Dancing by the fire at the beach . . .
My heart starts pounding so fast I can’t breathe. Beside me, a machine starts beeping. “Lying,” I accuse in a whisper. At the word, and the effort behind it, my throat seems to catch fire.
As if from a distance, I hear my sister calling for someone. Within moments there are people in my room.
I see a needle.
“Quit thrashing,” my sister says. “You’ll hurt yourself. ”
Please be lying.
I feel myself fading to gray, closing my eyes. The terrible sound in my head goes still.
Lying.
I’m flying above the rainforest, looking down at the brightly lit tiara of a town. From a great and yawning distance, I see the black ribbon of a road. Moonlight gilds the center line and I follow it.
This time, I know I’m dreaming. I can hear the buzz of the fluorescent lighting overhead and the thunk-whoosh sound of the stork-like machine beside my bed. There is also a kind of low-grade thrumming in my blood, a euphoria, that comes from an IV drip. I guess it’s camouflaging a serious pain, but it’s masking it so well I don’t care.
From my place amid the silvery clouds, I see the Comfort Fishing Lodge, tucked down along the glassy gray lake. Moonlight glitters on the water.
That’s where I want to be. I close my eyes and make it happen.
When I open my eyes, I’m in the lobby, pressed against the wall. The room is still decorated. The lights of the tree are on; the mantel holds several lit candles amid the snowy town. The stereo is playing Bruce Springsteen’s version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town. ”
I hear footsteps upstairs. This old place rattles and groans as someone races down the hall overhead, then clatters down the stairs.
It is Bobby. He is at a full Christmas morning run.
At the bottom of the stairs, he pivots left and rushes past me to Room 1A.
> He pulls the door open, yelling, “Joy!” and disappears inside.
I picture him skidding to a stop beside the empty bed. The sorrow I feel at that overwhelms me, making it difficult to breathe again.
Daniel comes down the stairs and stops beside me. I long to feel the warmth of him, but I can’t. I’m close enough to see the tiny sleep lines that mark his cheek, to hear the soft strains of his breath, and yet I feel as if I’m miles away. “Boyo? I thought you’d go straight to the tree. ”
Bobby steps back into the hall. He looks smaller somehow, younger. His shoulders are slumped, his mouth is shaking. I can see how hard he is trying not to cry. “She’s gone. ”
I try to go to him, but I can’t push away from the wall. My legs are like lead pipes.
Bobby shuffles toward his father in that hangdog way of disappointed children everywhere. “She promised. It’s just like Mommy. ”
“I’m here,” I say, desperately trying to reach out for him. “Don’t say I’m not here. ”
Daniel pulls Bobby into his arms. I can tell that Bobby is crying, but it’s nearly silent, the way of a boy who has learned too early to cry and is trying to hide it.
When Bobby draws back, his eyes are red and watery.
“Remember what the doctor said?” Daniel asks, wiping his son’s tears with a gentle hand. “When you didn’t need your imaginary friend anymore, she’d leave. ”
“She wasn’t imaginary, Dad. ” He shakes his head. “She wasn’t. You talked to her. ”
“The doctors told me to pretend. ”
I feel as if I’ve been struck.
I was Bobby’s imaginary friend.