CHAPTER 20

“I’ll wait outside,” I said when we got to the hospital that afternoon. I would’ve been glad to stand on the street while I waited. I know lots of kids who want to be doctors. Not me. The hospital smell gets to me every time.

“You’ve got to at least come up with me so my mother can thank you,” Al said. “You don’t have to hang around if you don’t want to.” So we each got a card from the admissions office and went up in the elevator.

“I might be in the way,” I said, hanging back when we got to Al’s mother’s room. She pushed me in ahead of her.

“Hello, dear! How nice to see you!” Al’s mother said gaily. There was a man sitting in the only chair. He got up as we came in. Oh, oh, I thought. Two’s company, three’s a crowd, and four’s one too many.

“This is Mr. Wright,” Al said. We shook hands. He beamed down at me. He wasn’t anything like what I expected. He had a jolly round face and his head was freckled and shiny where no hair grew. If he hadn’t had on a three-piece suit, he might’ve passed for a bus driver, I thought.

“I’ve heard a lot about you and your family,” he told me. “And about how kind you’ve been to Alexandra.”

I smiled and tried not to look too wimpy. Sometimes compliments are hard to handle. Mr. Wright wasn’t anything like Ole Henry Lynch, Al’s mother’s former beau.

I went over and kissed Al’s mother. Rather, she kissed me. “How are you, dear?” she said. She had dark circles under her eyes and she had lost weight. But otherwise she looked O.K.

“Well, Virginia, I know you want to be alone with these two girls,” Mr. Wright said. “So I’ll wend my way out. Don’t bother seeing me to the door,” and he laughed at his own joke. “Doesn’t she look first-rate?” he said to Al. “Your mother has weathered the storm. She has come through like a trooper. Get those roses back in her cheeks in jig time. That’s the ticket. Get the roses back. Good-bye, Virginia,” and Al and I looked on as he gave Al’s mother’s cheek a little peck. Like a chicken going after grain.

When he’d gone, Al’s mother closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillow.

“Are you O.K., Ma?” Al asked anxiously. “Want me to get you a drink of water or anything? Maybe we should go,” she said to me.

“No, don’t go right this minute.” She opened her eyes. “Bill’s a dear, really he is. It’s just that he wears me out telling me how wonderful I look when I don’t feel wonderful. When he’s here, I feel as if I had to be cheerful all the time, and it takes something out of me. That’s all.”

Al went and stood by the bed. “I called Dad and Louise and told them I wouldn’t be coming right away,” she told her mother. “They said fine, I could come later.” Her voice was without expression. No one would’ve known how much that telephone conversation had cost her.

Tears came to her mother’s eyes. I was embarrasssd. I wanted to leave, but my feet stayed where they were.

“I’m proud of you, Alexandra,” her mother said. “The way you’ve stood by me. The way you gave up your trip. I know how much you wanted to go. I know how hard it must’ve been for you. I remember how important things like that were at your age.”

“Hey, Ma!” Al said. “That’s what daughters are for. For their poor old mothers to lean on, right?” She tried to make a joke out of it, but both her and her mother’s eyes were full of tears. I was on the verge of sneaking out and leaving them alone when Al’s mother turned to me and said, “You’re a nice child. I’m glad Alexandra has you for a friend.”

“Me too,” I said.

Al’s mother kept smiling at us.

“You are two lovely girls,” she said. “Two very nice people. And you’ve made me very proud.” For no reason at all, Mr. Richards popped into my mind. I wondered if he’d popped into Al’s.

The nurse bustled in. “Time for our rest,” she cried. I wondered if she was going to hop into bed alongside Al’s mother and take a rest with her. “Oh, my, haven’t we had a lot of visitors this afternoon! And look at all the gorgeous flowers! We certainly did ourselves proud today!”

When we were leaving, Al promised her mother she’d be back tomorrow.

“Tell your mother and father how much I appreciate all they’ve done,” Al’s mother said to me. “For Al and me. I’ll write to them later. I can never repay them for their kindness.”

I said I’d tell them. And we left.