“I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.”
—Louisa May Alcott
There is no lack of courage in hospitals. Our counselor, Rose, gave us this quote during one particularly difficult time. None of us seemed to be getting better. Even Becca had given up the inspiring, rah-rah speeches. It felt like we had used everything up and all we had left was some thin core of courage that gave us the ability to face each day. It was so hard to hang on in those months that I wonder if any of us could do it again if we needed.
I think back to that quote while I lie on my bed. My mother sometimes takes a Sunday afternoon nap, and I hope Quinn believes that’s what I’m doing today, as well. I’m afraid to face him because I don’t want to betray Marilee’s trust. Also, whatever the problem is, I want to give Marilee time to find the words to tell Quinn about it herself.
I have no desire to take messages back and forth between the two of them—especially if they are breaking up.
I almost keep the Lizzie stone in my hand when I lay down, but instead I push it back farther on my nightstand. It’s going to have to stay there until I can figure out what to do with it. Even if it doesn’t seem right for me to hold it now like I did before, I can’t just throw it out like it’s trash. I need to find someplace special to leave it.
Without the stone, I have nothing to temper my worry, so I turn my face resolutely to the wall. The beige paint I see there should help me stay calm; there can’t be much to fret over if I concentrate on beige. In a few minutes, I hope to be able to pray.
I’m trying to distract myself. I refuse to say the one word, even silently, that I fear. At the edge of my mind though, I can’t help but wonder. All of the sisters think about it once in a while, even if we don’t talk about it very often.
I screw up my courage and flex my fingers; I resist the urge to turn around and reach for my stone again. This can’t be that bad. It can’t be about cancer.
For the first time, I feel relief at the missing ring on Marilee’s finger. The ring means Quinn must have done some insensitive guy thing. It’s not her birthday, but maybe he missed some anniversary that only the two of them know about. People in love always have these little secret days. Maybe this is their anniversary of the first time he kissed her and usually he gives her a rose, but today he forgot.
I sigh a little. At least Marilee got kissed—on the lips and not the forehead. I should remind her of that tomorrow. A good kiss can heal a thousand hurt feelings. Especially because I know Quinn loves her deeply. I’m sure if Marilee just told Quinn why she took her ring off, he would explain everything and all would be back to normal.
It would certainly be better than me saying anything to him.
I turn to look at the clock on my nightstand and note that enough time has passed that I can go downstairs. Quinn’s shift at the station starts at five, so he would have left the house by now. Which means I can eat some of that salad I was too upset to even touch for lunch.
I brush my hair quickly. Before I leave my room, I pick up the Lizzie stone and put it in the pocket of my sweater. Maybe after I eat, I’ll go outside and find someplace to put the stone.
I try to be quiet as I go down the stairs because my mother’s door is still closed. When I get to the kitchen, I pick up the container of salad from the refrigerator. I don’t feel like sitting inside, so I decide to go outside on the porch and eat in case the birds come early.
I love to wait for the birds. The wild green parrots that fly around Pasadena have started visiting my mother’s street about this time every day. They like to roost in the silver maple trees here. The parrots always make a terrible racket, but I’ve been fascinated with them. They have a lovely history. Back in the late fifties, they escaped from a pet store when it caught on fire. On that day, they went from being well-fed pets to wild birds that needed to learn how to survive in city streets. Whenever I think of them, it reminds me I’m not the only one who has to adapt.
I open the main house door and start to push against the screen door, when—oh—I stop.
I gulp. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
I finish opening the screen door and step through.
Rick looks up at me and smiles. He’s sitting on the top step and has been reading that same sports magazine Quinn had last night. The late afternoon sun is hitting the porch and it makes Rick’s brown eyes look almost golden. His suit jacket is draped over one of the lawn chairs at the top of the porch, and he has the sleeves on his shirt rolled up. He looks relaxed. Much more comfortable than me and much too handsome to see me in my old sweater. Not that he hasn’t seen me looking the way I do now a million times before.
“Have the birds come?” I ask. There’s a walnut tree in Rick’s backyard next door that is particularly popular with the parrots. They also like any berry bushes around.
He shakes his head. “Not while I’ve been here.”
If he wasn’t still wearing the same clothes he wore to church, I would have thought he’d gone home to change. He moved back in with his father some months ago so he could save money for the condo he plans to buy soon.
“You’ve been here this whole time?” I ask.
“I wanted to be sure you were feeling all right,” he says. The clouds shift, and shadows cover his face. His eyes are now a deep brown, but he looks away from me. “Quinn needed to leave and—”
I’m suddenly thinking back to all the times that Rick has been around when no one else was there to help. “My brother asked you to wait, didn’t he?”
Rick looks up at me, a little sheepish. “I wanted to read some of the articles in this magazine anyway. And it’s nice sitting here on the porch. It hasn’t been a problem for me to stay.”
“Well, it should be a problem—I mean you have a life and you can’t be—” I stop and suddenly realize. “You’ve been doing this for years, haven’t you? Babysitting me when Quinn can’t.”
I need to sit down. I can’t sit on the same step as Rick, though—not now—so I pull one of the old lawn chairs over and sink down into its webbed seat. I put my salad container on the wide porch railing to my right. I wish I could put my heart somewhere, too, so it wouldn’t keep beating so fast inside me.
I look over and see Rick watching me cautiously.
“I had lots of time back then,” he finally says. “Besides, your mom fed me. I owed your whole family.”
I keep rolling back the years. “That time you came and helped me with the ballet moves. You hadn’t really come by to see Quinn—you were there checking on me.”
Rick’s eyes flash a little. “Well, I didn’t think Quinn and your mom should have both been gone at the same time. You could have fallen, and no one would have even known. Of course, I checked on you.”
I sit there absorbing what he’s saying.
“Trust me. I didn’t mind,” Rick finally adds softly. “You were my little Lizzie and you were sick.”
I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
I begin to stand so I can go back inside, but Rick rises at the same time and takes the step up to the porch so that we’re even.
“Hey,” he says quietly as he puts his hand on my shoulder. “There’s no need to apologize. There’s nothing wrong with needing help from a friend.”
“But I kicked you in the shins,” I say. I wipe away the tear that is running down my cheek.
“Well, yeah,” Rick says with a chuckle. “But it was only that one time, and I probably deserved it.”
“Probably? You broke my poor heart.”
“I was a foolish young boy back then who didn’t know better,” Rick says as he takes a step closer and gives me a hug. “It won’t happen again.”
It’s strange how my tears stop when Rick hugs me. He’s got that woodsy smell to him, and his arms feel good wrapped around me.
“You’re promising never to laugh at me again?” I ask skeptically.
“I’m promising never to break your heart again,” Rick says and kisses the top of my head. Which sort of cracks my heart a tiny bit right then and there.
“How old am I?” I ask Rick, my head pressed against his shirt. I can’t help but strain to hear if his heart is beating fast like mine is, but all I hear is the steady thump of a man’s heart who is hugging someone he thinks of as his little sister.
“Why?” Rick leans back, his voice filled with surprise. “It’s not your birthday.”
I step back some, too. “No, that’s not until November.”
“You’re not worried about growing old, are you? You’re barely out of high school. Why, I still have Girl Scout cookies in my freezer that I bought from you not that long ago.”
I look up at his dear puzzled face and feel my heart break completely in two. I had always thought that maybe when I turned twenty-one Rick would see me as a woman instead of a younger sister. But I’m twenty-two, and if he hasn’t figured out that I’m grown by now, he probably never will.
“It’s been at least nine years. I don’t think cookies last that long,” I finally manage to say. “Not even in the freezer.”
“I’m saving them for a special occasion,” he says.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“What?” Rick looks at me. “Even a guy like me is going to have something to celebrate sooner or later.”
“Well, yeah but—” I look at him skeptically. “Wait a minute. You celebrate all the time. What are you really saving those cookies for?”
Rick flushes and then grins. “Okay, maybe for a while I was keeping them so when people came over and looked in my freezer they’d see proof that I’m a good guy. Everybody should support the Girl Scouts. They’re practically a national institution.”
“You’re using those cookies to impress women, aren’t you?” I say indignantly. “The cookies I sold to you.”
Rick shrugs.
“Someday you’re going to break a tooth on one of those cookies,” I say, thinking I’ve made my point, even if he is standing there grinning at me.
“What?” I snap at him as I reach back and grab my salad container.
“Nothing. I was just thinking how perfect you’re going to be as a wedding planner. Nothing gets past you. And you’re good with people. You’ll do a great job on this wedding for your brother.”
“I don’t know. So far I haven’t even convinced the bride to wear—”
I stop. I almost told him that Marilee is refusing to wear her engagement ring. My only excuse is that Rick sometimes makes me forget my common sense—
“So—” I try to think of something to distract Rick before that thoughtful look on his face turns to an enlightened one “—want some of my salad? I haven’t eaten any of it yet, and it’s almost too big for one person anyway. If I know you, you’re hungry about now. And you should at least have some of that iced tea Mom has in the refrigerator. It’s the raspberry-flavored stuff.”
There. I’ve given him all the distractions I can think of. And it works.
“Sure. I could eat,” Rick says as he reaches up high enough to pull open the screen door and still leave enough room for me to walk under his arm.
“Good,” I say as I duck down low so that I won’t touch him as I pass.
I hear the hard thud of something in my pocket hitting the doorjamb before I realize that could be a problem. The pocket of my sweater swings a little.
“What’s that?” Rick asks. “A bottle of medicine or something?”
“It’s nothing,” I say vaguely as I walk into the living room.
“A spoon for cough syrup?”
“I’m not sick,” I say. “It’s nothing.”
“It sounded like a chunk of concrete,” Rick says as he follows me through the living room. Then he stops, and I’m fool enough to turn around to see why.
“You still have that rock, don’t you?” he asks. “Quinn said you’d kept it, but that’s got to be—what—how many years ago was that?”
“Well, you have those cookies,” I say as I turn around and continue walking into the kitchen. If Rick wants any salad, he will just have to pick his jaw up from the floor and follow me.
I stop and get two plates and forks on my way to the table. I spread the salad on the plates, making sure to divide the shrimp and lettuce evenly. I know Rick doesn’t like avocados, so I take all of them and give him the tomatoes.
“You’ll be happy,” I say as he sits down. “There’s no alfalfa sprouts.”
“I can eat alfalfa sprouts if I have to,” Rick says a little defensively.
“Good,” I say as I sit down, too. “Because that’s probably what those cookies that are in your freezer taste like.”
Rick looks at me a minute, and then he grins. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I look down at my salad.
Rick doesn’t say anything, he just reaches out his hand. “We need to pray.”
I reach over and take his hand. Rick turns his palm slightly so my hand is all swallowed up in his. He seems content for us to just stay this way for a minute.
“I never thought you would be going forward this morning,” Rick finally says. “If I’d known, I would have waited for you and we could have walked up together.”
Is it my imagination, or is he holding my hand for real and not just for prayer?
I swallow. “I didn’t tell anyone I was going to do it—well, except for Pastor Engstrom and the sisters.”
Rick nods and bows his head.
I close my eyes and bend my head forward.
“Thank you, Father,” Rick prays. “You’ve given us so much today. Make us worthy of You. Amen.”
We both open our eyes and raise our heads, but neither one of us is inclined to pull our hands apart. Rick is just gazing at me with fondness in his eyes. Finally, I’m the one who looks away. Affection will never be enough when I want heart-melting love.
And then Rick starts talking like nothing unusual is happening, so I decide that must be the way it is. After a while the conversation drifts to the One Hundred and Five Celebration.
“You’re having it at the fire station, aren’t you?” I ask.
Rick nods. “But I don’t know if we should have it on the second floor where the lightbulb is—that’s where some of the cots are. Or, if we should have it in that newer building, the one beside the old station. But that doesn’t help recognition for the old building. We even have a huge tent top we can set up in the back.”
“I think either one of them would be fine.” I’ve been in that turn-of-the-century fire station a few times when I’ve dropped things off for Quinn. It’s actually quite attractive with all its polished wood and high windows. I’m sure it’s hard to maintain, though, and the building next door is more practical.
“Which do you think would be better for taking pictures?” Rick asks. “The media is still dragging their feet, and I want to make the whole thing as publicity friendly as possible. There’s not very good lighting upstairs, but that’s where the bulb is.” Rick stops and looks at me. “You’ll need to come and help me decide. You’re the professional. I should just rely on your opinion.”
“Technically,” I stall, “I’m not exactly a professional yet. The wedding will be my first event and—”
“Hey, that’s more experience than I have,” Rick says. “Besides, I need you on this one.”
What can I say? I’ve just found out this man has looked out for me since my first day of kindergarten. Even if he’s breaking my heart, I owe him.
I close my eyes in defeat. “I’ll be happy to stop by—just let me know when.”
“Tomorrow,” Rick says. “I’m on duty all day.”
“I’ll come before my classes then. Let’s say eight-thirty.”
Just then we hear the sounds of the parrots coming to roost for the night. I guess if parrots can figure out how to survive on the streets of Pasadena, I can figure out how to celebrate a lightbulb.
After we’ve eaten the salad, Rick leaves and I go back up to my room. The Sisterhood journal is sitting miles away on Marilee’s desk, but I open the drawer in my nightstand and pull out a tablet of paper I use for school. I can write everything down here and then tape the page into the Sisterhood journal. It takes me a couple of minutes to start, but when I do, this is what I write.
My friend, Rick, has Girl Scout cookies that I sold him over a decade ago, before I even had cancer. It’s weird to think that, if things had turned out different, those cookies would have lived longer than me. It makes me wonder about life. How can some things go on and on while other things, that are much more important, die so young? How could a cookie live longer than me? It doesn’t seem right.
At least I managed to keep Marilee’s secret. I do sometimes talk without thinking when I’m around Rick, so that was good for me. The reason I sometimes talk too much around him is probably nerves.
Oh, I just realized something—maybe Marilee is having pre-wedding jitters. I love my brother, but I can see why someone might be nervous about marrying him. After all, he does have some annoying habits. Like the Old Mother Hen thing—he really is overly protective of those he loves. Maybe Marilee is wondering how she can live her life with someone hovering over her all of the time. If that’s the case, I should have been more sensitive. If anyone knows how someone who’s overprotective can drive another person nuts, it is me. I’ll need to talk to Marilee. Really Quinn is a wonderful man, and it’s not that hard to figure out how to deal with that one tiny flaw, but maybe she needs some pointers.
I go to bed early that night, and before I know it, I’m dreaming of chocolate-coated Girl Scout cookies—rows and rows of frozen cookies. And they all have the faces of Rick’s old girlfriends. Even in my dream, I know it’s not right that he used the cookies I sold him to impress other women.
It’s too bad I’m too old to kick him in the shins.