“Of course I’m willing,” Terry says, swallowing. “She’s my sister.”
“Even though I’m siditty, uppity, stubborn?” I ask, a sob clogging my throat.
“Exactly all that.” Some of the fire reignites in Terry’s stare. “But you’re still my little sister. When shit hits the fan, family should be there for each other. I know we have a lot to work out, but let me at least try to help.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Dr. Okafor says from the open hospital door. “You’re Neevah’s sister, I assume? I see the resemblance.”
Is there? I study Terry’s beautiful face. She was always the pretty one when we were growing up, so I didn’t try to compare us. I knew she’d win the face race, but it didn’t really matter. I loved my sister with an affection so deep it bordered on hero worship. When she betrayed that, the only way I could deal with it and the consequences was to cut her off completely. With our strident words still echoing in my ears, it’s apparent there’s just as much hurt and resentment in this room as there was in our living room over a decade ago.
“I’m glad to hear you want to help,” Dr. Okafor continues. “Can I ask how long you’re here?”
“I have three days before I have to get back to work,” Terry says. “And my daughter needs me. Her daddy . . .” Her wide eyes meet mine at the mention of Brandon.
“We can talk about testing. We can’t get it all done in three days,” Dr. Okafor says. “We can coordinate with labs and doctors in your home state, too, which is?”
“North Carolina,” Terry says.
“Good then,” Dr. Okafor says, a smile lighting her dark eyes. “Well, let’s get started.”
63
Neevah
“You sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” Canon asks.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay while you’re gone? You’ve barely left this room since I checked in. Kenneth and Jill need you. The movie needs you. Go.”
“I’ll be here,” Mama reassures him. “By the time you get back, she’ll be done.”
Done with dialysis. Hooked up to this machine for hours at a time motivates me even more to find a match. I know this is how some people manage kidney disease, but this doesn’t fit how I see my life as a performer, dancer, actor. I don’t want to be chained to this machine. I can’t be.
“Okay.” Canon wears his hesitation in every line of his face. “I won’t be long.”
“Tell everyone I said hello.” I want to be on set so badly and I hate how things have stalled because of this.
Canon kisses my forehead and then my lips in a touch that lingers but, with my mama watching, doesn’t deepen. I want it to.
“I love you,” he whispers, pulling back to search my eyes.
“Love you back.” I give him a gentle shove. “Now go.”
“I’ll be back.”
“You mentioned that.” I laugh. “But first you have to go to come back.”
Shaking his head, he grabs his bag, waves at my mother, and strides from the room as purposefully as he goes everywhere.
“Now that is a man,” Mama breathes.
“He sure is.”
I smile faintly, losing some of my shine now that Canon is gone. I’m actually exhausted and slightly miserable, but Canon is already hovering and here pretty much around the clock. He may not be thinking about Dessi Blue, but I am. It’s my break. It will be one of the biggest movies of the year. It’s potentially Canon’s most significant work. It’s Evan and Kenneth and Jill and Trey and Monk and Verity and Linh and all the cast and crew who worked and sweat and sacrificed to make this important piece of not just entertainment, but history. Lost, discarded history. We have the chance to restore, to amplify people and events that have too long been overlooked, and my damn kidneys are not going to ruin that because the director cannot focus on anything other than his sick girlfriend.
But now that he’s gone, I slump into the pillows and watch the machine cleaning my blood and sending it back into my body since my kidneys have abdicated their duties.
The hospital door eases open and Terry walks in carrying an armful of magazines, which she passes to Mama, and a bag overflowing with colorful balls of yarn. She settles into a chair near the door and pulls out needles and yarn.
“You knit?” I ask skeptically. It doesn’t really fit my image of her as the temptress who lured my fiancé into a scandalous affair.
“Yeah.” She shrugs, not glancing up from her yarn. “It’s soothing.”
“There’s a whole group of us at church who do it,” Mama pipes up, reaching into Terry’s bag for another set of needles and some yarn.
“Oh, you go to church, too?” I ask with raised brows, because Terry left church as soon as Mama could no longer make her go. I, however, was still singing in the choir until I left for college.