Just Ask (20 page)

My mom goes to the hospital for tests tomorrow. Of course, she keeps telling us that its no big deal, just routine, blah-blah-blah. But I can tell that Dad's not so sure. The way he's running around and catering to her every whim tells me he's actually quite worried. Of course, he won't admit this. But he's arranged to have the day off and will stay with her in the hospital until the tests are finished.

I offered to ditch school to be with them today, but they told me to forget it. Now, if I wasn't a straight A student, I could understand their concern. But if there's anyone who would not be affected by missing a day or two of classes, it's me.

“I'd feel better knowing you were in school, sweetheart,” my mom assured me last night. “There's no need for all of us to disrupt our normal schedule for a few silly tests.” So wanting to put her at ease, I decided
not to argue. Just the same, I still think they should've let me skip school, just to show that they respected me as a valuable family member and honors student and generally mature person.

On the other hand, I didn't mind going to school so much either. Especially since things with Matthew have suddenly heated up. I have to admit that I felt pretty bad after Thanksgiving weekend. I mean, I actually thought he might've called me or something. But he didn't. Not even once.

Then on Monday, he told me how his parents made him go with them to visit his grandparents, who live in the next state, and how everyone got into this big old fight, but they stayed the whole weekend anyway. I had to feel sorry for him since it all sounded pretty pitiful and lame to me.

That same day he asked me to have lunch with him. Off campus. Now our school has an open-campus policy, but I don't usually leave, because I don't like to risk being late for my next class. Right, it's the type-A thing. However, I decided to risk it for Matthew. How could I say no?

He wanted to go to this little deli a few blocks from school, and since it happened to be sunny (when we left), we decided it would be quicker to just walk. And we had the best lunch—very romantic—and totally lost track of time. By the time we realized it was late and headed back to school, it was raining. Pouring down raining. Cats and dogs raining (which comes from
around twelfth century England when pets would sleep in the thatched roof for warmth but come tumbling down when it rained too hard—literally raining cats and dogs).

Anyway, by the time I got to English lit, I was soaking wet, and Mrs. Langford looked at me like I was a juvenile delinquent or degenerate or something pretty disgusting. I apologized for being late and, without going into too much detail, quickly explained (honestly) how I'd been caught in this deluge. And I really don't see why she needed to be concerned, since I doubt I've ever been late for her class before. Just the same, I better not let that happen again.

So when Matthew asked me to have lunch with him today, I had to tell him, “Sure, but we have to stay on campus.” So we did. And after we finished lunch and made a graceful exit from our friends’ table, Matthew took me to the journalism room (where he works for the yearbook) and showed me some of the photo layouts he'd been working on recently.

“You're so multitalented.” I sat and watched as he flipped through the computer program that stores his yearbook layouts.

After a few minutes, he placed his hand on my shoulder, then leaned down over me, putting his face close to mine. And honestly I felt this electrical sensation running up and down my back. Then he kissed me on the neck, and it was totally awesome. I've never felt like that before. And the next thing I knew we were really
kissing. Kim Peterson and Matthew Barclay doing some serious mouth-to-mouth right here in the journalism room.

Of course, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard someone loudly clearing his throat—the kind of sound meant to announce that someone's jüst entered the room.

“Hey, Mr. Wong.” Matthew casually stood up straight and pushed back the hair that had fallen across his forehead.

“Did I interrupt anything?” Mr. Wong adjusted his glasses but appeared fully aware, if not somewhat amused, by the scene he'd just walked in on.

“Just showing Kim some of my work.”

“I'll say”

“I better go,” I said quickly ‘Thanks for showing me everything, Matthew. See you.”

“Later.”

Then I zipped right out of there with, I'm sure, blazing cheeks as I hurried on over to the English wing— early for class this time. It took me a couple of minutes to catch my breath, but I pretended to be reading as kids started to trickle into class.

“You and Matthew sure took off in hurry at lunch today,” Natalie said as we drove home later that day

“He wanted to show me something.”

“Yeah, I'll bet.” Then she started giggling, and I had to tell her about being discovered in the journalism room by Mr. Wong. Of course, this made Nat laugh even
harder, but suddenly she stopped and became completely serious.

“But aren't you concerned?” she asked.

“About what?”

“You know, that Matthew's not saved.”

I sighed now. I should've seen this coming. Nat's got this big thing about not dating anyone who's “not saved.” It's like they're infected with some contagious spiritual disease, and if you go out with them, you'll be infected too. I didn't say anything.

“I mean, he might drag you down, Kim.”

“Drag me down?”

“Yeah. His convictions and values probably aren't the same as yours.”

“I don't know about that.

“I just don't think you should get that serious with him.”

“I guess that's up to me, Nat, isn't it?”

Now she didn't say anything, and I suspected I'd offended her. “Okay, this is how I see it,” I told her. “Not that long ago, I didn't consider myself a Christian. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“But that has changed.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe Matthew's going to change too.”

“But you don't know that for sure.”

“And you don't know that he's not.”

Okay, that seemed to quiet her down. And it was time to change the subject. “I'm heading over to the
hospital after I drop you off,” I said as we waited at the stoplight.

“How's your mom doing?”

“When I talked to Dad after lunch, she was still knocked out from whatever they gave her while they did their tests. And he thinks they may keep her overnight.”

“Just to do tests?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, tell her I'm praying for her.”

“Thanks.”

And I was praying for her too. After dropping Nat off, I prayed out loud even as I drove over to the hospital. “Please, God, make everything okay. Please, show the doctors what's wrong and how to fix it so that Mom can come home and start feeling better than ever!”

But when I find my dad at the hospital, he doesn't seem to know much more than when I talked to him earlier. Even so, he seems concerned.

“They're going to keep her overnight,” he tells me.

“Can I see her?”

He smiles. “Of course. That should cheer her up.”

“Cheer her up?”

“Well, she's not very excited about spending a night in the hospital.” He leads me to her room.

“I don't see why she has to. Maybe the hospital's just trying to make money.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that's probably it.”

Now we're going into the room, and I feel surprised to see her in the hospital bed with her eyes closed,
looking like that same pale and vulnerable woman I remember from our ride home from the doctor last week.

“Is she asleep?” I whisper to my dad.

Then her eyes flutter open, and she smiles and suddenly looks like my mom again. Okay, she's a pale and tired-looking version of my mom, but her blue eyes look clear and bright and happy to see us. “Come in, come in,” she says, and we go over to stand by her.

“I'm sorry they're making you spend the night,” I say as she reaches for my hand. “That's got to be a drag.”

She nods. “But I suppose it's better than getting up at five in the morning and coming in.”

“Kim thinks the hospital is just trying to get rich off of you,” says Dad.

Mom smiles. “Maybe so.” Then she squeezes my hand. “How was your day today, sweetheart?”

I kind of shrug. I haven't really told either of them much about Matthew. I mean, there hasn't been much to tell. Well, until this week. And although I don't want to divulge too much, I figure I owe a little something to Mom (especially seeing her looking so helpless right now).

“Matthew really seems to like me.”

She smiles. “He seems like a nice boy.”

I tell them about his Thanksgiving weekend and the family feud, and they think that's pretty funny. So then I tell them about going to lunch with him on Monday and getting soaked by the rain. Of course, I don't mention
anything about being late to English. Or about being caught kissing today. I mean, you can only tell your parents so much.

But I can tell that Mom's getting tired. “Maybe I should let you rest.”

She nods. “And I'm sure you must have homework or some writing for the column or something.”

So I kiss her on the cheek. “Hope you can get some good rest.” I walk toward the door.

“HI be home later,” calls my dad.

And then I head for home and tell myself that everything's going to be fine. But just to be sure, I pray some more.

This day starts out so perfect. I get up early and actually do my morning devotions (it's so hard to do them every day, but I always feel better when I do). And I pray for my mom that the tests will go okay and that the doctors will figure out how to make her feel better.

Then I go to school and ace my history test, and I'm feeling really good. At lunchtime, Matthew asks me to go to a play with him on Friday. And well, it's like Im just really on top of it. Like nothing can go wrong for me.

And then everything changes.

Last night before I went to bed, I made Dad promise to call me as soon as he found out anything about Moms tests. And I've been checking my cell all day—but nothing. Still, maybe no news is good news. Maybe they've already gone home by now, and everything is back to normal or better. But then I check messages at
around two o'clock, and I see that my dad's called.

“Your mom's tests are done,” he says in a voice that doesn't sound quite like him. “Come on over to the hospital, and we can talk.”

Okay, now that worries me. It's not like he's saying her tests are done and everything is just fine, but come on over and we can talk. What's up with that? So I go straight to the office and explain. And of course, Mrs. Stannifer (a friend of my mom's) immediately excuses me and tells me to go.

“Let me know how she's doing,” she calls as I hurry out.

I try not to race to the hospital. And I tell myself that I might be overreacting. It's entirely possible that my dad just wants to tell me the good news in person—for a nice surprise. But somehow I don't quite believe this. Even so, I am praying hard and with what feels like real faith, and I am asking God to make everything okay.

And the closer I get to the hospital, the better I feel. I actually believe God is taking care of everything. So I walk onto my mom's floor, and I'm feeling pretty relaxed. Then I see my dad coming out of Mom's room.

I know immediately that all is not well. His face looks gray and worn and weary, like he's aged at least ten years in the last twenty-four hours.

“What's wrong?” I ask as he leads me over to a comer where several chairs are arranged around a coffee table.

“Sit down.”

“What's wrong?” I ask again as I sit.

“It's serious, Kim.” His voice breaks, and he leans forward and puts his head into his hands and just starts to sob.

Okay, now this totally unglues me. I mean, I consider myself a pretty stable, not highly emotional person, but seeing my dad falling apart is killing me. My heart is racing, and my hands are shaking, and it's like my whole world is caving in right now. I feel like I can't even breathe.

“What's wrong?” I ask again, but my voice sounds small and far off, as if it's coming from someone else.

Finally, my dad looks up at me with red, watery eyes. “Your mom has ovarian cancer.”

“And that's serious?” I ask stupidly Of course, it's serious.

He nods.

“But aren't there lots of cures and treatments for cancer?”

He nods again, but his expression is not hopeful.

“So she'll have these treatments and everything will be—”

“This is stage four ovarian cancer, Kim.” The way he says stage four sounds very serious.

“Stage four?”

“Very advanced.”

“What does that mean?”

He takes in a deep breath, and I can tell this is extremely painful and difficult for him. “It means the cancer has spread. It's in vital organs…”

“And that means?”

“The doctor gives her six months to a year.”

I just shake my head in total disbelief. But hot tears are streaming down my face now. “It can't be! Dad, this cannot be true!”

Then he takes me in his arms, and we hold on to each other like I used to do when I was a little girl, and we both just cry. For a long time.

Everything in me is hurting now. I honestly don't know when I've ever felt so bad. So hopeless. So frightened. Finally we let go and just sit there looking at each other.

“What about a second opinion?” I say suddenly. “Aren't you supposed to get a—?”

“This is a hospital, Kim. Lots of doctors have been looking at her. Lots of tests have been done.”

“How—how's Mom doing?”

“She doesn't know yet.”

I feel like someone has just pulled the plug on me, like all the life is being sucked out right now, and I'm deflated and empty and useless. “Who's going to tell her?”