So I did what any good daughter or sister would: I kept tabs on the family via social media. When I discovered Anna had a soccer match this afternoon, I got into my van and drove five hours north to cheer her on. I hadn’t worked up the nerve to get out of the car yet, but I had a decent view of the field from the parking lot. The score was zero to zero. Not a riveting game, but I marveled at how easily this group of seven-year-olds ran up and down the field. They were boundless in their energy, legs strong and obedient. They would spend their childhoods running and rolling around in the grass, not hooked up to IVs or confined to hospital beds. They were luckier than they knew, and they took all of it for granted.
A whistle blew, signaling the end of the match. Each team lined up to shake one another’s hands. I stretched and opened the van door, hopping down to the concrete, stomach in knots. Watching Anna high-five the girls on the other team, I couldn’t help but grin and relax a little. I loved my sister—and I’d missed her all these months. I wanted nothing more than her stubby arms around me. When was the last time I had been hugged? The last time another human being had touched me at all?
I made a beeline for Anna, ignoring the stares of the parents in the bleachers, the refs walking off the field, and the girls on both teams. When Anna saw me, her eyes lit up.
“Rose,” she yelled. She sprinted toward me, much faster than she’d chased any soccer ball in the last couple hours.
When we reached each other in the middle of the field, she pounded her little body into me. I scooped her up and swung her in circles. Anna laughed with delight, squealing. I swung her faster and faster. I wanted to be good to her the way Phil had been good to me. I wanted to pay it forward.
“I’m gonna barf,” Anna said, but kept laughing, so I kept spinning. This reunion was exactly how I’d pictured it. “Look at my new earrings!”
I stopped twirling and set Anna down. The two of us swayed, waiting for the dizziness to pass. I oohed and ahhed over the tiny Minnie Mouse studs. I had the urge to lie down in the grass, to stop the afternoon right there.
“Rose, what are you doing here?” a voice behind me said. Kim.
“She came to see me play,” Anna said.
My gaze shifted from Anna to her mother. Sometimes I couldn’t believe they were related. I tried to adopt Anna’s carefree tone. “I missed you guys.”
Kim put her hand on Anna’s shoulder and tugged my sister toward her. “Go join the team huddle, honey,” she said, pointing to the circle of girls Dad was giving a postgame speech to. Anna trotted off.
Kim watched Anna go, then turned toward me. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said. “Billy told you he needed space.”
I frowned at Kim for a minute, debating the best way to approach this conversation. She crossed her arms.
“I’d rather talk about this with my dad,” I said. I had a better shot of getting through to him.
“Billy is busy,” Kim said. “What is there to talk about?”
I had never cussed anyone out before, but Kim would have made the perfect first candidate. I bit my tongue, watching Anna’s team stack their hands in the middle of the huddle and then yell, “Team!” on the count of three. Kim followed my gaze and moved over a few steps, trying to block my view of Dad and the girls.
Anna tugged on Dad’s sleeve and pointed at me. Dad followed her finger, squinted, and recognized me. He nudged her toward a couple of the other girls and came jogging in Kim’s and my direction, clipboard and backpack in hand.
When he reached us, he was out of breath. I opened my arms to hug him.
“Dad!” I said.
He hugged me back stiffly. I tried not to think about the looks or mouthed words he and Kim were exchanging behind my back.
Dad pulled out of the hug. “What are you doing here? We talked about this.”
I smiled in spite of the knot in my stomach. “I’ve been giving you space for four months now. How much space do you need?”
I’d tried to keep my tone light, but the question came off desperate. Worse, no one was answering. Dad scowled at me, cheeks reddening. Kim looked ready to explode—if her arms crossed any tighter, she’d turn into a pretzel.
The seconds felt like hours. I willed someone to say something, anything. Even Kim’s voice would have been preferable to silence at this point.
I wished too soon. “Billy,” Kim snapped, “if you don’t say it, I will.”
Dad turned on his wife. “Kim,” he said, voice deadly quiet, “go wait in the car.”
Kim pouted but slunk away.
He watched me with emotionless eyes. “We know, Rose.”
“Know what?” I asked, my heart rate quickening.
“Stop playing dumb,” he said flatly. “I know you lied.”
I tried to keep my face blank. “Lied about what?”
Parents had collected their daughters. The fathers had their arms around the little ones, congratulating them on a great game. The mothers packed up the coolers. The kids chattered and sipped their juice boxes. They all walked toward us, heading for their cars in the parking lot.
“About the cancer,” Dad hissed, struggling to keep quiet, aware of the parents nearby. I had never seen him this mad. “You lied about having cancer! What the hell is wrong with you?”
I flushed. My outrage had to match his to be believable. “Excuse me?”
The parents nearby stared, their interest piqued. I bet they’d never heard Billy Gillespie raise his voice.
“I called Dr. Stanton’s office,” Dad said.
Shit.
“He’s a general practitioner, not an oncologist,” he said, hands shaking with fury. “Do you have any idea how humiliated I was?”
I’d worried this might happen. I did what my mother would have done—deny, deny, deny.
“Dr. Stanton is my GP, but I also have an oncologist,” I said, indignation building. “Why were you calling my doctor anyway?”
“Your doctor’s note was from Dr. Stanton,” Dad said, jaw muscles tensing.
“Yeah.” I jutted out my chin. “He’s capable of deciding whether I’m healthy enough to travel.”
“You told us Dr. Stanton was the one treating you.” Dad waved his arms like a lunatic. “So who is this mystery oncologist?”
Quietly I said, “I asked my oncologist to write me a note but he said no. So I convinced Dr. Stanton to do it instead.”
Dad’s forehead wrinkled. “Why did your oncologist say no?”
I shrugged. “He said my body had been through a lot, that I should rest a few more weeks and then we’d see.”