Dana's Valley (25 page)

I tried to hide that fact when I brought the news to Mom. She was seated at the kitchen table thumbing through a recipe book, but she didn't look as though she were really studying the recipes. She had a far-off look in her eyes and a tired slump to her shoulders. I just hated to add to the burden she already carried.

“Mom,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice even. “Brett's gone.”

By the panic that came quickly to Mom's eyes, I knew I hadn't chosen my words too well. “What do you mean?”

“All his stuff is gone.”

She was up off her chair and down to the basement before I could even turn around. I didn't know whether to follow or to stay put. Before I could make up my mind, Dad came in, the newspaper in his hand.

“Where's Mom?” he asked, noticing the open recipe book on the table. I'm sure he thought it must be something to do with Dana again.

“In the basement.” I wondered if I should say more. At length I did. I figured Dad could handle it. “Brett's gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?” For just a second Dad's face reminded me of Corey when he came to our room in a thunderstorm.

I shrugged my shoulders, but I don't think he saw it. He was already heading for the stairs.

As I stood alone in the kitchen, I labored through all the ways Brett's leaving would affect us. Then I found myself thinking of Corey. He would be devastated. He would take it as personal rejection. I allowed myself to loathe Brett for his selfishness, even while I knew I was becoming increasingly tempted to follow him away from the gloom and chaos and pain of our home.

They were gone for a long time. When they did reappear, I could tell that Mom had been crying and Dad didn't look much better. It made my anger at Brett even more intense. Why did he do this to them? Why
now?

I was about to blurt out something about Brett's selfishness, which I'm sure would not have helped the situation, when I noticed Mom was carrying a rather crumpled bit of paper. She lowered herself slowly into the kitchen chair again and pushed the recipe book aside. “He left a note,” she said, seeming to imply that it was terribly considerate of him. “He's found a little apartment in town. Closer to his work.”

I wondered momentarily if my parents were buying that excuse. I certainly wasn't.

“It's on Maple Street—in that little apartment block.”

I knew the building. It wasn't the fanciest place in town. But I sensed that Mom was pleased Brett had chosen to go back to our old neighborhood.

“Number 112,” Mom went on. All the time she talked, her fingers kept smoothing out the piece of paper. “He doesn't have a phone yet, but he'll let us know. …”

“You gonna let him stay?”

Dad had just been sitting in the chair beside Mom rubbing his two palms together. He was staring at his hands, but his eyes weren't really focused on them. His head came up when I spoke. He just nodded. It was Mom who answered me.

“Brett is going through a tough time right now. Maybe it's best that he has a bit of space. At any rate, it might only make him more …” Mom hesitated, probably searching for a word that would describe Brett's attitude without branding him a rebel. “ … more upset,” she finally continued, “if we put pressure on him to come back right now. He's having a difficult time growing up and dealing with a sick sister—all at once.”

“But his friends,” I interrupted. “He sure hasn't picked …” I choose a different tack. “They aren't that good for him. They might—”

Mom stopped me. Her shoulders fell, then lifted, but when she looked up she looked assured, even though fresh tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

“Erin … there comes a time when as parents we have done all we can do. The Bible says to train up a child in the way he should go. We've done that … to the best of our ability. God knows that. Now … now we have to trust. Just trust. We don't like what is happening in Brett's life right now, but we can't force him to make good choices. We can just continue to pray that he will know how much we love him … how much God loves him and … and decide … to make the right choices himself. We need to have faith. In God. In our teaching. And in our son.”

Dad reached out and clasped Mom's hand. “Brett's a good kid at heart. He has so many qualities we're proud of. And remember, he still has much of God's Word hidden in his heart, Erin. That's powerful stuff. And, as your mother said, God still loves him. Satan hasn't won yet. Not by a long way.”

I think, by their words, they were encouraging each other. Mom sort of leaned up against Dad's shoulder and even managed a bit of a smile. I just shook my head. I guess at the moment I would have been happy to see Brett suffer a bit. That wasn't the way they seemed to feel. Way down deep inside I guess I felt good about it. Unconditional love was something to really hang on to.

With Dana at home again, the only time I could really forget her suffering and just be a teenager was at school. And as classes began, I threw myself into my studies. It was a chance to get out of the house and feel alive. My grades soared, and I became more involved in other activities besides basketball. Now that I knew many of my classmates well, it was easy to make arrangements for someone else to stop by and pick me up for school events. It made me feel independent and in control. Things that I hadn't felt for a very long time. And Corey was back in Mom's care. That gave me mixed feelings because, in addition to this energetic third grader, she had Dana to nurse. But I tried hard to set those feelings aside. I was more and more repelled by the morbidity that seemed to hang over our home, and I had twinges of guilt for leaving Corey there.

One of my ninth-grade teachers took me aside one day and suggested that I get involved in the school newspaper. He said I might even try running for an office in our student government. He had nice things to say about my being a
leader.
I liked that. It was great to be looked at as special in some way.

But near the end of September, Dana went back to the cancer center due to more complications she'd experienced, and I let the whole idea of student government go. I let all the other extra things go too. How could I be a leader at school when I never knew when I'd be needed at home to help with Corey, or keep up with laundry, or cook our meals, or other responsibilities? With Mom gone and Grandma not there, I knew enough not to bother to ask if I could be absent as well.

Basketball, though, was something I couldn't possibly give up. The season started again, and Graham came to all the games. I guess I was more conscious of the fact that he was there than I would have liked to be. Occasionally I could hear his voice over the noise of the crowd, cheering me on. Sometimes, if the game didn't go too late, we went out for a Coke with a group of other kids before I caught my ride home. It sort of made up for the fact that Dad and Mom were hardly ever able to be there. I didn't miss them nearly as much anymore. Maybe I had just gotten used to it.

The team had a special meeting after one of our practices, and the school principal came down to talk to us. We couldn't believe what he had to say. Since our junior varsity team had been doing so well, the school had decided to enter us in an out-of-state tournament in two months' time. We would all be required to have our own spending money for meals and snacks and whatever else. The school would pay for transportation and lodging.

We were ecstatic. Never had we dreamed of such an opportunity. But even as we celebrated, I knew I'd never be able to ask Dad for the money. With everything that was going on with Dana, there would never be money for a basketball tournament. For a moment I felt really down … and angry. Too much was disappearing in my life. Too many things I'd had to give up.

And then a new idea dawned on me. I'd earn my own way. Surely Mom and Dad couldn't object to that. I'd take babysitting jobs, and I'd save every penny and still be able to go on that trip. At least it was something to look forward to.

But it was more difficult to manage both school and work than I had thought. True, Brett had managed a job, but he'd made little effort to keep up his grades. I wouldn't allow myself the same casual attitude. But it wasn't to be worked out easily. I couldn't begin my class assignments until after my charges were settled for the night, so many nights I found myself still up at midnight completing homework assignments.

The extra advantage of work was that it kept me away from home even more. Many nights when I was dropped off after sitting, I dreaded opening the door and going inside. I didn't want to hear the report of Dana's problems as relayed by Dad, and I didn't want to see Mom ragged and tired. The sleepless nights that Dana and Mom spent together were far enough away that it didn't waken the rest of us. I hated to admit such selfishness, but I had grown weary of all the nighttime noises and bustle.

I was aware, too, that I had become very distant. Dana was behind closed doors now, and it was far easier to shut her out of my life. True, I still, though at times reluctantly, gave up many of the privileges I could have experienced if she hadn't been ill, but that was no reason to withdraw from her. She was my sister, so I tried to visit her at least once a day when she was home, but I just couldn't bring myself to ask about how she was feeling.

Instead, I talked about school and games—even Graham. She asked a steady stream of questions when she was feeling well enough to talk with me, and I hoped it wasn't dreadfully wrong to be so self-centered in our conversations. It had become easier and easier for me to cover up my true feelings—the conflicted, desperate ones—and pretend that I was happy. The truth was, I cried often when I was alone in my bedroom.

I hated the feeling of being deceitful, but it seemed to be the only merciful thing to do. I couldn't be honest. That would only cause everyone more pain. So I feigned cheerfulness and helped out whenever I could. That made me feel a little better. But I wondered if Brett's road to decline had started out in the same way that I was allowing myself to go—bending the truth by pretending, and shutting out my family.

During the winter months Dana had begun to look far worse than she ever had before. Though I tried not to absorb the details of her situation, I did realize that her medical problems had escalated. She was experiencing almost constant fevers, sores, and nausea. She had also developed a horrid lung infection. I could hear her rattling cough from downstairs throughout the night, and I pressed my pillow over my head in an attempt to block it out. It never seemed to bother Corey—he slept soundly—at least he never came into my room during the night.

My meager bank account began to grow. I scrimped on all my expenditures, saving every little bit I could toward the trip with the basketball team. If only I would be able to save enough.

One night, long after he had been put to bed, Corey appeared at my elbow as I sat doing homework at the kitchen table. I passed him some of the potato chips I'd been eating and chided him gently for getting up.

“I couldn't sleep. I just got thinking.”

I stood to get him a glass of water, and he followed me to the sink. “What were you thinking about?” I asked.

“Misty told my class that her grandma got cancer. I wish she didn't. It made me feel really bad for her.”

“We know about cancer. Don't we, Corey?”

He nodded, not looking up. A moment passed and then he spoke again. “Is Dana gonna die?”

The glass I was holding slipped into the sink and shattered. I left it where it lay and dropped down to eye level with Corey. “Why would you ask that?” My words sounded harsher than I had intended.

“Misty said her grandma is dying.”

I swallowed the lump that was rising in my throat. “She probably has a different kind of cancer. I don't think it could be like Dana's.” Tears were already welling in my eyes. It must have been obvious even to Corey that my words were shallow and empty.

“But she's sicker this time. I hear her. She coughs a lot. And she doesn't breathe good. I think she might be dying too.” There were tears running down his cheeks.

I pulled him close and held him as tightly as I dared. All my thoughts were churning, wondering when it would ever end. How much longer would we have to face this disease? How many more of our growing-up years would be spoiled?

At last he pushed away from me. “Can I sit with you, Erin? I'll be real quiet.”

“Of course. You can even get your pillow and a blanket, and I'll move my books into the living room. Then you can lie on the sofa. Okay?”

He nodded and headed back to his room. I was numb as I turned to clean up the broken glass from the sink.

My parents were visibly pleased when I finally had enough money for the trip. Dad even slipped me a ten—“a little something extra.” Our team had continued to have a winning season, and we seemed primed to sweep the finals. This invitational tournament would arrive just before we headed to the last games, and our coach had lectured us over and over again on the importance of taking it seriously, even though it wouldn't count for or against us on the season's record. Psychologically, he insisted, it was important that we win.