Page 9 of Tear Me Apart
“How am I? How are you, kiddo?”
“Stuck here. Bored out of my skull. The blizzard finally let up?”
“Yes. They opened the pass about two hours ago, and I got here as fast as I could.”
“Mom will be glad. She needs you.”
Juliet doubts this will be the case. Lauren hasn’t needed her, ever. She is older. Accomplished. An artist. A mother. Successful, happy.
“What’s going on, sweetie? Your leg giving you problems?”
“Oh, Mom didn’t tell you? Apparently, I have cancer.”
Juliet’s stomach drops. “What?”
“They found it when they were doing blood work for the surgery. Leukemia. I have to do chemo. My hair’s going to fall out.”
Mindy sounds old, so old, worn and tired. Juliet sits on the edge of the bed and grabs her niece’s hand. It is freezing; she rubs it hard between hers.
“Where are your parents?”
“I kicked them out. Mom needed a good cry. Dad needed to comfort her. They couldn’t fall apart in front of me, so I begged for some soup, and sent them both down to get it. They’re in the cafeteria, or the chapel, somewhere where I won’t know they’re freaking out.”
“How did you get so cynical, child?”
“Gee, I wonder...”
“I am not a cynic.”
“No, but you’re a scientist. You are rational, cool, and effortlessly calm.”
“Kid, I think you’re a little stoned. They have you on the wacky juice for the leg, don’t they?”
It works. Mindy smiles. Juliet stuffs away the fear and pain.
“Now, tell me more. What kind of cancer? There are a lot of different kinds of leukemia.”
“AML. They’re doing more tests, but they ran the spinal fluid. Aunt J?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I don’t want to die.” The voice is so small, so quiet, Juliet’s heart breaks.
“You aren’t going to. I won’t allow it.”
“My hair is going to fall out. I have to have chemo, and other awful drugs and I have to come back to this godforsaken hospital constantly. How am I going to train? How am I going to make the rest of the season?”
Juliet gestures to Mindy’s leg. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re going to be off your skis for the foreseeable future. I mean, look at that leg. You have rods screwed into the bone. You can’t put weight on that, I presume?”
“No, not for at least six weeks. But...” She shakes her head. “This isstupid. Who breaks their leg and finds out they have cancer?”
“You, apparently. You’ve always been precocious.”
Silence. Juliet lifts the mass of black hair off the pillow, stroking through its gorgeous thick length.
“You know, kiddo, I think you’d look adorable with a pixie cut. If it’s going to fall out anyway, maybe we should take you total punk rock for a few weeks instead of mourning it as it goes.”
“Mom will kill me.” But her eyes brighten, and she grins.
