The Day Before (11 page)

Two weeks ago

Dear Amber,

I made a reservation for us at the beach. For the night before you leave.

We can spend a lovely day there, stay at the hotel, get up early, and come home, filled with wonderful memories.

How’s that sound?

Love,
Mom

Two weeks ago

Dear Mom,

Please don’t be mad. Please?

I love that you want to take me to my favorite place on earth. I love how you knew it would comfort me at a time when not much else could.

But I think I want to go to the beach by myself. Would that be all right? It’s nothing personal. You know I love you guys. I’d just like some time by myself before I go. I can’t explain why I need to do this. I just do.

Thanks for making the reservations. You’re so good at knowing what I need.

You’re so good at being my mom!

Love,
Amber

taking control

“You have to remember, Amber.
Staying would mean losing
the good along with the bad.”
He looks at me.
“You’d lose everything.”

I stroke his cheek.
“Not everything.”

“It’s really not something you
should leave to chance.”

Maybe not.
Maybe I don’t flip a coin.
Maybe I simply make the choice.

Tear my life
from their hands
and put it back where
it belongs—into my own.

It would be so much easier
if I wasn’t two long
years away from eighteen.

It’s such an impossible situation.

Cade takes my hand
and pulls me to
my feet.

“Are we leaving?” I ask.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

going, going—where?

We leave everything
behind on the beach.

The blanket,
the fire,
the glitter,
my bag.

It’s all there,
so we’ll be back.

More than that,
we aren’t going far.

the reveal

Up the beach,
through a gate,
around a greenhouse,
through a sliding-glass door,
and into a home.

A stale smell
greets us,
and I have to resist
the desire to run
to a window
and throw it wide open.

Cade flips the light switch
and we’re standing
in a kitchen where
faded wallpaper
of old, country
kitchen utensils
clings to the walls.

Dirty dishes stacked
on every available surface
cry out for attention.

I can almost taste the despair.

He leads me
to another room
and turns on the light.
It’s a family room
and everywhere I look—
on tables, on top of
the entertainment center,
on the walls—
there are family photos.

I walk over to
a framed collage
with pictures of two boys and
a young man who I assume
is his dad because he looks
just like Cade.

Photos of them
on the boat,
at the aquarium,
at the beach,

digging holes,
building sand castles,
flying kites.

I whisper, afraid of waking someone.
“Your dad lives here?”

“You don’t have to whisper.
They’re not home.”

“Where are they?”

“At the hospital.”

With just a few words,
so many questions
answered.

That’s why he was alone
today.

That’s why he said no more pictures
today.

That’s why he needed me
as much as I needed him
today.

his story

On an old floral couch
that smells nothing
like flowers and
everything like cigarettes,
he tells me what he’s
been keeping close
to his heart.

The words come out
slowly, like they’ve
been forced inside
for so long,
they’re hesitant
to come out.

Cade’s dad has cirrhosis,
or liver disease,
and he desperately needs
a transplant.

He and Cade’s stepmom, Marian,
are at a hospital
in Portland, with
a transplant
scheduled for
tomorrow morning.

“Isn’t that good news?” I ask.

And then,
more words,
even slower
than before.

“Amber,

I

am

the

donor.”

dangerous

I think back to
our safe
conversations,
and it was like
watching the sharks
and the rays
behind the thick glass.

It’s where
we needed
to be.

But now we’re done watching.
We’ve jumped in.

We’re swimming with the sharks.

me: Why aren’t you in the hospital?
him: Don’t have to be. I’m healthy. I just report for surgery
tomorrow.

me: How long has your dad been there?
him: A while. They’ve been monitoring him. Marian’s staying
with a friend in Portland.

me: Don’t you have tests to do? Something?
him: Already did them earlier in the week.

me: It’s major surgery, Cade! What are the rules?
him: Take it easy. No aspirin for three days prior. No food or
drink after midnight.

me: Shouldn’t you be resting, then?

He scoots close to me.
His hand reaches out
and tucks a piece of my hair
behind my ear.
His eyes reach out to me,
trying to reassure me.
Or maybe himself.

him: I’m pretty sure being with you is the most restful place I
can be.

taking chances

Without my asking,
he tells me more.

They’ll take a piece
of Cade’s liver
and give it to his dad.

The piece will survive.
Grow.
Thrive.
Or so they hope.

His dad will survive.
Grow stronger.
Get better.
Thrive.
Or so they hope.

Cade will be hospitalized
for a week, maybe longer,
with many weeks of recovery
at home after that.

He will survive.
Get better.
Thrive.
Or so they hope.

Chances are small
that anything will go
wrong.

But that’s where the problem lies.

There is still that chance.

Heads: It goes well.
Tails: It doesn’t.

go away

I think of fear,
like the boogeyman.

He’s the guy with no face
who hides in every
dark place you know of
and especially those you don’t.

As much as you
tell yourself he
can’t get you,
that angels
watch over
and protect you,
he is there,
in those
dark places,
waiting.

I know the boogeyman.
He’s tormented me
for years.

Cade knows him too.

I see him hiding
in Cade’s breath
and Cade’s words.

And there is nothing
I want more
right now
than to chase him

away.

the truth hurts

Pain hides
behind his
beautiful
brown eyes.

“I want him to live,” he says.

I watch,
helpless,
as the pain
slips out.

T
e
a
r
s

f
a
l
l

when he whispers,

“But damn it, I want to live too.”

what if

And now I see
that all day,
he’s been thinking
about his options.

At first it feels
like all you can do
is what you’re
told to do.

But then other options
start to appear.

They creep in,
tap you on the shoulder,
whisper your name.

Because there are always options.

They might not be popular.
But there they are.

They start to look good.
Better and better
as time goes on.

And the way that makes you feel?
Yeah, it gives you the hope
you’ve been searching for.

And pretty soon,
you’re looking around,
wondering,

What if?

One week ago

Dear Jeanie and Allen,

You can’t make me go. You can’t! If I refuse to go, what are you going to do? Have me arrested? This whole thing is ridiculous.

You don’t want me.

You want Charlotte back! I don’t care what you say. If you had your other daughter, you wouldn’t want me. But you can’t have her, so you’re going to take me instead.

It’s bullshit! The whole thing is BULLSHIT!

Amber

a familiar place

Pretty soon
Cade takes my hand
and leads me
back to the beach.

We sit in front of the fire.
I rub his back
and try to think of something
helpful I can say.

The fire dwindles.
Silence settles around us
once again.

I know he’s remembering.
He’s thinking of
all those times
they built sand castles,
flew kites,
caught fish—
holding on to them
like they’re the
last memories on earth.

And he’s wishing.

He’s wishing hard
that they’re not.

a discovery

“Cade?”

He looks at me.
Ribbons of tears
stream down his face.

I brush them away
with my thumb
and smile,
trying to keep
my own from falling.

“It will be okay.”

“But—”

“Do you know how difficult
it must have been for your dad
to ask you to do this for him?
He wouldn’t have asked if he
didn’t think you’d be okay.”

Cade quickly wipes his face
with the back of his hand.
“That’s what the doctors say.
But, Jesus, they’re cutting me open.
Taking a part of my body.
There’s the chance of blood clots,
of infection, and a hundred other things.”

“But if you don’t do it …”

I stop.
I let his thoughts rest there for a second.
He knows. Of course he knows.

But throughout the day
he’s been trying to tell himself
maybe there’s a chance for the
heavens to open up and a
miracle will rescue them all.

I’ve been the same way.

If I just ignore it,
pretend it isn’t happening,
get some distance,
maybe somehow,
some way,
everything will magically

change.

And suddenly I get it.

There isn’t magic out there.
There is magic here.

Right here, in this place
that brought us together
the day before
we face our fears
and our lives change forever.

Magic in the jellies.
Magic in the lighthouse.
Magic in the music.
Magic in the kisses.
Magic in the glitter.

Magic in us.

What we need
will appear
right when we need it.

Just like it did
today.

alike more than different

I snuggle in close
and kiss him.
He tastes like
campfire and
salty air.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“My stuff must seem so trivial to you.”

“No. Not at all.”

“But it’s not a matter of life and
death.”

“To your new parents, I think it is.
Losing you would be like
another daughter dying.”

“But how can you lose something you’ve never had?”

“You’re their daughter,” he tells me.
“You’re connected, whether you like it or not.”

“Do you ever wish it were someone else?” I ask.
“Like, your brother instead?
I’ve wished it were my sister.
Which is just so wrong.
Why would I wish this on anyone?”

He kisses me.
“Because you’re human.”
He sighs.
“Just like me.”