"I want you to talk to me, Dana," I whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "I want you to tell me how you're feeling every day. Even if you don't think you can tell Mom and Dad. I want you to promise that you'll tell me."

"I promise." There was a hint of relief in her voice.

It was some time before we fell asleep, and by then I had crawled under the covers on Dana's bed. It seemed safer if we stuck together.

Dr. Miller eventually chose to refer Mom and Dana toDANA S VALLEY * inanother doctor-a woman, who was an OB/GYN. It would be a week until they'd be able to see her, and we were all anxious for the day to arrive. In the meantime, Dana walked mechanically through her first days at our new school, colorless and frail. It made me want to throw my arms around her and protect her.

Daddy had asked each of us to pray for Dana whenever we thought of it through the next days, and I noticed that he and Mom spent extra time in the evenings together with their door shut. I imagined that Mom also used a great deal of the school hours praying. I thought back, but I couldn't remember all of us praying so intensely for anything before. Even the new house and the decision about buying the land. It made the knot in my stomach grow tighter, and I worried that my prayers were too vague.

I wasn't sure what you were supposed to pray in a situation like this. Did you demand, like the television preacher said, showing G.o.d how much faith you had? Or did you let G.o.d choose His own answer, trusting in "His good will," like our pastor had suggested? I didn't really know much about either. So I stuck with what I had always prayed. "G.o.d, bless Dana. Please make her better soon." It sounded young and a little silly under the circ.u.mstances, but I guessed that I wasn't really a "righteous man" anyway, so my prayers probably wouldn't "avail much." I was glad so many other people were praying too, people who were more qualified than I was to ask G.o.d for something so important.

On the day the visit with the new doctor occurred, we expected to return home from school to a full report. But Mom still looked distracted and jumpy as she welcomed us to the kitchen for our after-school snack. I112.knew without asking that she wasn't content with the results. Though she wasn't offering any information to us. When Dad finally arrived home, they sequestered themselves in his office, speaking in low voices for some time. I learned nothing by watching Dana's eyes across the table as we laid out the plates, and I decided not to press her for information.

We gathered for supper in near silence. I studied Dad's face and then watched Mom. It seemed that they might be ready to make some type of announcement. Corey cheerfully prayed to bless the meal, and then we began pa.s.sing serving dishes around.

Dad cleared his throat. "We need to tell you what Dr. Britrich suspects is the cause of Dana's problems. I'm afraid it sounds rather serious."

I watched Brett's eyes dart across to Dana. Corey seemed somewhat oblivious, but Grandma had begun to tear already. I swallowed hard and turned back toward Daddy.

"There are still more tests to be done, but Dr. Britrich suspects that Dana has something called lupus. It's a disorder that affects the immune system-not altogether uncommon in teenage girls. That means her body has trouble fighting disease. Which could explain why Dana has had so many colds and fevers-and even the rash earlier this summer. It also explains the fatigue and muscle aches."

"Is it ... serious?" My voice trembled.

"It can be. The doctor says she thinks this is a fairly mild case."

Dana refused to look up at any of us as we discussed her. Her fork stabbed restlessly at her mashed potatoes, but she wasn't eating.DANA S Valley

"There are a number of medications we can try. They treat the symptoms."

"What do they do to cure her?" Grandma's voice squeaked at the end of her question.

For a moment Daddy was quiet. "There isn't a cure yet for lupus. I'm afraid it's something that Dana will contend with throughout her life-if the diagnosis is accurate. As I said, there are still more tests to be done."

Silence fell over us as we attempted to take it all in. I wanted to reach out to Dana. To promise her that it would be all right. But not even Daddy could tell her that anymore. I choked a little and let my eyes drop to my lap. Tears had already begun to roll down my cheeks. There wasn't much more that anyone could say. Our meal proceeded in near silence.

After supper Dana retreated quickly to our bedroom. I followed after a moment or two, anxious to see if there was any way I could comfort her. The door was closed, so I knocked softly and whispered, "It's me."

"Okay. Come in."

Dana was stretched out across her bed, but she wasn't crying. Her fingers plucked carelessly at a loose string on the comforter and her eyes looked hollow.

I approached her cautiously. "Are you okay?"XT ".

No.

I lowered myself onto the bed beside her and waited for her to speak again. Many minutes pa.s.sed before she was ready.

"It's not fair," she finally whispered. "I thought I was-114.I don't know-a good person. At least, I thought I was healthy and normal. And instead I've got this terrible disease, and my body wants to quit fighting and just die. So I'm going to have to take all this medication to make my body go on living. It's not fair, Erin. It's not fair. I had plans!" At last her tears began to flow. The little bed quivered with our sobs.

"It's not fair," I choked out. "It's just not fair." In the morning, when Dana and I rose, we didn't speak about her illness. We hardly spoke at all. But its presence colored everything, no matter how hard we tried to ignore it. The awful diagnosis traveled with us on the school bus. It was evident in her eyes when we pa.s.sed each other in the hallway. It was still hanging thick as we traveled home again. I hated this lupus. I hated the darkness it draped across our home. I hated the lifelessness it had inflicted on my sister. And I determined in my heart to hate it forever.

This new loathing stayed with me, even though our family life did proceed with some normalcy. It's not that anyone hated it any less. I saw it in Brett's cold stares whenever it was mentioned. I saw it in the gla.s.sy, tearful expression that Mom wore so often and in Dad's tired, pinched face. Even worse, we were each powerless to make it go away. And we were given no choice but to go on as if there had been no diagnosis or dreadful disease. There was still school and church and ch.o.r.es and even play. But each conversation about a doctor's visit or a slight rise in Dana's temperature brought the ugly specter back. And the growing row of pill bottles along the windowsill above our kitchen sink was a constant reminder that we were never to be completely free of it again.DANA S Valley * 115I missed Marcy. I still hadn't found anyone in our new school to replace her as a best friend. Not that I really tried. I guess I was waiting for them to invite me into one of the little circles. They didn't. So I just hung back, pretending I didn't care. My grades were the best they had ever been, but that was small consolation. I felt dreadfully alone, and it made it hard at times.

Tryouts for basketball were set to take place before Thanksgiving break. Brett had spent many hours practicing at Travis's house in antic.i.p.ation. I, however, had no place to practice. We still didn't have the promised concrete pad and hoop at the new house. The possibility that I'd make the team without any practice at all was quite remote, but Brett patted me on the back and tried to be encouraging.

The gymnasium was crowded and noisy when we walked in together. It was easy to see that they'd already divided off the girls from the boys, but kids were still milling around waiting for the tryouts to start. Brett crossed to the far side of the gym and did some warm-up dribbling. His ball-handling ability was what had set him apart on his last team. I think it helped him calm down to show off a little.

I had no such skill to display. So I took a seat along the bleachers until I was called upon. The tryouts were rigorous. First we did several running drills backward, forward, and sideways. Then we split into groups of five and were given basketb.a.l.l.s for the dribbling exercises. I could feel my nerves tense as I waited for my turn. Then Brett caught my eye and grinned at me from across the116.room. It made me feel much better.

The results were not to be posted until the next weekend. I left the gym feeling very little hope, and Brett left certain that he'd have no trouble making his team. He had sized up the compet.i.tion and remained confident. They were all taller than he, one of them by almost a foot, but he was quick.

For Brett, there were now two sports to pursue. On the one hand, basketball had long been his pa.s.sion. On the other, he'd discovered a natural ability in skateboarding. As often as he could, he borrowed the car for a trip to the skateboarding park to improve on the various tricks he'd learned. Mom had gone to watch him once and I think had determined that she'd better not do so again. It was breathtaking.

On the Sat.u.r.day morning when the fall basketball lineups were to be posted, Dad drove Brett and me over to our school. We searched around a little until we found the designated bulletin board in an entryway and discovered the postings that we wanted. Brett's eyes were quicker than mine. He realized first what had happened.

"You made it." His voice was flat.

"No way!" But then my eyes fell on the boys' roster. Brett's name did not appear. He hadn't even been placed on the junior varsity team. "Oh, Brett, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he muttered and turned for the car.

Dad carried what conversation there was on the way home. Brett had little to say, and I was at a loss for words. We had all expected that he'd make the team.

As we climbed from the car I had finally figured out what I wanted to say. "Brett?"

He faced me reluctantly.

"Thanks. I could never have made my team withoutDANA'S Valley 117you." There was a sympathetic look in my eye that must have told him how sincerely I meant the words.* * T , *1''.

It s okay.

I knew he meant that he'd be okay. And I was glad. But I wondered what he would do to fill the place in his life that basketball had always held. I couldn't imagine that he'd be able to stay home with Mom, Dana, and 1.

Grandma when he'd always been so involved in sports activity.

I was surprised when Brett announced his solution to the extra amount of free time. Without basketball practice to tie him down, and with mounting expenses for we weren't sure what, he made a declaration that he "needed" a job.

Mom and Dad discussed it one evening in the living room while the rest of us were getting ready for bed. From the pieces of conversation I managed to hear, the only obstacle that could not be overcome in their discussion turned out to be the third vehicle. And for that, even Brett didn't have a ready solution. Mom encouraged'

him to pray about it, and then we waited, hoping we'd stumble upon an answer.

As it turned out, the answer drove up our driveway in the form of Grandma's old yellow sedan. She had finally made arrangements for someone to deliver the car to her but really had no intention of using it. From things she said I gathered that she supposed it would be best to have Dad sell it. Brett's eyes lit up immediately when he saw it pull in. True, it wasn't exactly what he'd pictured his first car to be, but it had one exceptional quality. It was available.

Without too much persuasion, Grandma said Brett could drive it, so long as he agreed to take her where At I118.she needed to go when he could. Brett was beside himself, antic.i.p.ating the reaction of his school friends when he showed up with a car of his own-sort of. Now all he had to do was find a job, and he'd be living in a style that was the envy of his peers. Basketball had almost been forgotten. And his trips to visit the new skateboarding buddies became regular events.

When basketball season started, things changed for me. It didn't take long to get to know the girls on the team. Once they discovered that I could play fairly well, they welcomed me. Anything to be a winning team, I guess.

Anyway, as time went on and we spent hours in practice, I lost my shyness and they lost their reserve, and I soon felt that I was actually among friends. One girl in particular seemed open to friends.h.i.+p. She lived down the road from us, and her mom or dad, or sometimes an older brother, was quite willing to pop by and pick me up or drop me off before or after practice. It sure made it easier for my folks.

She wasn't a church girl, but she was really nice. And she didn't replace Marcy, but I was really thankful for her friends.h.i.+p. Her name was Belinda Marsden, but on the team we called her Bull. It didn't really fit, because she was the smallest girl on the team. But we all had rather silly nicknames. I think it had something to do with team spirit. Anyway, Coach encouraged it. The tougher the name, the better he seemed to like it. On the court I was known as Squ-walsh. The girls drawled it as if it were about three syllables. It was a little lame-but I'd never really had a nickname before, so I secretly enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie that it gave. I didn't share that with my folks. Only Dana knew, and she sometimes teased me with it when we were alone.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

DANA HAD BEEN ON her medications for several weeks, and she still didn't have much energy. She looked pale and seemed to drag herself around. Often I felt she didn't bother to put out much effort at all. She was even losing interest in piano. And on more than one occasion she begged off a church activity. That meant I either had to go alone or stay home. I usually opted to go without her, though I sure didn't like that option. It didn't seem*

the same without Dana. We'd always done things together.it Her name was mentioned in every prayer time that ourI youth group had. Carli saw to that. She was constantly calling our house and checking on Dana. Even though their conversations were mostly about everyday things, I got the feeling she was really gathering information to share with the youth group. I mean, Carli was a goodit friend and loved Dana, but I felt like she was in a mode of caretaking rather than offering friends.h.i.+p. I think Dana felt that way too. She seemed to be drawing away from Carli.

The first question most of our friends asked when I arrived at church was "How's Dana?" My feelings were120.mixed. Though I appreciated their concern, I had begun to tire of discussing her all the time. I prayed for her regularly, did what I could to be helpful at home so that Mom could spend extra time with her, and sometimes chatted with her long into the night. Even rubbed her back when she couldn't sleep. But I wished everything in my life didn't seem to revolve around how Dana was doing.

When I wasn't at home I tried not to think about it. I was beginning to feel more comfortable in our new school. Basketball was going well, and I spent every available minute practicing my shots at the homemade hoop that Dad had set up in the driveway. I was determined to make the starting lineup. The day finally arrived for our coach to make the announcement at practice. At the morning's breakfast table I tried not to let my nervousness show as I spread jam on my toast and listened to Grandma praising Corey for his excellent artwork.

Brett stirred restlessly in his chair and rose to leave without asking permission. "I told Curt I'd give him a ride to school," he stated by way of an explanation.

Dad frowned. "I don't know if it is wise for you to become the new school bus," he commented.

"I'm not-" began Brett, but Dad held up his hand- his signal that he wasn't ready to concede the floor. His voice had taken on the lecture tone.

"Driving is a serious business, Brett. Chauffeuring someone around is a great responsibility. If anything happened-anything-you would be responsible. Do you understand that?"

Brett nodded, but he looked glum.

After exchanging glances with Mom, Dad continued. "Since you have already given your word, you may pickDANA'S Valley * 121Curt up today. But in the future you will drive straight to school-no detouring to gather up your friends en route. The school bus goes right by Curt's door. I think it best that he continue to use it."

Brett nodded again, but he sure didn't look happy about it. I'd already seen him with his car filled with school friends-both guys and girls-windows down, arms waving, shrieking and laughing their way through the school parking lot. I wondered how Dad would respond if he had seen that. I was sure I knew. But I was just as sure I wasn't going to squeal on Brett.

It did remind me, though, that Dad had a lot more on his mind than just Dana. Other things could not be put on hold until her problem was solved. He had four kids to raise and was expected to meet the needs of all of us.

I guess Dad knew about boys and cars too, for just as Brett was leaving the kitchen, Dad spoke again. "Son."

Brett turned around.

"I think it's great that you want to help out your friends."

I knew there was a "but" coming. I could tell by Brett's eyes that he did too.

"Things can happen in a hurry when you're behind the wheel of a car. Things you hadn't counted on or expected. Sometimes they have long-range consequences. You need the car because you have a job to go to after cla.s.ses. A car is a tool. Not a toy. I expect it to take you to school, to work, and home again. It isn't to be used for joyriding or running around town. Over the lunch hour it is to stay parked. Understand?"

Brett nodded, his expression grim.

"Tell your friends who ask you to take them places that 122.your dad has rules. And the first one is, no pa.s.sengers. Let them put the heat on me. If they really are desperate for a ride, you have my office number. Tell them to call>.

me.

I almost giggled. I knew there would be no calls from Brett's friends to have Dad drive them around over the lunch break. Guess Brett knew it too. I expected him now to really look angry. But he didn't. In fact, I thought he looked just a little bit relieved. Like Dad had shouldered the heavy burden he'd been carrying. Given him some backbone to say no.

Corey came bursting into the room. He'd been sent off to find an elusive library book that was to be returned. "Found it," he almost shouted, even though we were all right there.

Mom took the book from Corey's outstretched hand and tucked it into his backpack. But the found book did not erase the worry lines from her forehead. I knew she was still thinking about Dana, who lay upstairs in our room. She'd contracted another cold. And she was going to miss school-again.

In previous years, Mom had begun plans and preparations for Christmas immediately after Thanksgiving. This year December was already upon us before it was even mentioned. And Mom sighed as she brought up the subject. Not only was much of Mom's time spent with Dana, but most of her energy and enthusiasm had been sapped as well. She tried very hard to make sure that she continued to read with Corey and encourage me with my basketball, but she seemed to have little interest in focusing on holiday preparations.

So Dad and I decided we would take over. Mom declared over and over again that next year would be backDANA S VALLEY 123.to normal. She did, however, also thank us for taking the extra responsibilities out of her hands.

Dad and I gathered a box or two of our favorite things from the attic, deciding to let the rest lie. We did bring down decorations for the tree, but the festive mood in our home would be nothing like Mom usually produced. We set up the Advent calendar for Corey and determined to enjoy a simpler holiday.

An e-mail from Grandpa and Grandma Tyler in South America brought some much-needed good news to our house. They were taking a short break from the medical clinic. Grandpa needed to come back home to look into a new drug for treating some disease that was a problem in Bolivia. I heard the name. It was long and sounded funny, so I didn't try to understand what it was all about. I did catch that there were new studies that had been done and some medicine that seemed to be getting promising results. But Grandpa wanted hands-on knowledge about it before trying it on his patients. He was coming to the States and spending three months with doctors who were doing the tests.

Anyway, I dismissed all of that. What was important to me, and to the rest of us, was that they'd be coming for a visit. In fact, they promised to spend Christmas with us. They had never been able to spend Christmas with us before, at least that I remembered, so we were all excited.

Grandma Walsh even seemed to perk up a bit. I wasn't sure if it was because she liked my other grandparents or because she knew Grandpa Tyler was a doctor and someone with whom she could discuss her aches and pains. She had a lot more of them to talk about since Grandpa had died, I thought.

Corey was nearly wild with excitement. He hadn't seen124.our Tyler grandparents since he'd been very small, and he could hardly wait. He hauled out photo alb.u.ms and followed Mom around asking questions about the pictures he found in them. She answered patiently. No- more than that. She answered with enthusiasm-more like she used to be. She hadn't seen her folks for some time either. She was almost as giddy as Corey.

Our days were suddenly measured by how many days left-a countdown to arrival. The Advent calendar was not just how many days until Christmas, but also how many days until our grandparents would come, scheduled for December twenty-three.

The doctor had advised that Dana be given extra vitamins to aid in fighting off cold and flu, and with the hope that she'd have more energy as well. I think Mom was anxious to have Dana feeling stronger before our grandparents arrived. The old Dana and the new Dana were so different, and I think Mom wanted to have Dana back to show off. The Dana who smiled easily. Who tried to take care of other people. Who played the piano well. Who had some spring in her step and sparkle in her eyes. We hadn't seen that Dana for an awfully long time. I couldn't wait for her return either.

The Dana of now was quiet and withdrawn-and harder to understand. I wasn't sure how to talk with her anymore, and she didn't seem open to sharing much anyway.

We were all to drive into the city to meet the plane that would bring Grandpa and Grandma Tyler home again.

DANA S VALLEY 125.Corey wanted to drag along one of the photo alb.u.ms. I'm not sure why. I guess he wanted to show Grandpa and Grandma what they looked like or something. Anyway, Mom managed to talk him into leaving it behind on the coffee table.

We were just getting on our coats and were ready to

kclimb into the van when Dana had another nosebleed.

*'!This one was hard to get stopped. I could tell that even with his concern for Dana, Dad's eyes were on the clock. It was a long drive to the airport, and if the traffic happened to be bad, we might be late. Dad didn't like being late. Not for anything. It made me feel fidgety just watching him.

Mom had stripped off Dana's coat with the blood spots on it and was working over Dana trying to get the bleeding to stop. She spoke without even looking up. I guess she must have been aware of the clock too. "Maybe you should go."

Mom couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice. I knew she had been counting the days as well. She was so excited about seeing her folks. And she had wanted us all to be there. Together. Her family-to welcome them home. She wanted to hear their "My, how they've grown" words and all those other things that grandparents say when they haven't seen their grandkids for a while.

Dad stirred and looked at his watch. "We've still got a little time," he answered. He knew how much Mom wanted to be there too.

Dana's eyes, above the cold cloth Mom had pressed over her face, looked panicky and apologetic. She couldn't just will the bleeding to stop, but I knew she was thinking she was spoiling things for the family. She tried to talk, but it was sort of a mumble. Mom moved the126.cloth a bit and leaned forward to listen.

I didn't hear what Dana said, but Mom came back with "Of course not. I wouldn't think of leaving you here alone."

Dad reached up to pa.s.s a hand through his hair, the car keys jangling with the movement.

Mom looked toward Dad again, and her eyes were shadowed. "I think she'd better stay home, Dave," she said. Her voice sounded a little choked. I hoped she wasn't going to cry. I couldn't stand seeing Mom cry.

"Would you like to go?" asked Dad, hesitantly holding the van keys out toward Mom.