where was he?
Since last week, they’d made some progress in their unconventional friendship. She still tried to duck away when she saw him coming in the corridor, but she’d always hoped he’d catch her first, and he usually did. Conversation was still mortifying, but Harry did most of the talking. Whenever they were in close quarters Zoe felt an almost exquisite agony—like she’d die if he took even a step back from her, and she’d die if he didn’t. Sometimes, when she caught Harry looking at her, she’d allow herself to wonder if he felt the same way, but she knew that was just her own wishful thinking. Once, when Mr. Bahr called on her in class and she was disintegrating under the spotlight, Harry leaned so far back in his chair he fell backward and the entire class cracked up laughing … at him instead of her. For the first time in ages she felt like someone knew she existed. More than that, someone cared. She still had no idea why he was pretending to have a knee injury, but she liked the feeling that they were sharing some kind of secret.
Yesterday the whole debate team had gone to the library to have one last practice of the debate. Zoe was so nervous she couldn’t even return Harry’s smile when she walked in. Later, when she read from her index cards, she barely lifted her head, but she managed to croak out the speech. Even she couldn’t deny the victory in that.
Afterward Harry said to her, “You were awesome.”
“We’re going to be graded on eye contact,” she replied dryly.
He thought for a moment. “So just look at me.”
It was beyond weird that she thought that might work.