Subject to Change (17 page)

“Wow.” Cat sounded awed. “That last sentence. Do you know what he was talking about?”

“Well, my mom and sister kind of lost it near the end. We knew Dad wasn’t going to survive, and they were just miserable around him all the time. But I wanted to remember good stuff with him, you know? So we played cards and made fun of TV shows, and even right at the end, when he was too weak to talk, we played Hangman and he would cheat by playing medical terms that there was no way I would recognize.” I laughed at the memory and swiped a tear from my eye.

“I mean, call me crazy, Joey, but it sounds like Hawk was right.”

“About what?”

“I mean, it sounds like you could have just as easily made your dad a promise that you would do the Child Life thing.”

I shook my head. “No. He said he wanted me to be just like him.” But even as I said it, I saw Cat’s point.

“Yeah, because he gave people hope. Those child life specialists — don’t they do that?”

“More than the doctor I shadowed. Definitely.”

She squeezed my shoulder. “Get your sister to dig up that trust fund document. Start there. If I’m wrong, you can go right back to slow suicide by med school.”

Chapter 15

Cat finally
left, and I collapsed, exhausted, in my bed. Thank God for the girl and her proactive sheet-changing. It took a couple hours of me chugging the last of the water Cat had left there to feel human again, but I finally got the balls to call Julianne and ask her to pull up the terms of the trust fund and email me a scanned copy of the document. I knew Mom had it in the safe in her room, in case of fire or something, and I wanted to see the document itself. I told her it was for the registrar, just to verify the existence of the trust.

The way the lie rolled off my tongue had to have been a sign — I really wanted Cat’s theory to be true.

It didn’t hurt that the whole time the gears whirred in my head — what it would be like to really, really switch my major, be free from pre-med and do work I really loved. I couldn’t help the picture of Dad that flashed through — him smiling at me, proud that I’d chosen to do what I was really good at, something that really made me happy and helped people who were suffering at the same time. Just like he’d wanted me to.

When my email dinged a few minutes later with the files from Julianne, I scrolled through the introductory terms of the agreement. A lump formed in my throat when I read my dad’s name right next to mine: “Doctor Michael Daly designates this trust fund for the purpose of providing an education for Josephine Mary Daly, his daughter, who will use it to earn an education in the medical or helping fields, related to the study, cure, and treatment of cancer.”

The tears flooding my eyes made it difficult to read — and my interpretation of what it meant made it hard to believe. I read the section marked “terms” over and over and over again until the words were burned in my brain, just like those of the letter Dad had written me.

If there was some way this agreement absolutely had to apply to med school, I wasn’t seeing it. And since Andi had told me that the majority of the kids her profession helped were suffering from cancer, it seemed like the terms described a child life career perfectly.

I sat there on the bed, covering my eyes with my palms, swiping them down to dry my cheeks of tears. I tried to imagine what it would be like to drop out of pre-med.

No more Orgo. No more anatomy. No more mind-numbing medical statistics courses that my brain barely understood and my spirit got nothing out of. No more fighting every single day through every single class and carrying the burden of my dad’s last wish — or what I’d thought was his last wish — with me every step of the way.

No more canceling plans with friends, missing sleep, or not having a life because I had too much homework to do. No more missing out on life.

Hawk was right — Dad had never wanted me to drown beneath his gift. He would have hated knowing that it had made my life so much harder, not easier.

Reading the terms of this trust fund, I could honestly tell myself that Dad would still be proud of me, wherever he was, for doing my best to fulfill it. Tears filled my eyes, and I reached for a sheet of my nicest stationery and a decent black pen. I dated it at the top and then began writing.

Dear Dad,

I tried to go to medical school — I really did. The thing is, as much as I love being with patients, I actually suck at science. Things don’t always turn out the way we plan them. You used to say that to Mom all the time when she said she’d wanted to grow old with you.

Anyway, I’m writing you to let you know that I’m doing it — I’m doing what you wanted me to, just in a different way. These kids, they need me just like your patients needed you. I can’t cure their cancer, but I can make their cancer suck a little less.

I hope you’re proud of me. I think you are. But I think what would be most important to you is that I’m proud of myself. You taught me that the most important thing is to be proud of myself, and I’ll never forget it.

Love,

Josephine

My phone buzzed with a text message, jolting me out of my teary letter-writing state and pulling my heart up into my throat. I hated that I wanted it to be Hawk. I glanced at the time as I picked it up — holy shit, drama took a lot of time and energy. It was almost five o’clock. I’d wasted an entire day recovering from a hangover, fighting with Hawk, angsting over my major, and crying.

That’s real life, Joey. That’s what you’re about to start living.

It was like some freaky Hawk-voice had infiltrated my brain.

I shook my head and checked my texts. My finger froze on the screen when I saw a name there that I’d never seen before: Olivia.

Cn u take me to that house? To volunteer?

I started to reply and then deleted it.

Another text came through.
U promised. Have 2 start 2day if I want 2 finish in time.

I let out a huge sigh. She was right — I had promised. And I hadn’t seen the people at Rowland House for longer than usual — nine or ten days, if I really thought about it.

I texted back.
Ok. Can Hawk get you there?

The thought of seeing him again made my stomach clench. What would I even say to him? We’d both made it perfectly clear that we were through when I left.

He’s dropping me off now. C U there.

I took a deep breath. He wouldn’t be there; he’d just be dropping her off. I might catch a glimpse of him, but nothing more. The thought both filled me with relief and sadness.

When I arrived at Rowland House, Olivia stood right outside wearing a thin-looking hoodie, her long, dark waves whipping around her face in the late March wind.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” she replied with a shy smile. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“No prob. Don’t you have a coat?”

“I left it at my aunt’s.”

“Ah. Got it.” My heart twisted for all this girl had gone through and all she had put herself through. My instincts told me they were related. “You could have gone in.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t know what I would say.”

It amazed me that this girl who was so confident, so rage-filled when she was fighting with her brother could be too shy to ring a doorbell. I smiled at her. ”Well, that’s what I’m here for, right?”

She gave me a slight smile and followed me to the front door.

When I buzzed in and said who I was and that I had another volunteer, the phone just clicked down. Three seconds later, the front door swung open, and Sherri swept me in her arms, hugging me tight to her and saying, “Joey! It’s been almost two weeks! We’ve all missed you so much!”

A warm glow flooded through me, followed quickly by guilt. Between the date party, classes, and being wrapped up in Hawk, I’d almost forgotten about this place. “But I’ve only volunteered half a dozen times so far.”

“You’re here more than most people are,” Sherri said.

“It’s true,” Olivia said softly.

We both looked at her. She shrugged. “My family was in and out of here for a few years. People usually volunteer once to feel good about themselves, like on Christmas or something. But not usually much more than that.”

“That’s right,” Sherri said. “Joey and Hawk have been amazing. So, we have a few children waiting for a story or some crafts.”

“Ah…” Olivia’s hand flew to the back of her neck, rubbing it. A flash of pain shot through me at the realization of how much she looked like Hawk, doing the same thing when she was nervous or upset. “Actually, is there anything else for me to do? Cleaning bathrooms or doing dishes or…anything? I just kind of… The memories are kind of a lot to handle, you know?”

“Oh.” Sherri looked at Olivia with a flash of pity that quickly turned into a smile. “Yes, dear. Yes, of course.”

Though Olivia bristled when Sherri put a hand on her shoulder, she did look relieved.

I spent the next couple of hours playing with the kids. We read
Pinkalicious
,
Where the Wild Things Are
, and
Three Ninja Pigs
. I’d read them to these kids so many times since I’d started volunteering that, by now, they could complete the sentences I started.

“Why don’t you guys just read them to me?” I teased. So they took turns reading them in backward order, making up parts of the story they’d forgotten or substituting silly words for the actual ones. By the time six-year-old Angela, whose sister was in Children’s with a brain tumor, had made it through
Pinkalicious
, they were begging me to make pink cupcakes.

I’d helped Hawk in the kitchen enough to know there was probably a box of white cake mix and red food coloring somewhere in the vast food storeroom. But when I went into the kitchen with the three little kids in tow, I found Olivia bent over the counter, her shoulders and head of black waves shaking with sobs.

“Oh. Oh, Olivia.” I turned to the little ones. “Hey guys?” I said in my best peppy voice. “Before we bake cupcakes, I think we should draw pictures of what we want them to look like. Then I can go shopping for exactly the ingredients we need, and we can bake them next time.” My forced, wide smile seemed to convince all of them, and I breathed a sigh of relief that they bought my excuse and ran laughing from the kitchen to go look for paper.

I turned back to Olivia, stared at her thin, trembling shoulders, at the way her whole body shook. I barely knew this girl. I didn’t know whether to hug her or bring her tissues or…

But right as I was going to make a decision, she stood up, sniffling.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she stuttered between swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just…the memories of this place, you know?”

“You remember it?”

“Yeah. I especially remember Will. He was always pissed off, and Mom was a mess. Dad was just scared all the time. That was the worst part. Well, aside from when they got kicked out for his fucking drinking.” She glanced over at the doorway where the kids had disappeared. “Sorry. Again.”

I had no idea what to say. I supposedly had all these great instincts for comforting people, but apparently that only applied to little kids because I was totally freaking lost with this girl.

So I just said what was in my heart.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Olivia grunted. “Which part?”

“All of it. The cancer. Your mom. Your dad. I’ve only had one parent die, and it frickin’ sucks.”

“It was their own faults.”

“No,” I said, crossing the room and grabbing her a paper towel from the counter. “They were in a lot of pain.”

“So was I. And I fought. Will fought. We stayed here to keep going. And he…he even turned out pretty decent.”

“Yeah. He did. And look at you. You’re here, volunteering…”

“Oh, please. I’m a fuck up.”

“No, you’re a kid.”

Olivia shot a glare at me.

I shook my head. “You are! You made it through cancer. You’re in high school. In your case, that’s a good thing. You can do your volunteer hours, and you can quit drinking and selling pot out of your locker. You can go back to school like it never happened, get good grades, go to college. It’s not too late.” I peered into her eyes. “And seriously, you don’t even smoke that shit, do you?”

She laughed once, swiping the paper towel under her nose. “No. It gave me the worst headache ever the only time I did it. But all my friends do, so I just pretend.”

“I smoked pot a few times. But you’re smart. I was in college before I realized how stupid it was.”

Olivia giggled. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“Okay, I guess you’re cool.”

Something pinged inside me. This girl might never get her mother back, and her aunt may not have been able to connect with her. But just for that one, fleeting moment, I had.

And if I could talk to her, maybe I could talk to Hawk, too.

Like she was reading my mind, Olivia said, “What’d you do to him, anyway?”

My stomach churned. “What do you mean?”

“He so fucking mopey. All he’s done all day is lay around the apartment, staring into space. He wouldn’t even make me anything for lunch. I had to eat cereal. And then when he left for the bar, he only said one word. ‘Bar.’ Like a fucking caveman.”

I smiled. “I know caveman mode.”

“But seriously, what did you do to him?”

“We got in a fight. A big fight. We’re really different from each other, you know?”

“Well, all I have to say is that you must be more alike than you are different. Because he was bearable the last time I saw him, and ever since your fight this morning, he’s a fucking wreck.”

“He’s just quiet, right?”

She shook her head. “He’s, like…I told you. He can’t do anything. Hawk is never off his A-game.”

“Never out of control,” I murmured.

“That’s right. That’s what he always says. It’s, like, his thing.”

We stood there for a few seconds in silence, staring at the kitchen. I noticed that it looked like Olivia had managed to clean it up before she totally broke down.

“So…when’s he coming to pick you up?” I finally asked.

“I texted him. Actually, he should be outside right about now.”

“Oh. I…okay. Well, I’ll walk you out.”

When I opened the front door, the roar of Hawk’s idling bike filled the street. It made my insides tremble along with it. Hawk faced away so I couldn’t see his expression, but his shoulders were tense as Olivia scurried toward the bike. He handed something to her and she immediately turned back around and headed toward me, something white flashing in her hand.

She handed it to me, gave me a slight smile, and mumbled, “I’ll text you, okay?”

I managed to nod before staring down at the envelope. Scrawled on the front, in the same messy handwriting he’d written his first note to me, was:
Your move.

I tore it open, my hands trembling.

It was a form from the University to change my major. There was a small Post-it stuck next to it, with more Hawk-writing.

Just think about it.

Little did he know, I already had.