Miriam's Well by Lois Ruby Page B

we’re in Kansas, Abby. This is beef country.” Dad moved the offender under a lettuce leaf, which, incidentally, was a lot greener than any lettuce we’d ever eaten in this house.
    â€œI’m trying to make you two healthy,” Mom said, pouting. She was hurt, as if she were Japanese, or even Californian.
    â€œSpeaking of healthy,” my father began, “I’m up at Memorial Hospital today visiting McGorkle, that client of mine who was in the grain elevator accident, and I pass this room, you could swear a foreign potentate is staying in it. There’s a sign on the door saying NO ONE ADMITTED WITHOUT PRIOR CLEARANCE, and standing outside the door’s an armed guard. And who do you suppose is in the room?”
    â€œDanny Glickman?” Mom guessed. Dan Glickman was a member of our synagogue and also our congressman.
    â€œNot Danny Glickman. That girl, the religious nut with cancer.”
    â€œThat’s Miriam Pelham,” I said quietly.
    My mother asked, “You know this girl?”
    â€œSort of.”
    Dad squished the tofu with his fork. “So, does she really buy into all that Jesus stuff?”
    â€œYeah, I think so.”
    â€œGod, the poor kid.”
    I told my parents I was going to the library after dinner, but I went to Memorial Hospital instead. Don’t ask me why. I had to show my driver’s license and leave it with the guard outside Miriam’s door before the nurse would even go in to ask if Miriam wanted to see me. Finally, they let me in. Miriam was curled on her side with the blankets up to her ears and her back to me. She didn’t say a word when I walked in.
    â€œIt’s the vulture,” I quipped. “You know, the thing with feathers?” Nothing. “Okay, so you’re mad at me for getting you into this mess. You’re freezing me out, right?”
    I was feeling pretty stupid talking to her back. Maybe she was asleep, and I was really talking to myself—even stupider. So I walked around to the other side of the bed. Her eyes were wide open, and tears were dribbling down her face at this weird angle, like winter rain.
    â€œWhy are you here?” Her voice was nasally and thick, as if she had a bad cold or was me during allergy season.
    â€œGood question. Why am I here?”
    â€œYou’ll think of something. You’re the debater.” Those tears kept sliding down her face, soaking her hair. A wet circle was spreading on her pillow. I looked away; I was always embarrassed when my mother cried. Diana never cried, which is part of why I liked her so much. Finally—I don’t know what got into me—I picked up a corner of the sheet and wiped Miriam’s tears with it.
    â€œI’b id trouble, Adam.” Now she was using the sheet for a handkerchief, blowing her honker like a grieving widow.
    â€œCan I do anything?”
    â€œDoe.”
    That cut me off, clean. “Yeah, well I’ll see you later, then.” I was more than ready to leave. Besides, the air-conditioning was blowing spores all over the room from these big puffy flowers, and my nose was starting to run. If I stayed much longer, I’d be using the other corner of her sheet.
    But when I got to the door, she eased herself onto her back. I saw the pain streak across her face like lightning. “I’b id big trouble.”
    Did she want to talk? I hung around a minute, but she didn’t say anything else. “Listen, why don’t I check in with you in a couple of days when you’re feeling better, okay? I’m getting ready for a debate tournament in Dodge City on Friday and Saturday. Maybe I’ll come by on Sunday.”
    â€œAnd baybe you won’t.”
    That was a real possibility.
    â€œBut baybe you will?”
    â€œSure.” Not a chance. Well, a slim chance.
    â€œIt’s insane, Adam, clearly insane,” Diana said. We were in Mr. Bennet’s van, somewhere way west of