“Let’s not talk just yet,” Vanessa said. She was scrunched up, on her side again, legs pulled up, a sheet pulled to her chin and held there by pale hands.
Hannah had talked with Taylor multiple times about visiting Vanessa. She wanted to go, was afraid she was intruding – meddling – and hadn’t a clue what to say. Taylor, Ethan, Vanessa’s parents—they’d all told her what Vanessa was telling them. So Hannah Madison went, and Vanessa worked a hint of a smile to her face when Hannah walked in, then closed her eyes, and they stayed closed for … how long? Long enough for Hannah Madison to feel grief set in. Long enough that she understood that the best thing she could do was sit quietly and be patient. So that’s what she did. For half an hour, and during that half hour, she inspected Vanessa Hoffman, what was visible of her. Her skinny, bleached-out fingers and the pale fingernails on them. Pale lips – forming an “o” and breathing so softly there was no sound. Hannah felt her own breath weaken and her lips sag and her spirits droop.
They’d been close. That’s what Hannah thought about, sitting there. They had been close, and they’d shared secret conversations and gossiped together and talked about their lives and what their lives were going to be about and how they would make sure their lives could be about those things. They’d talked about how Vanessa Hoffman would knock cancer sideways, it was just a matter of time, and there was the time Hannah took Vanessa shopping, the time they went to lunch, and the time they talked about going out to dinner together and their mothers – both Hannah’s and Vanessa’s – found out and invited themselves, and hadn’t that been fun? Hadn’t that worked out?
One time, they talked about sex.
“Okay,” Vanessa said. They were in Vanessa’s room. Taylor was downstairs and Vanessa’s parents were down there and Vanessa and Hannah were in schoolgirl mode because Hannah knew that’s what Vanessa needed, and Vanessa got all quiet and said, “Okay, don’t kill me.” And she got that look and leaned toward Hannah and whispered: “You and Taylor, I won’t tell, I promise, but you did it, right?” Vanessa was sixteen years old at the time. Sixteen had been a good year for her. Hannah was taken aback. Her eyes widened, and she pulled back; her mouth opened, and she couldn’t get it closed.
“Oh my God,” Vanessa said. She blushed. It was her turn, and her eyes widened, and she pulled back. “I am so sorry,” she said. She looked at Hannah, who had the sense to lean toward her, shaking her head, smiling, acting like it was a joke and almost laughing.
Then Vanessa laughed. She cupped a hand over her mouth and laughed, her wide eyes still on Hannah Madison, and she apologized several more times. Hannah snorted; it was almost a cough, and then the humor took over for her, too, and she cupped her mouth and laughed. She waved a hand at Vanessa, saying stop. And when they’d both done that, laughed and got over the laughing, the question still hung there, in the air, in front of them both.
They started laughing again, and when they cooled off, this time Hannah drew closer to Vanessa, looked at her, leaned down like a co-conspirator, and whispered, her whisper like a hiss: “I told Taylor … I swear to God, Vanessa, if you say this to anybody, I’ll kill you … but I told Taylor there was no way I was doing it in a car!”
Vanessa clamped her mouth shut, stifled a cough and covered her mouth with two hands and laughed, her head going herky-jerky. She was laughing so hard snot came out of her nose, and she looked at it and laughed even harder. Tears came out her eyes, and she was coughing, trying to be quiet, gagging, and Hannah was making faces at her, shaking her head, hissing, “Shhhhhhh … your parents are downstairs, and Taylor is downstairs, and they can hear us!”
They settled down again, the question still hanging in the air. Then Hannah Madison, sitting on the floor beside Vanessa’s bed, and Vanessa Hoffman lying sideways on her bed, had the talk. Sisterhood. That’s when they became real sisters. I’m telling you what’s in my heart and you must promise to be careful with it. Then you’ll tell me what’s in your heart, and I promise I’ll be careful, too.
The confiding was like magic, and the story was so common and so simple – how many times had that story been shared before? – and Hannah and Vanessa drew closer at that moment and drew even closer after.
It was not comfortable for Hannah to sit beside Vanessa, sleeping Vanessa, in her hospital bed. It was too real. It was terribly disheartening, and Hannah wouldn’t cry because she was afraid Vanessa would wake up and see her crying. She could do that at any minute, couldn’t she? What if she died? That’s what Hannah was thinking. What can I do? How will I explain it? How will I say it to Taylor and his mother and father, and to Ethan? How will we talk about it? What could we possibly say to each other that wouldn’t be horrible to say and horrible to hear? So Hannah sat quietly, head bowed just slightly, hands in her lap, in a church-like silence broken only by chatter in the halls, the sound of wheels in the hall, the soft sound of nurse shoes treading in the halls.
An hour went by, and by the end of that hour, oddly enough, Hannah felt relief. She felt she’d accomplished something by just sitting and being with her boyfriend’s little sister, who had become her friend and then had become a real sister. Once or twice, she reached out, put a hand where Vanessa’s wrist would be, her wrist under the whitest of white sheets. Her wrist was thin. Too thin. She put her hand on it so hesitantly, so carefully that when she touched flesh and bone, she had to concentrate to feel it. She withdrew her hand and thought about that, and minutes later, put her hand back and touched Vanessa again, and this time she kept her hand there for a while, and all the while, she was concentrating on Vanessa’s pale, nearly translucent eyelids. Doing that, she could see Vanessa’s eyes roll every so often. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Vanessa was seeing something, wasn’t she? Every so often, Vanessa would sigh, ever so slightly, and that was good too, wasn’t it?
More time went by, and all that time felt good for Hannah Madison, and she hoped the sleep was good for Vanessa. Hannah was there in support of. She was bearing witness to. She was assisting. She was an advocate. She didn’t think these things; she felt them. That’s what she felt, and on occasion, she would sigh and adjust herself in her chair, that chair pulled right up close to the bed, and all that time she was buttressing and cheering for and championing, and when Vanessa yawned, stretched, and opened her eyes, she saw Hannah Madison’s smile, first thing. Hannah’s face and her eyes focused right on her. And Vanessa had to close her eyes, just for a second, before truly being fully awake, and when she opened her eyes again, Hannah Madison reached over and put her gentle hand on Vanessa’s wrist and said, “Hello, little sister.”
About the Author:
Victor Kreuiter’s stories have appeared in EQMM, Halfway Down The Stairs, Bewildering Stories, Tough, Frontier Tales, Del Sol SFF Review, Literally Stories, and other online and print publications.
