to shake our hands.
"I know this all seems overwhelming right now, but it will become
second nature to you really quickly. You won't always have to
measure everything you put on your plates. You'll be able to
eyeball it soon, but for now it's important that it's done right.
For Ashley."
As if it would be for anyone else.
~~~~
The sky behind the shaded window is dark. We survived
our first day. Travis and Logan are with Ashley, who is asleep, and
I send the hospitality brigade home. I barely touched their pulled
pork and potato salad. All I can think of as I look at it is Dr.
Benton telling Ashley, "Everything you eat is poison to your body."
I try to remember what he said about fats and proteins and
carbohydrates, but it all blurs together and all I remember is
poison.
When I was a teenager, a girl I babysat got leukemia.
Blood cancer. They gave her chemo and all her hair fell out, and
she threw up all the time and couldn't hardly walk she was so weak.
I asked my mom why she was so much sicker when they were treating
her than before, and she said it was because they were treating her
with poison. "It takes poison to kill the poison that's killin'
her," she said.
I wonder if insulin is poison. I wonder if Ashley
will get worse before she gets better. I remember how casual the
doctor sounded, and the nurse, and how all normal it seemed to
them. But something in my stomach tells me different. A mother
listens to these instincts. We trust them more than science.
Sometimes more than God. Something tells me it's going to get way
worse before it gets better.
~~~~
Chapter Seven
I step out onto the balcony where the helicopter
landed with Ashley several hours ago and look across the skyline of
Austin, blazing with lights of people and businesses that are going
about their lives as if everything is ordinary.
The door opens again behind me, and I turn to see
Logan, his hair looking like a flame under the red exit sign. He
hesitates and then walks towards me. He don't look at me but leans
against the railing next to me and pulls a pack of cigarettes out
of his pocket, tapping it until one slides out. He offers it to
me.
"Logan T. Babcock, what in the name of all that's
holy are you doing with cigarettes?"
"They're yours," he says without blinking, without
looking at me. "I thought you might want them." He kept his eyes on
the city lights. "I took them from your sock drawer before we left
the house. I figured if we ended up staying overnight you'd need
them."
If I ever thought my son could shock me, I didn't
imagine it'd be like this. I stare at him, but he don't look at me,
or withdraw the cigarettes. I take it slowly, and he pulls a
lighter from his pocket and offers me a light. I take a long drag
and exhale the puff into the night air. "How long you known?"
"A while." He says nothing more.
"Do you smoke, too?" I try not to say it accusingly,
but it's hard to reign in the motherly tone.
"God, no. Those things will kill you."
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," I say, then
immediately regret it. I'm glad he don't smoke. "I only have one a
day," I say, as if this makes it okay. "At night. Since I was about
your age."
Logan don't act surprised, but he don't say nothing
else either.
"I gave up a lot of stuff when we joined the church,"
I say, as if I can justify it. "I stopped drinking and cussing. I
gave up immoral TV. Shoot, your dad and I even gave up going out to
lunch on Sundays. But the cigarette. . ." I can't finish, because I
know there is no reason. I just didn't want to give it up.
We stand next to each other until the cigarette is
gone. I drop it and crush it with my shoe. He makes no motion to
leave, so I stay too.
"Is Ashley really going to be okay?"
"Of course," I lie.
"But you don't know that."
"I know Dr. Benton says she'll be fine. And so did
the nurse."
"But he also said she could die. She has to give
herself insulin, and too much could kill her."
I think about asking for
"I know this all seems overwhelming right now, but it will become
second nature to you really quickly. You won't always have to
measure everything you put on your plates. You'll be able to
eyeball it soon, but for now it's important that it's done right.
For Ashley."
As if it would be for anyone else.
~~~~
The sky behind the shaded window is dark. We survived
our first day. Travis and Logan are with Ashley, who is asleep, and
I send the hospitality brigade home. I barely touched their pulled
pork and potato salad. All I can think of as I look at it is Dr.
Benton telling Ashley, "Everything you eat is poison to your body."
I try to remember what he said about fats and proteins and
carbohydrates, but it all blurs together and all I remember is
poison.
When I was a teenager, a girl I babysat got leukemia.
Blood cancer. They gave her chemo and all her hair fell out, and
she threw up all the time and couldn't hardly walk she was so weak.
I asked my mom why she was so much sicker when they were treating
her than before, and she said it was because they were treating her
with poison. "It takes poison to kill the poison that's killin'
her," she said.
I wonder if insulin is poison. I wonder if Ashley
will get worse before she gets better. I remember how casual the
doctor sounded, and the nurse, and how all normal it seemed to
them. But something in my stomach tells me different. A mother
listens to these instincts. We trust them more than science.
Sometimes more than God. Something tells me it's going to get way
worse before it gets better.
~~~~
Chapter Seven
I step out onto the balcony where the helicopter
landed with Ashley several hours ago and look across the skyline of
Austin, blazing with lights of people and businesses that are going
about their lives as if everything is ordinary.
The door opens again behind me, and I turn to see
Logan, his hair looking like a flame under the red exit sign. He
hesitates and then walks towards me. He don't look at me but leans
against the railing next to me and pulls a pack of cigarettes out
of his pocket, tapping it until one slides out. He offers it to
me.
"Logan T. Babcock, what in the name of all that's
holy are you doing with cigarettes?"
"They're yours," he says without blinking, without
looking at me. "I thought you might want them." He kept his eyes on
the city lights. "I took them from your sock drawer before we left
the house. I figured if we ended up staying overnight you'd need
them."
If I ever thought my son could shock me, I didn't
imagine it'd be like this. I stare at him, but he don't look at me,
or withdraw the cigarettes. I take it slowly, and he pulls a
lighter from his pocket and offers me a light. I take a long drag
and exhale the puff into the night air. "How long you known?"
"A while." He says nothing more.
"Do you smoke, too?" I try not to say it accusingly,
but it's hard to reign in the motherly tone.
"God, no. Those things will kill you."
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," I say, then
immediately regret it. I'm glad he don't smoke. "I only have one a
day," I say, as if this makes it okay. "At night. Since I was about
your age."
Logan don't act surprised, but he don't say nothing
else either.
"I gave up a lot of stuff when we joined the church,"
I say, as if I can justify it. "I stopped drinking and cussing. I
gave up immoral TV. Shoot, your dad and I even gave up going out to
lunch on Sundays. But the cigarette. . ." I can't finish, because I
know there is no reason. I just didn't want to give it up.
We stand next to each other until the cigarette is
gone. I drop it and crush it with my shoe. He makes no motion to
leave, so I stay too.
"Is Ashley really going to be okay?"
"Of course," I lie.
"But you don't know that."
"I know Dr. Benton says she'll be fine. And so did
the nurse."
"But he also said she could die. She has to give
herself insulin, and too much could kill her."
I think about asking for
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