Counting Thyme (27 page)

I nodded and went into the hall. Then I just stared at the phone for at least a full minute. What would I say? What would
she
say?

When I finally dialed, Shani answered on the first ring. “Thyme, is that you?”

“Hey.” I wasn't sure where to begin.

“I'm so, so sorry I wasn't here,” she said. “I didn't know about Val. Is he okay?”

“We don't know yet.”

“This is the worst! I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time. It was just the For Sale sign, and—”

“I didn't know,” I said. “But I do now, and I'm sorry, too. And there's something else. I . . . I might not be coming back for a long time. We have to stay here as long as Val can be in the trial.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “I think I already guessed that.”

“But Mom said I can come visit for spring break.”

Shani said, “Yes!” I could hear her smiling over the phone. We were okay. And that was enough.

Dr. Everett came back first thing on Tuesday morning with an update. Mom and Dad and Cori and I gathered in the hall
again, only this time, we already had our arms around each other. We were a wall against bad news. As long as we stuck together, nothing terrible could happen to Val.

Dr. Everett's expression was grim. He glanced at his tablet, and a sick, tumbling feeling filled my stomach. The cancer might really be back. And it could be worse than before. Val might die, not at some distant point in the future, but then.
Now.

“According to Val's scans, there is no evidence of a relapse,” he said.

For a second, no one moved. Then Cori shouted, and Mom and Dad hugged each other, pulling me tight up against them. Strangely, we were all crying again—only this time, happy tears.

Dr. Everett smiled. “While I don't want to put a damper on this very good news, there does seem to be a significant infection in Val's lungs, most likely a secondary infection due to a virus. As you know, this is common in patients with weakened immune systems.” He went on about the medicines they were giving Val to fight the infection for him, because his body wasn't doing a good job on its own.

Dad wiped at his eyes. “What's next?” he asked.

“If he can't get his oxygen levels up, we'll have to drain the fluid from his lungs,” the doctor said. “I wish I had better news about that. But the truth is, the rest is up to him.”

I didn't want to hear any more, so I went back to Val's room and listened to him breathe instead. I knew he had it in him to fight. I leaned close to his ear and told him that I was
waiting to ride the subway with him. That I needed him to try harder to get better, and that I loved him.

At some point, I fell asleep with my head on the edge of his bed. I woke up when a nurse bumped my arm. She was taking Val's temperature again. She checked the line next to his bed and tapped a number on her tablet. The sun was brighter in the room. It had to be hours since the doctor's update.

When she walked away, a beam of sunlight caught Val's cheek. His eyelashes twitched. And then his eyes opened. His face was still puffy from all the medicines, and his skin was waxy with exhaustion, but his eyes were as blue as ever.

“T. You're here,” he said like he was seeing the best thing on earth.

“Of course,” I answered. “Where else would I be?”

BREAK A LEG

AT THE END OF THE WEEK, FEBRUARY TURNED TO MARCH, AND WE
got to take Val home. He was still weak, but strong enough to shout, “Cake!” when we walked into the apartment on Friday afternoon and found one of Mrs. Ravelli's Italian cream cakes waiting on the dining table.

“Oh, how I owe you,” Mom said, embracing her.

When they parted, Mrs. Ravelli blinked hard and clapped her hands. “
Ay!
There is no crying on this happy day.” Then she walked over to me. “There is something for you, too. Your friend with the hair stopped by while you were gone.” She winked and pointed at a box sitting by the door.

Inside the box were the parts for the Tornado Two Thousand.

Plus a note for me:
I hope you're okay,
it said.
Mrs. Smith wants to use the tornado tape, but this way you'll have all the parts. Just in case. Your friend, Jake.

Dad looked over my shoulder. “What's this?”

“It's for the sound machine I've been working on. For the play at school.”

“Shoot,” he said. “Did we miss it?”

“No, it's this weekend. It opens tomorrow.”

His face brightened. “What do you want to do? I'm up for an eleventh-hour save if you are.” I thought about how I felt when the machine fell apart at school. How I figured I would never go back there again. I'd told myself that I didn't care, only that wasn't true anymore. I cared about the machine, and the play. I didn't want to let anyone down—including myself.

I looked at Dad. “Let's fix it,” I said, and hoped for the best.

Early on Saturday morning, while everyone else slept in, Dad and I worked on the Tornado Two Thousand. The parts were littered across the carpet when there was a knock at the door.

“I'll get it,” Dad said, climbing to his feet. “You keep working.”

We had the fan and most of the machine reassembled, but I was still trying to figure out how to keep everything intact. The packing tape stuck to the fan's metal, but wouldn't stay stuck to the paper I'd used for the wings and streamers. Cutting holes in the parts hadn't worked, either. They just tore apart at the hole when we switched the fan on high.

“Oh, hello there,” Dad said.

I looked up to see Mr. Lipinsky standing in our doorway. But he looked totally different—his hair was neatly combed, his trousers pressed. No purple robe in sight.

“Good morning,” he said, extending his hand to Dad.
They shook, and Dad raised his eyebrows at me, like he was counting on some really interesting theatrics to follow.

“I believe I owe your daughter an apology,” Mr. Lipinsky said, keeping his eyes on Dad.

“Sure, of course. Thyme, can you come here?”

I walked over to them, but I kept my arms crossed so that Mr. Lipinsky would know not to mess with me. But then he smiled, for the first time ever. A big, full, wrinkly smile. “I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you folks. And I'm especially sorry to you, Thyme. What I said before was out of line. I really do hope your brother gets better soon.”

The way he said it, I knew he really meant it. He knew what it was to lose someone you love. He'd lost his wife and Sylvie—but we still had Val.

I gave him a smile, and he looked relieved. “Thank you,” I said, and Dad added, “We appreciate that. It looks like he's out of the woods for now, but there's still a long road to go.”

Mr. Lipinsky nodded and looked down at his hands for a moment. Then he glanced at the gobs of parts spread out across our floor. “Is this the machine you were going on about outside my door?”

“Yeah, if we can get it to work.”

“We're close.” Dad was trying to be encouraging, but at the rate we were going, I didn't know if we'd make it in time for the show.

“Everything keeps flying apart when we turn the fan on,” I explained.

“So I heard,” Mr. Lipinsky said. “How about I grab my toolbox, and we'll get this sorted out?”

Dad looked at me. “I sure think we could use the help.”

I nodded, and Mr. Lipinsky went to get his toolbox. When he came back, he said, “Back in my day, we rigged everything by hand—lights, props, you name it. We didn't have all the fancy machines they have now. I'll never forget this one night I spent crouched in the eaves, clapping coconuts together for a director who thought it sounded just like horse hooves.”

At that moment, Mr. Lipinsky's eyes twinkled the way Mrs. Ravelli's always did, and I was glad he was there with us. “Let me see here,” he said, digging in the toolbox. “I think I have just the thing to fix this contraption of yours.” And as soon as he said the words, I knew he was right.

Along the way to MS 221, crocuses were just beginning to appear around the base of the sidewalk trees. Soon, it would get warmer, and the spring flowers would take over. It was March second, four days before Shani's birthday. It was still weird to think I wouldn't be there, but we'd promised to talk. And this time, I knew we would.

When we got to school, the sidewalk was full of parents and students on their way to the show.

“Are you coming in with us?” Mom asked as she helped Val up the marble steps. Cori and Dad were just behind her.

“No. I need to take this backstage first,” I said, lifting the Tornado Two Thousand. The Spring Fling production of
The Wizard of Oz
started in fifteen minutes.

“If you want to stay back there with your friends, you should do it,” Mom said. I still felt a little embarrassed about spilling my guts to her at the hospital, but she'd made me promise not to hide what I was feeling anymore.

I gave Val a kiss on the cheek and said I'd see them all after the show.

“Break a leg!” Cori said with a grin.

“Not if I can help it,” I shot back, though I felt so jittery as I walked to the stage doors that I almost turned around. Costumed kids and teachers lined the hall, but everyone was so busy with last-minute fussing, no one noticed when I pushed the doors open and slipped backstage. Off to the right, a bunch of kids stood in costume, waiting. Including Emily and Lizzie. But Mrs. Smith spotted me first.

“Thyme!” she exclaimed. “Just the girl I was looking for. How are you doing, honey?”

“I'm good,” I said, because I really was fine. For the first time in a long time.

Mrs. Smith smiled like she understood all of that and more. “Is that machine of yours ready?” she asked. I nodded and she said, “Let's hear it.”

I set the machine on the floor and grabbed the nearest extension cord to plug it in.

Mrs. Smith raised her hands. “Everybody stand back. Just in case.”

I flipped the switch, and the sound of the tornado filled the backstage. Thanks to Mr. Lipinsky's stagehand magic—otherwise known as gaffer's tape, the stickiest tape in the
universe—every bit of the machine stayed in place. I switched it off, and Mrs. Smith started clapping. Everyone around us did, too. Including Lizzie and Emily.

“Well done,” Mrs. Smith said. “Now get that where it's supposed to be. Curtain in
ten
, people! Ten minutes!” She rushed away, and I walked straight over to Lizzie and Emily.

“Where have you been?” Emily said. “I called you but you never called me back.” Only she didn't sound angry. She sounded worried.

“Is everything okay?” Lizzie asked.

“I'm sorry I didn't call you back,” I said. “I've had a lot going on, and I should have told you guys a long time ago. The truth is, we didn't come here because of my dad's job. My little brother is in a drug trial for cancer patients.”

Lizzie gasped and gave me a big hug, but Emily hung back. When Lizzie stepped away, Emily said, “So this has been going on this whole time?”

“Yeah. And I'm sorry. Val got really sick last Friday and ended up in the hospital. That's where I was all week. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I understand if you're mad.”

“Well, I've got every right to be,” Emily said. Then she surprised me by hugging me, too. “I'm sorry about your brother,” she whispered.

“No.
I'm
sorry,” I said, and she smirked.

“The only thing sorrier will be us if Mrs. Smith catches us ruining Lizzie's makeup with a sobfest,” Emily said. “Now get out of here! And break a leg!”

“You too,” I said. Then I left to put the tornado machine where it belonged.

When I found him, Jake was hunched over a big blanket with a bunch of sound props in front of him, lined up in the order we would need them for the show. Amelia and Davis were set up at another sound station on stage left with the rest of the props.

“Hey,” I said, and he looked up.

He smiled when he saw the tornado machine. “I knew you'd figure it out!”

For some reason that made me blush. “Thanks. You want to hear it?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I trust you.”

I set the tornado machine in its spot next to the other sound props, and I told Jake I had something else to show him. I led him to the front of the stage and pulled the curtains back a little.