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Healer

By Susan Miura

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CHAPTER 1 - SHILO, AGE 5

Warm, bloody fur oozes through my fingers.
“You’ll be okay,” I whisper, but it doesn’t take away the
fear in his eyes. “You’ll see. You’ll be okay.”

“Somebody should just shoot the thing.” The blue-
haired old lady stands by the curb, glaring at Shadow.
“Ain’t gonna live anyway.” Her voice crackles like shoes
on gravel. “Dumb dog. What was he doin’, runnin’ into
the street like that? And why’s that little girlie kneelin’
next to him?”

A truck rumbles by and flings tiny stones that sting
my face, but Mommy doesn’t notice. She’s busy trying to
make my baby sister stop fussing. Seems like Julia’s al-
ways fussing.

I lean down until my lips touch Shadow’s floppy
ear. “Don’t die,” I whisper. “Please.”

Inside my head, I see his broken parts. Inside my
soul, I feel his pain. Ba-bum, ba-bum. Our hearts thump
together as death creeps closer like a big, hairy spider.
But I know something Shadow doesn’t – God can
squash death if he wants to. Please, God, make him better. You have lots of power and lots of love. Please use those things to fix him.

My head gets light and dreamy. All the noises dis-
appear. No more trucks rumbling or babies crying or
old lady voices. And the whole world is washed in the
color of love. Warmth replaces the tears in my heart. It
flows through my body and down my arms like a river
of cocoa, sweet and wonderful, then into my hands.
Warmer and warmer. I spread my fingers, and they fill
with heat. It flows into Shadow from my very own
hands, but I can’t see my hands; they’re covered by big-
ger, stronger hands like Daddy’s, only these glow soft as
fireflies.

And I am not afraid.

“Shilo!” Mommy turns away from Julia to look at
me. “Mama mia, what are you doing?”

The words swirl in a hazy blue mist. Mommy sways
in the fog, her face soft and dreamy, but there’s worry
lines on her forehead. I look down at my red, sticky fingers. “My hands,” I whisper. “My hands.”

Shadow raises his head. He’s not bleeding or jerking
like before. He struggles to stand and falls back down
but doesn’t give up. When he tries again, it works. A
warm tongue licks my cheek and makes me smile. He
barks a happy bark.

“Would ya look at that,” the old lady says. “Simply
ain’t possible.” And all the people start talking at once.
“Oh, no.” Mommy shakes her head. “No, no, no.”
She says it too quiet for the people to hear. But I hear.
Why isn’t she happy like me? I am too sleepy to ask and
too sleepy to stand, even though she’s telling me we
have to go.

By the time we reach home, my jelly legs can hardly hold me up.
I lean against Mommy as she scrubs the
rest of the blood off my hands. Julia watches from her
stroller, cuddling her bunny blanket.

“So tired.”

“I know, Honey. I know.” Her voice is calm now,
but something in her eyes reminds me of Shadow be-
fore he got better. “Come on, I’ll tuck you in.”

I take one slow step toward my room, then lay
down on the cool kitchen tile, and close my eyes. Loving
arms wrap around me.

“Please, God.” Mommy’s voice sounds far away,
but her soft kiss brushes my forehead. “Not my daugh-
ter, too.”

CHAPTER 2 -SHILO, 12 YEARS LATER

It’s been three days since my family got slammed
with the news. Cancer. Like a demon it rose from the
depths, sinking its ragged claws into the one person who
gets me. Really knows me.

On my nightstand, digital numbers glow 12:07
a.m.— nine minutes later than last time I looked. My
sluggish brain drifts halfway across town to the hospital
bed where Aunt Rita might be lying awake, fearing the
future. Powerless over the disease raging through her
body. The same body that leapt up to cheer for me at
countless soccer games, clapped sixteen times as I blew
out last year’s birthday candles, and listened to my trials
and triumphs since…well, since forever.

Thirst draws me away from the sweet comfort of
my bed. I pad down the hall, past the closet where Mom
hid my present with the glittery seventeen on top. It is
carefully buried beneath an old backpack, where it will
have to lie in wait for another month. Not that I care. If
auntie’s not there, singing off key and insisting I make a
wish, what’s the point? I tiptoe past Julia’s room, where
a poster of Yellowstone’s prismatic spring covers half
the door. She will happily explain, to anyone who will
listen, how the colors result from microbes or some-
thing in the mineral-rich water. Everyone just nods and
says “ohhh” as if they get it.

Before I reach the sink, hushed voices rise faintly
from the kitchen, and I stiffen, straining to hear the
words. Maybe it’s about Aunt Rita.

“Who knows what might happen? I don’t want her
to find out she’s different.” Fear edges Mom’s voice.

My head says they’re talking about Julia again—
she’s definitely not a normal twelve-year-old, but the
prickles on my neck disagree.

“Honey, Annie, look at me.” Dad’s velvet tone
could calm a grizzly. “You can’t keep her from going to
the hospital.”

“But all those sick people. You know what could
happen.”

The refrigerator door opens and thumps shut. Must
be Dad grabbing the last slice of mom’s chocolate pea-
nut butter pie. “We’ve been over this a thousand times.
Maybe the dog incident wasn’t what you thought.”

The prickles creep down my spine as a phantom
memory hovers just out of reach.

“You don’t know the signs, Nicky,” she says. “You
don’t know what this could do to her life. What child
lays her hands on a bloody animal? That dog had three
feet in the grave, and to this day it’s spry as a puppy.”

Her tone is laced with a quiet hysteria that unsettles me.
Mom is a rock, and it takes nothing short of an earth-
quake to dislodge her. “Thank goodness she doesn’t re-
member the details.”

I stop breathing. No, they’re not talking about Julia.
My mind struggles to grasp the remnants of something
halfway between a dream and reality. A dog. Bloody fur.
Eyes crazed with pain and fear.

“Then the sleeping.” Mom’s words jar me back to
the present. “Just like Nonna Marie.”

My fingers clench the door frame as images assault
me. Glowing hands. My body warm and peaceful and
light as air. Choppy memories that don’t make sense but
fit together like pieces of an unmarked puzzle.

“And remember what I told you last week? She
brushed against the clerk at Target then mumbled some-
thing about feeling warm inside.”

I gasp, remembering how the lady at the counter
handed the gum to me and our hands touched. It was
only a moment, but my heart…

“And her eyes, Nick. Her eyes.”

“I know.” It’s the voice Dad uses with Julia when
she’s all psycho over getting a B on some genius-level
test, rare occasion that it is. His sigh is audible even
from a distance. “But it’s been dormant for over a dec-
ade. Why would it surface now?”

“Maybe the dog was just a sign. Maybe she had to
get old enough. I don’t know.” Muffled sobs rise from
the kitchen. “And what about Rita?” Mom’s voice cracks
on her sister’s name. “It’s possible she could save her,
but then the whole world would know.”

My throat tightens at Mom’s tearful words, but a
cloud of confusion shadows the sadness. Who could
save Aunt Rita? Certainly not me. I’d give anything to
save her. Do anything.

And the world would know what?

Feet shuffle behind me. I whirl to find Julia standing
in the hall, blowing my chance to eavesdrop in
peace.

“What are you doing up?” I whisper.

“I’m thirsty. Why are you standing here?” Julia’s
“Geologists Rock!” nightshirt hangs off one shoulder
and down to her calves, clearly made for a much larger
geology nerd. Dark, layered waves of hair flip crazily
around her bed-head. No need for her to know what I’m doing.“Just
heading back to my room.”

My sleepyhead little sister shrugs her acceptance,
continuing on her way with a yawn. But the bathroom
door clicks. Loud.

“Somebody’s awake up there.” Whispers and footsteps
follow Dad’s words.

Eavesdropping was tough enough when they were
in the kitchen, but words from the family room? Impos-
sible.

Avoiding the creaky floorboards, I sneak back to
my room and lay on the carpet, ear pressed against the
cool metal of the floor vent. Garbled words and angry
tones rise through the air ducts. Puzzled and curious, I
return to bed, trying to make sense of it all.
Why are they protecting me? And from what? I
search my memories for details about the injured dog,
and how it could possibly relate to the color of my eyes
- eyes that solicit comments from total strangers who
ask where I got the iridescent contacts. But everyone in
the family knows I have Nonna Marie’s eyes.
“Blue as a summer sky,” Dad always says.
So cool to be the only blue-eyed Giannelli. Or as
Julia would say, “an enigma.” But at the moment, Mom’s
words, not Julia’s, wrap around my brain like the chains
of an earthbound ghost.

But then the whole world would know.

Like a mantra, it plays over and over in my mind,
until I fade into the darkness of a restless sleep.

###

“Mom, come on! We’re hardly going to have any
time.” I’ve been ready to visit Aunt Rita for six hours.
This is beyond ridiculous. First she had to pay bills, then
run to the store for flour and butter, even though she’s
not teaching her Perfect Pies class until next week. After
that, she looked over Julia’s homework papers, as if
there were any need. Every time I mention going to the
hospital, she says “We’ll get there; don’t worry.”

I’m worried. Visiting hours will soon be over. If I
had my own car, I’d have been at Chicago Suburban
hours ago.

Finally, her bedroom door opens. “Okay.” Mom
pulls out her keys. “Okay.” She repeats the word softer,
smooths her skirt. “I’m ready. But remember, we can’t
stay long. And Shilo, it might be better if we didn’t, you
know, hug her.”

She has officially lost her mind. “Have we stopped
being Italian? I didn’t get the memo.”

“Just a quick hug, then Don’t linger.”

This is the same woman who nearly squeezes the
life out of anyone who comes through our door. Even
my friends, awkward as it is. On the upside, they don’t
complain. They just call her Annieconda and, weirdly
enough, keep coming back. Now Annieconda has just
told me not to touch Aunt Rita. My Aunt Rita, who’s
always seen the best in me, listened to every story, every
problem. If I could take her cancer, I would. But all I
can do is pray and hug, though the latter is suddenly ta-
boo, according to the stranger beside me.

We ride to the hospital in silence. I wish Dad didn’t
have to work today or Julia wasn’t tied up with home-
work. Even listening to her drone on about the latest
geological discoveries would be better than this. I could
ask something about the cooking classes she teaches at
the park district or when her article will be published in
Chicago Cuisine, but she’s clearly not in a talking mood.
Stealing a glance at Mom, I search for something in her
face that will unravel the mystery of last night’s conver-
sation. But it is a blank canvas, void of answers or even
a cryptic clue. As we turn into the parking lot, I consider
asking her flat out, but her heartbreak over Aunt Rita
shadows her face, and I let it go. Instead, I turn to an-
other matter she has uncharacteristically avoided.
“I brought the paper.” I open my purse and unfold
the parental consent form with the hospital’s logo on
top. “They did the background check and everything.
I’m all set, except for this.” Every time I’ve asked her to
sign my hospital volunteer form, she’s too busy. A sim-
ple signature is all I need. Two seconds of her life.

Mom shakes her head and sighs. “Not now, Shilo.
I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Two days ago you said you didn’t have time. Yesterday
you were too tired. Come on, this is the perfect
time.” I dig a pen out of my purse. “I can drop it off
while we’re there.”

“I don’t want to discuss it now.”

“Discuss it?” My voice rises as I shake my head.
“You do realize parents normally support this kind of
thing.”

“Can we just get through this visit? Is that too
much to ask?”

I sigh my frustration and decide to drop it, but only
because of Aunt Rita. The form returns to its original
spot, still void of Mom’s elusive signature.

The hands on the old-fashioned lobby clock show
we have an hour until visiting time ends. Aunt Rita must
be wondering why we abandoned her, and she’s not the
only one. She and Mom are close, despite the twelve-
year age difference, so why are we here so late?
Yellow and purple tulip displays cheerfully decorate
the brightly lit lobby, but they cannot erase the tears of
the sobbing woman walking past me, or the despair of
the man in the wheelchair. Or my fear. Aunt Rita re-
fused to give Mom an update over the phone, saying she
wanted to do it in person. We both know “in person”
means bad news, plain and simple, but neither of us say
it out loud. We simply sign in at the reception desk and
head for the elevators that will take us to the fifth floor,
where Aunt Rita awaits.

Mom stares at the floor numbers as they light one
by one. “Have you heard from Melody?”

The sound of her name nicks my heart. Best
friends since second grade, and lately she barely manag-
es to send me a text. I get it. B, ballet takes a lot of time
and commitment. But so does soccer, and I still make
time for my friends. Mom chose the wrong topic if she
was trying to break the tension caused by the still-not-
signed volunteer form. “Nope.”

The doors part, and I fly out, scanning room num-
bers until 526 finally appears. I enter first, weighted by
fear and anxiety, wondering what the next few minutes
will bring. This is a season in our lives, nothing more. A
harsh winter with too many gray skies. Soon it will end,
and we’ll be stronger and happier, knowing spring has
arrived. But as the hospital room fills my vision, it be-
comes clear we are still in the depths of winter.

A bed swallows Aunt Rita.

She lays still, eyes closed, shallow breaths the only
indication of life. Her salt and pepper hair, done up eve-
ry Friday at Curly Cues, lays in limp wisps against the
pillow. No Romantic Rose coats her pale lips. No Mid-
night Black lines those dark Sicilian eyes. Is she sleep-
ing? I look at Mom.

“Maybe we should go.” Mom turns toward the
door.

I shake my head, determined for this long-awaited
visit to take place. Stepping closer, I gently touch Aunt
Rita’s shoulder. If Mom’s going to continue her strange
behavior, someone has to step up. “Auntie?” I lean over
and whisper. “You awake?” Eyes open. Thank God.

“Oh.” Her forehead crinkles as she squints to clear
the sleep from her eyes. Confusion gives way to recogni-
tion. “Shilo, it’s you. And Annie. It was getting so late, I
figured you couldn’t make it today.”

“Rita.” Mom nearly tackles me in her effort to hug
her sister, long and hard. “Oh, Rita.” Softer now. She
can’t seem to say anything else.

“It’s okay, Honey” Auntie pats Mom’s back. “It’s
not that bad, I swear it. The doctors say I have a good
chance. Of course, I have to go through chemotherapy,
but a few zaps, and I’ll be fine. Don’t cry; you’ll make
me cry.”

It’s a good effort, I’ll give her that, but I’m not buy-
ing it.

Mom sits on the edge of the bed. “What stage?”

“Stage, smage. What do numbers mean?” Auntie
pastes on a smile as fake as the blue streak in my hair.
I take in the scene, struggling to breathe as I gaze at
the skeletal version of my aunt.

“What stage, Rita?” Fear weaves through Mom’s
words. “I want to know. If you don’t tell me, I’ll track
down that doctor myself.”

Silence permeates the room as Aunt Rita’s fake
smile straightens into a thin line. “Four.”

Mom grabs the bed rail. Something about that ges-
ture twists my heart. Stage four. I don’t know how many
stages cancer has, but I’m guessing it’s not a hundred.
“Is it in your liver? Your lymph nodes?” Her words
are monotone, controlled.

Auntie nods. “They’re not sure where else. I’ve got
all these darn tests to take.” She reaches for the water
glass on the tray table, takes a sip. “Now enough about
all this nonsense. Shilo, where’s my hug?”

I steal Mom’s spot as she walks to the window.
Wrapping my arms around my frail aunt, I imagine her
body invaded by the demon cancer. A wave of pain
washes through me, blurring the room and seizing my
encouraging words for Aunt Rita, whose gaunt face
smiles up at me. Thank goodness my grandparents
aren’t here to see this. It would have killed them…if the
helicopter crash hadn’t done it first. My grandfather had
been so excited about flying over that volcano in Tanza-
nia. He had promised to tell me all about it when he got
back. No one ever considered that might not happen.
I can’t lose Aunt Rita, too.

“Shhh.” Despite her weakness, Aunt Rita remains
the comforter. “Shhh. It’s okay, Honey.” She pushes my
arms away so we are face to face. “Now you listen to
me, Shilo. You too, Annie. I can beat this, capish? I need
you to be strong, make me laugh. Have faith—lots of it.
Faith and humor and love. That’s a mighty powerful
combination, don’t you think?”

I give her the smile she needs. “Yeah. Sure is.”

“Now, Shilo, how did you find time for this with
your soccer schedule and a boyfriend? Your mom says
you’re still with that Japanese boy. Good, I like him.
Very personable. Handsome, too.” She gives me a
thumbs-up. “Not Italian, but these days everything is
different. Everyone is with everyone. Kind of crazy, but
kind of nice, too.”

I lay my hand on her arm. Mom winces. A warn-
ing? Maybe shots and blood tests made my aunt’s arm
tender. I pull away. “Sorry Jules couldn’t come. She had
to work on a science project, but she’ll be here tomor-
row.”

“Let me guess, a rock project. Or is it astronomy
this time?” A weak laugh escapes dry lips.

I nudge and wink. “You’ll hear all about it tomor-
row.”

“Oh, boy. Maybe I’ll ask the nurse for extra pills.”
Aunt Rita laughs weakly at her little joke, then launches
into who came to see her today. Uncle Vince left just
before we came; he had to go home and take his heart
meds. Joey and Charlie visited, too. If we’d just gotten
here earlier, I could have seen my uncle and favorite
cousins.

“Now, tell me about your next class, Annie. I hear it
was standing room only for Summer Salads.”

“That’s an exaggeration.” Mom continues staring
out the window.

“They want her to go on cable.” I’m eager to main-
tain a light mood. If only it could make that cancer dis-
appear. If only.

“You do it, Annie. You can cook circles around Ra-
chel Ray. What’s next? Marvelous Mexican? Fabulous
Fondue?” Auntie grins, and I know what’s coming.

“Remember when Shilo was little? You made chocolate
fondue, and she dipped her hot dog in it?” She is des-
perately trying to shine a beam of sunlight through the
fog, but it’s far too thick. Despite the darkness, I laugh.
For her.

“There now.” Aunt Rita raises her hand to my face,
stroking my cheek like it’s porcelain. “You look much
prettier when you’re laughing. Those blue eyes twinkle
just like your great Nonna Marie’s.” She turns her gaze
toward my mother’s back. “Annie, is it possible?”

Mom whips around. “Not now.” Her eyes meet
Auntie’s and incinerate the rest of her words.
Words I want very much to hear.
“Not now, Ri.” Mom’s words soften. “Please.”

Aunt Rita squeezes my hand. “Shilo, do you think
you could go to the cafeteria and get me a coffee?”

I’m getting kicked out, but it’s okay. The woman is
dying. If she needs to discuss something in private, I’m
not going to stand in the way. “Sure, Auntie. Be right
back.”

As I head down the hallway, familiar music radiates
from my purse, and I reach in to grab my cell. Yes! Just
the number I want to see. “Hey you.”

“How’s the hottest girl at Cedarcrest High?”
I grin into my phone, knowing I’m not the hottest
by a long shot, but when my boyfriend says it, I can al-
most believe it. “Thanks, but I think your sister claimed
that title.”

“Nah. It’s you for sure. Hey, I stopped by. Nobody
was home. Not even mini Giannelli.”

Kenji’s teasing drives Julia crazy, and she tells me
daily my boyfriend is a “doofus.”

“I’m visiting my aunt at Chicago Suburban.”

“You want me to call back later?”

“No. Now’s good.” The task of finding coffee
might be slightly less mundane with Kenji’s voice to dis-
tract me.

“You should stop by and see Miya. She’s volunteer-
ing over in pediatrics.”

Kenji’s sister is brains, beauty, and gobs of confi-
dence tied in a pretty pink bow. Normally I’m just fine
being who I am, but every time I’m around Miya, I want
to be a little more…Miya.

“She’s probably there now. She could show you
around. Did your mom sign the form?”

“Nope.” There’s nothing to add. Not a reason that
makes sense. Or any reason at all.

“You should go anyway. Seriously. She says you’re
my best crush since Princess Leia. And that’s saying
something.”

As masked doctors and nurses roll another gurney
through the hall, I step aside, searching for a compelling
reason to say no. Miya’s always nice to me, but we hang
in very different circles. On one hand, it would feel
awkward, but on the other, I wouldn’t mind a glimpse
of Pediatrics since I’ll soon be volunteering there, too.
“Okay. Might as well. Looks like I’ve got time to kill.”

“Not me, I’m heading to practice. But just think,
pretty soon soccer and school will be done, and we’ll
have the whole summer together. We’ll take the train to
the city, hit the beaches, Great America. Prepare your-
self for the best summer ever.”

Happy summer images dance around my head.
Hanging out with Kenji, plus soccer camp at Purdue.
He’s right; it’s going to be the best. “I know. Can’t wait.”

“And the mission trip. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.” As if I could, with his daily reminders. I
have to admit, though, his excitement about the trip is
contagious.

“Gotta run. Later, Blue.”

Blue. His nickname for me always makes me smile,
but not today, when the color of my eyes keeps popping
into conversations.

Grabbing coffee from a waiting room, I head back,
stopping just outside the hospital room for another
round of eavesdropping.

“I still haven’t told her, Rita. I will soon. You know
I want you better. More than anything.” Mom’s voice
echoes the same mysterious tone from last night.

“It’s okay, Annie. If it were to be, she would have
felt something by now.”

If it were to be. Another mysterious phrase to add to
the pile.

I walk in and hold out the Styrofoam cup, it’s luke-
warm contents sloshing inside. “Here you go. Not quite
the fresh ground beans you use at home.”

Auntie reaffixes her smile, holding out a shaky hand
for the coffee cup. “It’s fine, Honey. Perfect.”

“If you guys don’t mind, I’m going to go see a
friend who volunteers here.”

Mom finally stops pretending to read a tattered
People from last January. The actress on the cover has
already been in and out of rehab twice since then.
“That’s fine. I’ll meet you at the front door in half an
hour.”

Rainbows and smiley suns color the halls leading to
Pediatrics. Why did I agree to this? We have nothing in
common, aside from Kenji. She’s all brains and rah-rah;
I’m all soccer and music. As I pass the waiting room, my
eyes lock onto a girl slumped in a chair. Black waves of
hair cascade down to her waist. It’s the kind of hair you
see on shampoo commercials, and there’s only one per-
son I know who possesses it.

“Miya?”

Her tear-streaked face freezes my next step.
Miya Hiyama…crying? In a blink she transforms
from Homecoming Queen and Science Club president
to just another girl. And her brokenness, whatever it is,
crumples my heart. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just…are you
okay?”

She shakes her head. Diluted mascara trickles down
one cheek. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her less than
supermodel perfect. I open my purse, fumble past two
pens, my cell, and a pack of gum to reach the tissues.
“Here.”

Miya wipes her nose, then runs her fingers through
that thick black mane. “Thanks. I’ll be fine. You don’t
need to stick around.”

But I do, because something in her eyes contradicts
her words. “I’ve got time. My mom’s visiting my aunt.
What happened?”

She sucks in a breath, then another. I wait.

“Today started out fine.” Her fingers entwine as if
in a prayer. A little girl with meningitis finally got to go
home. Life was good for a minute, then bam—
everything crashed. People rushed around, shouting or-
ders. Nurses whispered. They brought up a gurney from
ER, and all I could see was the face of a little red-
headed angel.”

I lean forward, already caring about a child I’ve
never met. “Then what?”

“His eyes were glazed. There were fresh stitches on
his cheek. The weird thing was, nobody was with him.”
She shakes her head. “They put him in a room, and the
nurses asked me to keep him company. They said his
mom’s boyfriend beat him. Bad. Broke his arm and
three ribs, cut his face. Kicked him so hard it damaged
his spleen. His stupid mom stood by and watched.
When he went unconscious, she finally called the cops.”

Miya continues telling me who said what, but half-
way through the story I forget to breathe. What had I
expected her to say? Anything but this.

“How can someone beat up a two-year old? Get
this—the guy said he did it because the kid spilled soup
on the carpet.”

What kind of a man brutalizes a child? What moth-
er allows it to happen? The answer comes easily— the
kind who doesn’t deserve to have kids. Mom and Dad
would die to protect me and Julia. If only this little boy
had someone in his life to kiss him, laugh with him, and
read him happily-ever-after stories. “Where is he now?”

Miya sniffs. “With a nurse. I told her I needed a
minute. I’m supposed to go back.”

“I’ll go with you.” The words slip out before I re-
member my half hour is nearly half gone. “I mean, if
you want.”

“Thanks, but they only allow family and volun-
teers.”

“Oh.” I slump into my chair, then sit up straight
again and dig the form out of my purse. “I’m in the sys-
tem. Just missing a signature on this. Think they’ll no-
tice?”

“Not if you forge it.” Soft brown eyes accentuate
her hopeful tone.

Desire battles ethics and wins. Mom would have
signed it eventually, anyway. “Sure.” I pull out my pen
and try to imitate my mom’s swirly letters, as Miya
stands and wipes her cheeks.

“He’s right down the hall. We’ll have to stop at the
nurse’s station first, though.”

The lone nurse behind the desk is writing on a
chart. I give her my name, and she types it, then glances
at the screen before reaching out for my form. Avoiding
her eyes, I hand it over and hold my breath. Any second
now she’ll yell for security, who will toss me outside and
ban me from the hospital forevermore. Future job in-
terviews will abruptly end with “What? You forged your
mother’s signature?” Instead, the nurse hands me a peel-
off “volunteer” sticker, and my heartbeat plunges to-
ward normal.

Inside the little boy’s room, another nurse taps an
IV tube, but turns her attention to Miya as we enter.
“Feeling better?”

Cool accent. Possibly from some African country.
Her crisp white uniform contrasts sharply with her eb-
ony skin. She finishes with the IV and gently tucks the
sheets around Tyler.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Miya manages a smile, exud-
ing confidence mined from somewhere deep inside.
The nurse nods toward the child-sized bulge under
the covers. “Are you sure you can handle this? Because
if you would prefer not, it is fine. This is difficult.”

“Absolutely.” Miya straightens her shoulders, keep-
ing her smile intact. “This is my friend, Shilo. She’s go-
ing to stay for awhile.”

My friend. Didn’t see that coming, but…okay.

“Hello, Shilo. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am
Adanna.” Her kind eyes smile at me; eyes that look
strangely familiar. “This precious boy is Tyler. We gave
him a painkiller and a mild sedative. He should be calm
for awhile.” She heads out, leaving nothing but silence
in her wake. I turn my attention to the bed, so big for
one so little.

Copper curls tumble around a face the color of
skim milk. I scoot a chair next to his bedrail and gently
stroke his hair, so afraid he’ll break. My hand lingers in
those silky locks as I gaze at the stitches marring his
cherub face.

Warmth. Wonderful and sweet. Warmth and peace.
It floods my heart, rippling through me as the
room is washed in a dreamy, sky blue mist. The world
loses its grasp on me. I float, no longer feeling the bur-
den of flesh and bone, the limitations of time and
space. Only my soul exists. My soul…and Tyler’s. Our
hearts become a muted drum duet, beating out a slow
rhythmic ballad. Shades of blue and violet swirl around
us in an otherworldly glow.

The child sighs, and I move my hand to the bedrail,
worried that I’ve woken him. The warmth disappears,
taking the heavenly music with it. The room is clear
again. Bright.

I glance at Miya, wondering if she felt the warmth
or saw the heavenly hues. She’s pouring a cup of water
from a pitcher on the bedside table, saying something
about Tyler’s injuries. My gaze switches back to the boy.
Dull eyes blink open and stare into mine. Did he hear
the heartbeat duet?

“Look at him,” Miya says, as if nothing happened.

“He should be outside playing with friends, running and
laughing.”

I manage a nod, wondering what just happened and
why I don’t want to share it. Miya is too focused on Ty-
ler to notice I’m a little out of it. How I hope Tyler felt
it, too. Something like that could make his whole world
better. If only for a moment.

“My name is Miya.” She places his limp hand in
hers. “I’m your friend.” Her somber, velvet tone is a far
cry from her carefree chatter in Cedarcrest’s corridors.
“I’m going to stay with you for a while, and I’ll visit you
after school tomorrow, okay?”

Gone is the flirty cheerleader who walks the halls
with her own personal entourage. She continues talking
to the groggy boy, and I gaze at the pastel animal border
encircling the room, until my eyes land on the clock.

“Oh my gosh! My mom.” I jump up, grabbing my purse.
“I forgot I was supposed to meet her in the lobby. Miya,
I’m so sorry. Do you think I could come back and visit
him, too?”

“Sure. And hey, thanks for staying with me. Just
please don’t tell anyone at school about this. It’s
like…my separate world. I don’t want them coming here
or asking me about it.”

Interesting. Her separate world. A secret between
us, and another that’s all mine. Truth is…I wouldn’t
know how to explain it if I tried.

“I won’t, I promise.” My fingers brush Tyler’s arm
as I stand to leave. The warmth emits from my heart
again, but only for a couple of beats, then disappears.

Maybe I’m coming down with something.

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