"I know."

"I thought you wanted to be able to watch it. You said you picked the spruce because the robins like the branches to build in."

"I know," said Corey. "They do. I watched them build in Brett's tree at our other house."

"But you don't want to watch them build here at this house?" Dad seemed puzzled.

It took a moment for Corey to answer.

"It's for Dana," he finally said. "She can lay right in her bed and watch the robins."

I turned away. I didn't want to cry, but the tears were already stinging my eyes. Maybe Dad was bothered by tears too. It was a few moments before I heard the shovel start digging the hole for the new tree.

258.Mom called every night with a summary of the day. But the news about Dana continued to worsen. Things had come to the point where she asked us to keep the pastor updated. I wasn't quite sure why she wanted him to be the first to know. It probably had something to do with the prayer thing again. It seemed to give her comfort to know that our pastor was aware of the situation on a daily basis. When Dad was home, he was the one to make the call. But often, Dad was with Mom and Dana, so I was forced to pa.s.s along the information. I hated the job.

Pastor Dawson was a friendly, likeable man. I had always appreciated his jovial way of putting everyone at ease, but I wished with all my heart that he were someone other than Graham's father. It made me twice as uncomfortable making the calls.

It was a difficult balancing act for me, giving coherent summaries of Dana's progress and trying not to immerse myself in the medical jargon. Even worse, it was hard for me to express normal concern for my sister without stating definite prayer requests. It seemed so hypocritical to ask others to pray when I wasn't praying myself. I wished I could have remained out of it entirely, but I couldn't tell my parents I wouldn't help. So I went along with everything they asked me to say.

"h.e.l.lo, Pastor Dawson."

"Erin, it's good to hear from you. I've been wondering if the new antibiotic has been effective."

I recited the details as best I could. "I guess it is helping. Mom says Dana's fever has dropped a little and that her pota.s.sium level has risen slightly. But she was only able to walk a few steps and is extremely nauseous. They're concerned about her blood count, which is still the biggest problem because they're not seeing the DANA S Valley * 259improvements they feel they should have by now."

I could tell he was making notes as I spoke. "Oh, I'm so sorry. How are your parents holding up?"

"Well, they had a visit today from a family whose son had leukemia. When they bring him back now to get his testing done to make sure he's still in remission, they visit throughout the ward. I guess Mom was very encouraged to talk with them. And she was very touched that someone would go to that trouble to encourage others."

"I'm glad to hear it, Erin. And how are you and Corey?"

"We're all right. Thanks."

"Well, I'll pa.s.s this through our prayer chain. Thank you for calling."

"Thanks. Bye." I laid the phone back in its cradle and put my head in my arms on the counter beside it. How much longer could this possibly go on?

I jolted when Corey tapped my elbow. "Erin, are Mom and Dad coming home?"

"Not tomorrow. They're going to stay with Dana."

His eyes clouded. "I made a tower with my Legos. It's the biggest I ever made. I wanted Mom to see it."

"Save it. They might be home in a few days."

His face set in a stubborn frown. "You always say that."

"Say what?"

'In a few days.' That's what everybody always says. But I don't think they mean it. I think it's just a lie." He spun on a heel and went back to his room. Suddenly I heard a cras.h.i.+ng sound, and I hurried to follow him.

"Corey, stop. Don't knock it down. You worked so hard."

"But I wanted Mom to see it. And she won't." He260.kicked the pile of tumbled bricks again. Then his anger dissolved into tears. "I just want to see her, Erin. I just want Mom."

"I know, Corey." I reached for him, but he pushed me away.

"Don't. Leave me alone."

He had never spoken that way to me. I wasn't sure how to react. "Do you really want me to leave?"

"Yes." His chin came out, and he kicked the Legos again. "Just leave me alone."

I closed the door quietly and went back to the kitchen. I had done everything in my power to be what Corey needed me to be. Over the last few years I had mothered him, cooked for him, read to him, and taught him to read. He deserved to have his mom home-some of the time. Resolutely I picked up the phone and dialed the emergency number I'd been given to leave messages.

"Dad, it's Erin. Corey's really upset. I think Mom needs to come home. If you get this message, please call me back. It doesn't matter how late it is. Bye."& & &.Mom arrived home the next day. Dad had stayed behind. I left the house soon to give Mom time alone with Corey. Besides, I was afraid she would start telling me about the treatments and what Dana was going through. I didn't want to hear it. I called Graham from the nearby gas station, and he invited me to join him at the church, where he was going to make updates on the church web page. He was soon there to pick me up. The long drive didn't help. I was still angry by the time we arrived at the DANA S Valley * 261church office. It wasn't fair. Everyone had already suffered so much. And Dana hadn't improved at all.

I thought I could hide my anger. I planned to just keep the feelings bottled up again, but I wasn't successful this time.

I'd been silently watching the screen as Graham clicked away at the keyboard, updating the posted information. But my thoughts had been drifting far beyond the computer screen.

"What's wrong?" I hadn't noticed that Graham had stopped what he was doing and was studying me instead. "You haven't said a word for an hour. Please, Erin," he pressed. "Tell me what you're thinking about. Is it Dana?"

"It's always Dana." I let the words fly with more force than I'd expected.

Graham pushed away from the desk and took my hand. "You'd feel better if you just talked about it once in a while."

He had no idea what he was saying. I drew my hand back and stood up. "I need to walk."T>11".

1 11 come.

"But you've got more to do."

"It can keep." He seemed to have decided not to let me outmaneuver him this time.

I headed down the empty hallway, and he followed close behind. Suddenly I was angry with him too, and I turned to face him. "You don't understand, Graham. You don't know what it's like. You just don't understand."

"Make me understand."

"You can't!" My hands began to shake a little. "Please, leave me alone. I just need to be alone." It sounded like262.Corey's words echoing in my mind.

"But, Erin, you're my best friend. You're more than a friend. Let me help."

The words exploded from me with pent-up emotion. "How can you say that? You don't even know me."

Graham recoiled, his face full of confusion.

"This . . . this idea you have of me . . . it's not what you think it is." The words burst from me, and there was no going back now. "It's not even real. It's like a game. I pretend to be what I think you want me to be. But I'm not that. I'm not like you . . . and I can't pretend anymore. I don't believe that . . . that G.o.d is what He's supposed to be."

I could see he was hurt and bewildered, but I couldn't stop. "And I don't care anymore. I don't even care what happens to Dana." Once the words were out, I knew they weren't true. I cared very much. "I mean, I don't think I can ... I don't think I have the ability to care anymore."

At Graham's stunned look, I hurried on. "You don't know. . . . You can't understand. You've never had anything bad happen to you, so you can just go on believing that G.o.d is ... is like a ... a Santa Claus or something." Tears by now were pouring down my cheeks as I looked up at him. Graham stared back at me for a long time. I finally spoke again. "I lost my sister a long time ago. Don't you understand? My Dana is not the body that's lying in that hospital. She was . . . she was my friend. She was my best friend." I could hardly go on, but I forced myself to be truthful. "I don't pray about her anymore, Graham. I don't pray about anything. I don't think G.o.d listens. I don't think He cares about me, and I sure don't think He cares about her." My last words were nearly drowned out by my sobs.DANA S Valley 263Graham stepped back. I covered my face with my hands so I wouldn't actually see him walk away. I turned to lean against the cold concrete wall and gave myself to weeping.

It was some time before I gained enough control to begin wiping away the tears. When I finally gathered myself together and pushed away from the wall, I was shocked to find that Graham was still there.

He was silent, still confused, and even looked scared. But he hadn't walked away as I'd expected. And now that my outburst had pa.s.sed, I was too embarra.s.sed to say anything more.

Graham eventually seemed to find courage to speak. "I know you're angry. And I know you're hurt. It's true that I can't feel what you feel. I can only imagine. But, Erin"-his eyebrows knitted together and he searched my face closely-"don't say G.o.d doesn't care. Because He does. And someday this will be over, and you'll be facing Him. You can either be ashamed of the way you respond now, or you can use this as a time to show your faith. To grow."

"But I don't have faith anymore," I insisted, the tears threatening again. He clearly hadn't heard a word I'd spoken.

"I don't believe you, Erin. You're being lied to. Satan is using this to try to tear you down. But G.o.d won't let him. I know that is true."

Satan? I wondered why we needed to include him in this conversation. It was G.o.d. Wasn't it G.o.d's decision that Dana be sick and G.o.d's choice that we watch her suffer? But Graham sounded absolutely certain that my confusion was from another source. An evil one. Could I have been wrong in blaming G.o.d?264.After a heavy silence, Graham offered, "Do you want me to drive you home?"

I just nodded.

The ride was a silent one. It wasn't until Graham walked me to the door that he spoke again. "I'm going to pray for you, Erin. I'm going to pray that you face up to G.o.d. If we can't see each other anymore, that's okay. I don't want you to have to pretend. Not to me or to anybody. But I do care about you. Very much. Like a sister, if that's all you want. The most important thing is that you get your view of G.o.d lined up with the truth. That you don't lose your faith in Him. That's what matters most. I'll be praying for you. Every day."

Graham took a deep breath, tried for a smile, and walked away then. I stood and watched him go. I was astonished that his faith was so unshakable.& & %.I saw very little of Graham for the remainder of the summer. I wasn't sure if he was angry with me, but I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter all that much. And I was so truly relieved to feel like I could stop living a lie all the time. But I missed him deeply-most of all his ability to make me laugh. But at least I felt like I could be honest again.

Dana came home near the beginning of August, just as we were gearing up for school. This would be my soph.o.m.ore year, and I wondered how much of it would be used up in emergency calls during the middle of the night, lengthy conversations with inquisitive friends about Dana's health, and taking care of all the thingsDANA S Valley * 265Mom was too tired or too busy with Dana to do. But I was glad they were home again. Even with Dana requiring so much care. It was better for Corey this way. I supposed it was better for me too.

I missed our other house more than ever. Cramped closets, close quarters, and no place to go to get away from the situation made me feel boxed in.

Corey was starting fourth grade, and it seemed easier for him to be back in school. It filled his days. There were friends to see and challenges for him to conquer. Summer had been hard for him. He'd spent far too much time alone.

Brett, of all things, had started to come around to visit or to stop for supper. I wondered where he stood, and if he was still angry about taking second place to Dana's disease. He never said anything to me. And I didn't ask.

But Dana was still not really improving. She stayed in her room all day, though she was able to sit at her computer some of the time. I think it was her way of reaching outside her limitations, gaining some measure of freedom. I was glad she'd found something she could do to pa.s.s the time.

No matter how late it was when I finally entered our room to retire, Dana was still awake. Still restless. We talked then. I couldn't avoid it. It seemed strange at first. It had been so long since we'd really talked. At first it was just polite little s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation. I didn't ask her how she was feeling. I guess I was afraid she might tell me. I didn't want to discuss her illness. I didn't want to hear of more complicated medical procedures that weren't working.

Instead, I told her little things about my day. About friends we had in common. Just little bits of news that I266.heard at school or in the town.

Gradually the conversations grew longer, more complex, until I found myself actually looking forward to them. It was almost like it had been before Dana became so ill. But then I'd look over at her as she grimaced with a sudden pain, or closed her eyes tightly while she struggled to take a deep breath, and all the joy would go from the exchange. Pretending didn't change things. Dana was very sick. Then I'd suggest that she needed her sleep and turn over with my back to her so I wouldn't need to watch her. It was hard to block it all out. I found myself wis.h.i.+ng the house were bigger. That I didn't have to share a room with Dana. I even thought that I couldn't wait until I'd be able to move out of the house. Anything to block out the glimpses of a sister who was so sick, who needed so much.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

WE HAD VERY LITTLE TIME to readjust to Dana's being at home. Her frequent visits back to the cancer treatment center revealed that the marrow transplant had not been effective. She would need to be readmitted, and the prognosis was quite grim. Dad said the cancer had spread to some of her other organs. I shuddered when I thought about the patchwork of disease that her body had become.

And it had been given a new name-acute myeloid leukemia. It sounded much worse to me. I didn't know if they'd misdiagnosed her in the first place, if this had developed in addition to what she'd already had, or if it had been that all along and they'd just put the real name to it. But it was very sobering.

Dana's att.i.tude had changed along with the new diagnosis. She seemed resigned to the fact that she would not get well again. She had not seemed surprised by her worsening condition. She had not tried to fight against it in any way. Almost as if she had expected it.

We packed her things and carried them back out to the car. She had hardly gotten back to us, though it had been268.over a month. I wished I could feel numb as I so often had before. I tried to put the emotions aside, but it was as if the calloused wounds around my heart had broken open again. I loved her so much. And yet-I could hardly admit it even to myself-I almost hated her too. I tried in my mind to separate her from the disease, but it had so completely consumed her. And the fact that she seemed to accept the additional diagnosis so easily only increased my anger about it all.

With no outward trace of my turmoil, I gingerly hugged my sister good-bye. She was sixteen. She was bald, frail, emaciated, and sick. And she had already wasted three long years of her life righting leukemia. I turned away and walked toward our little house.I had never before been to visit Dana at the treatment center, but Dad and Mom had sent word for us to come. That in itself was a little scary, though they tried to a.s.sure us that there was no immediate crisis. "It's time" was all Mom said.

Brett drove. He and Corey and I rode together. We even had to take a map along to make sure we could find our way. Brett had paid little attention when Dad had done the driving. Mom or Dad could probably have driven there in their sleep-and it was likely they had come very close to it on occasion.

We asked at the front desk to be given directions to Dana Walsh's room. The receptionist smiled broadly and called an attendant to show us the way.DANA'S VALLEY 269."We all love Dana," she informed us. "She's a favorite here."

I cringed. Who would want to be a favorite at a cancer treatment center? But I followed along behind the young woman in white. The walk from the nurses' station to Dana's room took us down several long hallways. And of course there was evidence of the sick all along the way. There was the hospital odor hanging in the air, and wheeled carts carrying medications, and gleaming medical equipment stored here and there. s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversations reached us as we pa.s.sed each open door, carried on by low, respectful voices. Nurses worked behind their counters at almost every turn. Most of the patients who walked toward us down the hall or rested in the small sitting areas were old. Here and there was someone who looked to be the age of Mom or Dad. I thought about Dana, here among the elderly, dying alongside them. It just wasn't fair.

G.o.d must not care about fairness, I thought fleetingly.

Then the attendant pushed through a double set of doors, and I realized that I had been wrong about this being the domain of the aged. Here were the children. All ages. All descriptions. Many of them had bald s.h.i.+ny heads or else hats that betrayed their attempt to hide the fact. I noticed some with missing limbs. Those who were lying in the rooms we pa.s.sed were hooked to tubes for medications and nutrition. Yet many of them were smiling, as if they were not in a hospital being poked and cut and forced to endure all manner of sickness in the name of healing. I choked back my tears and turned my head away.

I could hear Mom's voice, and I knew we were approaching Dana's room. I braced myself for the 270.whiteness, the starkness, the smell of disinfectant.

Dana's room was nothing like I expected. There were balloons on the window ledge, waving brightly with each gust of air, and stuffed animals on the little table by the door. The walls were covered with cards and letters-many of them e-mails that had been printed and saved. And there were pictures everywhere.

"Hi, guys." Dana sounded weak, but she managed a smile.

Corey moved toward her first. He grasped her hand and returned the smile. "I like your room. It's got neat stuff."

She swallowed hard before she could speak again. "I'm glad you're here."

"Hi, Dana. Hi, Mom." Brett walked to where Mom was seated and leaned down to hug her.

"Did you have any trouble finding the place?"

Corey spoke for us. "No, Brett only turned wrongonce."

"Hi, Erin."

My eyes met Dana's as she spoke my name, and I forced my legs to carry me to her bedside. She had gadgets all around her and several tubes coming from somewhere beneath her covers. Her face was pale. She made no effort to rise up. I supposed she was too weak for that now. "Hi," I managed.

"I'm glad you came."

I smiled in response. I wasn't glad to be there.

Mom pulled up three chairs, and we took seats around the bed.

"We were working on a sc.r.a.pbook. Would you like to help?"

"Maybe later." I was glad Brett bowed out of the DANA'S VALLEY * 271.activity on behalf of us all. I had no interest in an alb.u.m just then. But Brett cleared his throat like Dad did before beginning a family conference and said, "I'd like to talk to Dana. And Erin."

What was this? I couldn't believe I had heard him say the words.

Before I could react, Mom smiled and took Corey's hand to direct him out of the room. She pulled on the oversized door and let it swing itself shut behind her.