Desperately Seeking Epic(24)

Fuck me. What do I say? I really don’t want to lie to her, but I’m not sure I want to be alone when she discovers the truth. I’m chickenshit that way. “Uh, Neena,” I begin.

“How did Mom take it?” She stops me.

Twisting her head so her gaze meets mine, I stare back and can tell she already knows. Squeezing the steering wheel, I let out a long sigh. “Pretty bad,” I admit. Definitely bad. Atrocious, actually. And she wasn’t the only one that felt that way. We all still feel like our worlds were rocked. And not in the good way, but in the shitty this-can’t-be-happening sort of way.

She’s silent for a long moment before she pulls the purple scarf off, revealing her bald head. She flips the visor down and stares at herself in the mirror, running her small hand over her smooth scalp. It’s the first time she’s let me see her without the scarf on and I have to admit, it’s crushing. She’s a twelve-year-old girl. She should be healthy and cutting out pictures in magazines of hairstyles she likes. That’s what kids are supposed to do. Letting her head drop, she flips the visor up. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She inhales deeply as if bracing herself for whatever she’s about to say. “I’m a little scared to die.”

My face tingles as the blood drains from it. I think I just literally felt my heart crack open. No little girl should have to think of things like this. Taking her hand in mine, I squeeze it and clear my throat, the whole time fighting the tears burning in my eyes. I’m not a crier—not by any means, but this kid gets to me. My kid.

“Don’t cry, Paul,” she warns me. “Please. I just needed someone I could say that to. Mom, she just . . . is always so positive and I know it’s just because she loves me and doesn’t want to give up, but . . .”

“But what?”

“I just needed to say it . . . or be able to say I’m scared without being told everything will be okay.”

I nod in understanding. “You can say anything to me, Neena. I’m here to listen.”

“I just . . . want everyone to be okay.”

“We will be . . . eventually,” I lie, before adding, “that doesn’t mean we won’t miss you like crazy every single day, kiddo.”

The faint smile she gives me does nothing to ease the ache in my chest. I’d gladly take her place, take on her cancer, and keep it for myself if I could. I’ve lived. Now should be her turn. When Clara pulls up beside us, she lets out a long breath. “This is going to be a long night,” she whispers. Then she opens the door and climbs out, leaving her purple scarf behind.



Hours have passed. Marcus and I are standing in the kitchen, drinking beer, when Clara returns from checking on Neena after she went to bed. When she enters, she looks like a ghost; her face pale, dark-lined eyes riddled with pain. The three of us joined here tonight to tell Neena the tragic news and planned to comfort her as best we could. But Neena, the old soul that she is, ended up comforting us. She truly is wise beyond her years.

First she hugged Clara, holding her tightly as Clara sobbed. Then when Marcus got choked up, she sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder while she held his hand. I managed to hold it together; after all, she asked me not to cry, so I did my best to remain strong for her. This kid could give a lesson in strength. As I watched Clara and Marcus, I could see what Neena meant when she said she was afraid to die. I don’t think she meant she fears the actual act—at least not entirely—but she fears its aftermath. I get it. She’s afraid of what dying will do to the people she loves. She’s afraid of what will happen to her mother when she’s gone. She’s the strongest kid I’ve ever met—strongest person for that matter. But even the strongest walls need reinforcement. How heavy the weight must feel to know you are deteriorating, yet feel like you need to remain tough for those you love. She needs me to be her pillar of strength so she can continue to be strong. Maybe she didn’t ask for it specifically, but that’s what I got from our conversation in the car. Plus, I feel it in my bones. And although I’m crushed, I’ll do this for her. I will give her the strength she needs.

“She’s asleep,” Clara tells us.

“I think I’ll be heading home now,” Marcus announces as he throws his beer bottle in the trash. “Mei-ling will be crying all night when I tell her the news.”

“Thank you for being here, Marcus,” Clara says.

“Whatever you need—whatever she needs, I’m here.” Then he looks up at me and adds, “That goes for you, too.” He shakes my hand, hugs Clara, and heads out the door.