Ann Martin - Stacey's Emergency

"Okay," I replied. "See you later."

And Mom called after him, "Thank you!"

Mom and I were alone again. We'd spent a lot of time together that week, just the two of us. Usually, I was working and Mom was reading. But that morning Mom said, "Do you want me to turn on the TV, honey?"

I shook my head. "No. Not now, anyway. . . . Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Is Dad going to visit me today?"

Mom couldn't quite look at me. "Maybe after dinner," she said.

"Why doesn't he come during the day?" I wanted to know. "He's hardly been here at all, ever since ..." I realized that he'd hardly been there at all ever since my mother had arrived. But I didn't want to say that. It would hurt her feelings. "Ever since, um, Sunday," I finished up.

"You know your father's a workaholic," said Mom, still not looking directly at me.

"Yeah. But couldn't he visit me during his lunch hour? Or on his way to the office in the morning?"

"I suppose. Well, maybe something deeper is going on."

"Such as what?" I asked suspiciously.

"Stacey, your father loves you very much — "

"It doesn't feel like it right now."

"He loves you so much," Mom went on, "that I think it's been very difficult for him to visit you in the hospital. He doesn't like to see you this way."

"Well, I can't help how I look or what happened. If Dad's staying away from me because I'm sick, then he's being very selfish."

At last Mom's gaze met my own. I knew I'd gone one step too far. "That's unfair, Stacey," she said in measured tones. "Listen to me. Do you want to know why your father hasn't been around to see you very often? It's partly because of the things I said, but mostly it's because of me."

"You?"

Mom nodded. "Well, Dad and me. We're having a hard time being together right now. So since I could take time off from my job, and your father can't, we agreed that I would stay with you during the day as much as possible, and he would visit you later."

"Oh." Was that true? Could my parents really not be in the same room together for a half an hour or so? Maybe that was what was bothering me; not so much that Dad was only spending a little time with me, but that my parents couldn't be together so that the three of us could seem like a family again — at least while I was sick.

"Maybe you should turn on the TV after all," I said to Mom. I didn't want to continue our conversation, but I couldn't just lie in bed while Mom sat next to me, both of us shrouded in silence.

Mom switched the set on and, after changing channels for awhile, we discovered an old Woody Alien movie. We began to laugh. By the time the movie had ended, our argument was forgotten. Well, maybe not forgotten, but over.

At 3:15 that afternoon, Laine showed up. For the past three days, she'd come by to see me as soon as school let out.

I know she was surprised to find me in bed in my nightgown, my hair uncombed. She couldn't hide her surprise. But Mom and I tactfully ignored it, and then my mother excused herself to get a cup of coffee so that Laine and I could spend an hour or two alone together.

"So?" Laine said, sitting down.

"So I'm not feeling too great today." I thought I owed her an explanation.

"Maybe you'll feel better tomorrow," Laine replied with that tone of false cheer that I've heard too often whenever I've been in the hospital.

"Maybe," I echoed.

Laine leaned down and reached into a shopping bag. "I brought you something."

"Again?" I couldn't help smiling. Every time Laine came to visit me, she brought one or two weird things. My room was filling up quickly — with a camouflage-print hat that said "Daddy's Little Hunting Buddy" across the top, a pair of light-up sunglasses, glow-in-the-dark jewelry, a pen that looked like a palm tree, and more.

Laine handed me a box. "Open it," she said.

I lifted the top off. Inside lay a hand mirror. An ordinary, plastic mirror. I had mentioned that I wished I had a mirror in my room, but I was surprised to see such a tame gift from Laine.

"Hold it up," Laine instructed me.

I lifted it in front of my face — and the mirror began to laugh at me!

So did Laine. "Can you believe I found that?" She asked, trying to calm down. "It came from the same place that carries those cicada key rings."

I laughed helplessly, and Laine started up again. We spent the next two hours encouraging anyone who entered my room to look in the mirror.

This one nurse practically fainted.

By the time Laine and my mom had left and

I was waiting for Dad to arrive, I felt better — emotionally, anyway.

But that didn't last long. Dr. Motz came back just as my supper was being placed in front of me.

"Stacey," he said gravely, "tomorrow we plan to start a new procedure with you. I'll need to talk to your parents first, but I'm sure they'll okay it."

"What are you going to do?" I couldn't keep my voice from trembling.

"Just hook you up to an I.V. for awhile. I want to see how you do with insulin dripping constantly into your veins."

"Goody," I said.

When Dr. Motz left, I began to cry.

Chapter 12.

"There she is!"

"No, that's not her."

"It says 'Stacey McGill' by her door, you dweeb."

Was I dreaming? It was Saturday, I was pretty sure of that. I was also sure that I'd been awakened around eleven-thirty the night before when a nurse hooked me up to the I. V. Then I'd fallen asleep again and had all these weird dreams. Now I could have sworn I heard the voices of my Stoneybrook friends. But that couldn't be true. Why would they be in New York?

"Oh, my lord!" someone cried. "She's got a needle stuck in her arm!"

"SHHH!" said someone else.

"She's sleeping," a whispered voice added.

"No, I'm not." I struggled to open my eyes — and found myself facing Claudia,

Dawn, Mary Anne, and Kristy! "Are you really here?" I asked.

"We really are," said Claud.

My head cleared as the four BSC members crowded into my room, hugged me awkwardly (since I was lying down), and dropped presents and packages all over the bed. My friends were beaming.

"We took the train down early this morning," Dawn informed me.

"And we didn't get lost in Grand Central Station," added Mary Anne.

"Jessi and Mal wanted to come, too, but their parents wouldn't let them," said Claudia. "They sent some things for you, though. And Jessi hopes you got the letter she mailed."

"Oh, wow! I can't believe this!" I exclaimed. "I thought I was dreaming. But this is a dream come true."

"Boy, the hospital sure has made you maudlin," said Kristy. She held up one hand and rubbed her index finger back and forth across the top of her thumb.

"What's that?" everyone asked.

"The world's saddest story played on the smallest violin."

I giggled. If I'd had the energy, I would have thrown a pillow at Kristy. Instead, I raised the bed so that I could sit up. I looked at the stuff strewn over my covers.

"You guys are going to spoil me," I said. "What on earth did you bring?"

"Lots of things/' replied Claud. "But before you look at them, tell us how you're feeling. You, um, don't sound as good as when I talked to you on Thursday."

"I don't feel as good as I did then." I held up my arm. "They're dripping insulin directly into my veins now. Maybe that will make a difference."

"Gosh," said Mary Anne slowly.

"Let's not talk about it, though," I went on. "I want to know how you guys are doing, and what's been happening in Stoneybrook."

"Okay," replied Claud. She was perched on my bed, Dawn next to her. Kristy and Mary Anne were seated in the chairs.

"Wait," said Kristy. "Before you start, Claud, let me try to make myself even more comfortable than I am right now. This chair is really incredible. I've never felt anything quite like it." Kristy tried to adjust herself so that her spine and shoulder blades weren't mashed up against the back of the hard chair. It was impossible. "Ah. I think I'd like a set of these for my bedroom," added Kristy.