Changing Fate (12 page)

Now I know for certain why Mom had me make friends—because I literally couldn’t live without them. They help me feel alive and give me a reason to fight. I would’ve fought to stay alive with Mom, but it’s like each person who cares is another person worth living fo
r. I’ve always heard the phrase “the more the merrier,” but I never believed it until now.

I will live for Mom.

I will live for Giana and Kyler.

I will live for Max and Vivian.

And I will live every day for everyone else who wants to be a part of my life.

I will live and I will breathe.

When Kyler walks in the next day, he’s carrying a strange instrument case. Almost like a guitar but circular. I know I’ve seen something like it before, but
I can’t seem to remember its name.

“What’s that?” I ask as he sits on the couch and lays it across his lap.

“A banjo.”

Right. I knew that. Now I just look dumb. “Please tell me you know how to play it.”

“No. I only brought it to give you something else to stare at.”

I arch an eyebrow as high as it will go and tilt my head. “Really?”

Kyler laughs and flips the case open. “You’re so gullible, Kate.”

“What? How was I supposed to know you played that? You’ve never said anything about it before.”

His lip quirks up on one side. “You’re not the only one who can keep a secret.” Kyler pulls the banjo out and sets the case on the cushion beside him. He holds the instrument like it’s a part of his body.

“Is it hard to play?” I ask.

Kyler places his fingers on the strings and strums a chord with the other hand. A
twang
fills the air and goose bumps flare along my arms.

“It was really hard to learn at first,” he says. “But I’m glad I stuck with it.”

“What made you want to learn?” I ask. There was a time I considered learning the guitar, but I think everyone’s tempted by that at least once. Seriously, who doesn’t look hotter playing a guitar? I never imagined myself playing the banjo, though. That’s like saying it would be nice to learn how to play the accordion. I thought it was an old-fashioned thing to do.

But Kyler definitely doesn’t look old. In fact, if anyone else knew how hot he looked with that thing across his lap, they’d want to learn how to play it as well.

Kyler strums a few notes and lets the music hang in the air before he mutes it with his hand. He looks up and shrugs. “When I was little, a bluegrass group came into town. One of the band members picked up a banjo and stood at the mic to sing a solo while he played. I decided right then that I wanted to be able to do that one day.”

“Is today that day?” Please say yes.

“No. Today’s the day we play a game. You know some music, right?”

I almost laugh. “Not much, really.”

“I’ll go easy on you. I’m going to play a song and you guess what it is.”

I stare at him. Hard. “Maybe no one has told you I’m tone deaf.”

Kyler grips the banjo handle and winks at me. “Don’t worry. A two year old could guess these songs.”

I take a deep breath and cough a few times. Once I’ve recovered, Kyler plinks out a few notes on the banjo.

It takes all of three seconds to realize what he’s playing. “Row, Row, Row Your Boat?”

He lifts a hand. “See? Told you it would be easy.”

“You’re just lucky I went to girl scouts a handful of times when I was little.”

“No, you’re the lucky one.”

“Really?”

Kyler changes his fingers to a different chord. “Yes. Otherwise
I
would be winning this game.”

I clasp my hands together and let my head sink into the pillow. “Okay. I’m ready for the next one. You’re totally going down by the way.”

Kyler plays another song and I guess what it is.
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
. I don’t know the one after that, but in the end, I win most of the rounds.

Kyler sets his banjo on top of the case and puts his elbows on his knees, leaning closer to me. “Told you I’d go easy on you.”

I laugh and it triggers another cough. “Aren’t you going to play me something real?”

“I think you just offended someone in their grave. Don’t you know those
are
real songs?”

I try to swat Kyler but I can’t reach his arm. “Seriously.”

“Seriously? Yes. I am going to play you something real. But only after you perfect at least
one
chord.”

I blink. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Kyler lifts his hands. “I never kid.”

“Oh man. Okay. Give it to me so we can get this over with.” He’s going to regret trying to teach me anything. Especially with so many tubes coming out of my body. This could take all night.

On second thought. I like this plan. Kyler sets the banjo on my lap—

“Wait.”

He freezes.

“We really should sanitize it first. Who knows what you’ve touched before playing this.
No offense.”

Kyler
hesitates, then says, “Of course. Where are the wipes?”

After we get the banjo all cleaned, I hold it in my hands. The wood is smooth under my fingers and the strings are tight. “Okay, wise guy, what do I do?”

Kyler explains where my fingers go. After a few minutes, I give him a flat look. “Isn’t there an easy chord with only one string to push down?”

He
doesn’t look at me. “Not the one I’m teaching you.”

I strum a note and cringe as
the sound grates my eardrums.

“Okay,” Kyler says. “That was nice if you were playing for a haunted house.”

I lean over with a laugh and my fingers fall out of place. “Please teach me something simpler.”

“You know, sometimes the best things in life take the most work.”

I pause. He couldn’t have described my life any better. Everything I’ve done has taken work. Each breath I take is harder for me than the average person. And I’d do it over and over again just to stay alive—to live in this moment and continue doing hard things.

I place my fingers back on the strings and try to remember where they’re supposed to be. “Okay, teach me this difficult chord.”

It takes nearly five minutes just to get my hands in the right place. By the time we do, my small fingers are bent funny and there’s an ache running up my arm.

“I think you’re ready,” Kyler says. “Go ahead and strum your other fingers along the strings.”

Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I close my eyes and play the chord. The sound vibrates into the instrument and echoes through the room. It floats in my ear and seeps through my body like a warm summer afternoon.

“Wow,” I say.

“I know, right? Good job. You finally got it.”

I open my eyes and hand over the banjo. “Your turn.”

Kyler takes the instrument and attaches it to his body. And even though he doesn’t sing, the music has the same effect as his voice. I lean into my pillow and think of Paris.

When the song ends,
I tell him, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me.”

“I thought you hated learning that one chord.”

I sigh. “I did. But it was worth it so I could listen to all the others.”

Kyler
packs up and walks across the room. “I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” He offers a short nod and leaves.

Kyler visits almost every day. He comes after school and leaves right before dinner. My nurse has made it a point to get everything done before he gets there and resume everything after. I promise her to rest as much as I can in between everything else. It’s a good routine.

Kyler and I don’t talk about his mom or my disease; just go on like there aren’t multiple tubes in my body and oxygen in my nose. We watch several of my karate tapes together. Today he br
ings pizza—which means he can stay a little bit longer since we’ll be eating dinner together.

The nurse
gives me my enzymes and a new cup of water. I put them in my mouth and swallow.

“I think I’ve seen you take those before,” Kyler says.

I shrug. All my previous concerns seem silly now. “Probably. I tried to hide it, but Vivian saw it the first day.”

Kyler
chuckles. “Only because she was watching you like a hawk.”

True. But I don’t want to talk about her.
“How are things at school?”

“Normal. Boring. I actually look forward to coming to the hospital every day.”

I wait to bite the pizza halfway to my mouth. “Am I supposed to be offended by that?”

“What? No.” Kyler wipes his
lips. “It’s just…” His hands twist around each other. “I’ve avoided hospitals since my mom died.”

Of course. And now we’ve broken our silent agreement. We talked about my pills—which is basically part of my disease—and he just brought up his mom.

“Wait,” I say, coming up with a way to get past the uncomfortable lull. “I’m in a hospital?” I put my pizza down and do a fake surprised glance around me. “Who put these tubes in my body?”

Kyler points to himself and shakes his head. “Not me.”

We eat the rest of dinner in silence then Kyler goes off about some funny thing that happened with pizza after a choir performance. I’m too busy listening to his voice to pay attention to the details. Honestly, his mom
had
to sound angelic if her voice was any better than his.

Kyler pauses and I ask, “Will you sing me something?”

He shuts his mouth quickly and shrugs. “Sure. I guess. What do you want to hear?”

Anything. “Do you know any songs in French?”

He shakes his head. It was worth a shot.

“I do know an Italian song, though.”

I smile. “Is it the one you sang at the assembly?”

“Yes. It might not sound as good because it’s really a two part, but I can try.”

Knowing anything would sound good coming out of Kyler’s mouth, I settle into my pillows and close my eyes.

“You don’t want to watch me sing?” he asks.

I open my eyes to see his arched brows. “It’s easier to pretend I’m not in a hospital if I can’t see anything.” And I really want to picture us in the French Riviera…so I close my eyes again.

“Okay. Here goes.”  

Kyler takes a deep breath and his voice comes out like sweet cream. It’s soft in my ears and smooth along my skin. I drink it in and paint the perfect picture of his arms around me. He’s singing in my ear, whispering a prescription I can’t buy at a store. I sink further into the pillows and let the surge of adrenaline rush through me. My body is healing and my heart is growing. Kyler’s song melts my worries and lifts me high above the ground where I find a tower of hope. It’s held together with music notes and stolen breaths. And right on top, I imagine Kyler embracing me, his finger trailing the edge of my jaw. He lifts my chin ever so slightly and leans forward. I’m falling into him, pressing against the stones beneath my feet to reach his lips.

The song ends and I squeeze my eyes tighter, grasping onto the drifting pieces of a kiss that never happened, and can’t happen for some time. Why is the song over? Why am I stuck in a bed? And why can’t I
really
hold onto Kyler?

“Kate, are you okay?”

No? Yes…I open my eyes and find Kyler sitting closer than he has before. Every time he’s visited, he’s kept his distance. But now I can smell his cologne, feel his warmth, and see the tiny freckle on his lips. I blink and look away. I can’t think about his lips. It leaves me cold and mad and wanting. Wanting to get out of this hospital and mad that I’m not better yet.

“I’m okay.” I
swallow. “Thank you for singing that song. Your voice is something else.”

Kyler
’s eyebrows rise. “Is that a good thing or bad?”

That’s debatable. Bad because it makes me think of things I can’t have. But I don’t tell him about that. “Good.
Really
good.”

“I gotta get going,” Kyler says, but he doesn’t move. He leans closer and
his hand inches toward mine.

I freeze.

His fingers twitch as I reach mine forward.

When they touch, fire shoots up my arm and ignites my whole body. The flames rage through my limbs as Kyler lets go and stands.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

All I can manage is a small nod. My words turn to smoke and my heart burns deep inside me.       

When Mom shows up a half hour later, my cheeks are still warm.

“How’s my favorite girl?” she asks.

I sigh. “Good.”

Mom sets her purse down and turns to me. “Kyler was here, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Her eyebrows angle in a pre-lecture kind of way.

I put my hands up to stop her verbal kick-punch. “Don’t worry. Nothing happened. How can it?”

She opens her mouth then shuts it. A few seconds later she says, “You’re right. Besides, Ember would do more damage than I could if she knew he was too close.”

I’m still not sure if she’s worried about the germs or about him being alone with me in a room…even though I’m a network of tubes and monitors. Yeah, that’s all kinds of romantic.

“How was work?” I ask.

“Fine. I brought you something.”

“More videos?”

Mom reaches into her purse and pulls out a bundle of darts that are missing the sharp points. “I couldn’t bring the board because they won’t let you throw them, but they said any hobby reminders would be better than nothing.”

She puts one in my hand and I roll it between my fingers. The movement is nostalgic. It’s always been a way for me to channel my anger and release it in an instant. But right now I’m not angry. I set the dart on my side table
. “Thanks.” 

Mom sits down and rests her elbows on her knees. “What did Doc Perry say this morning?”

“I’m getting better. If my fluid levels lower enough by morning, they’ll attach me to a smaller portable pump. Which means…”

“You’ll get
to start physical therapy?” Her eyes light up.

I glance at the dart. “No, it means I can get out of this room.”

Her stern expression returns. “To do physical therapy.”

“I’d like to think my whole life doesn’t revolve around medical terms.”

“I’m glad you’re getting better. Just wait. You’ll be back home in no time.”

Home. It seems like a nice dream. Hopefully soon, it will be reality.

* * *

I
’m doing much better by morning. I’m hooked up to a smaller tube that connects to a portable pump. The physical therapist comes in and explains what he wants me to do to get my body and lungs working more. Laps. At least once a day around my hospital wing but twice would be better. I can almost feel the freedom, and the pain.

What if the pain comes back?

Giana comes during lunch and walks with me for my first time around. It’s nice to have her there so I don’t think about how slow we’re really going. We go around, step by step, second by second. She talks about Mo and I push the wheelchair that holds my pump. Halfway around, I have to sit down to rest. Then we keep going.

By the next day, I can do the whole thing without stopping. Kyler walks beside me this time and hums the Italian song. It pushes me on and helps me float back to my room.

I’m getting better and I know it’s because I have people who care. Even if they can’t find a cure, it’s comforting to know they accept me for who I am and want the best for me.

After a week of physical therapy,
my oxygen levels are better, my tubes are out, and I finally get to go home.