The Pastor's Daughter

Chapter Eight

She had leukemia; she'd known since last winter. The moment she told me, the blood drained from my face and a sheet of dizzying images flattered through my mind. It was though in that brief moment, time had suddenly stopped, and I had understood everything that had happened between us. I understand why she'd let me do the play. I understood why, after we'd performed that first night, Brixton had whispered to her with tears in his eyes, calling her his angel. I understood why he looked so tired all the time and why he fretted that I kept coming by the house. Everything became absolutely clear. Why she'd wanted Christmas at the orphanage to be special. Why she didn't think she'd go to university. Why she'd given me her Bible. It all made sense, and at that same time nothing seemed to make sense at all.

Hayley Kruger had leukemia.

Hayley, sweet Hayley, was dying. My Hayley...

"No, no," I whispered. "There has to be some mistake."

But there wasn't, and when she told me again, my world went blank. My head began to spin, and I clung to her tightly to keep from losing my balance. I closed my eyes, wanting the whole thing to go away.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan..." she kept saying over and over again. It was I who should be telling her that, however. I know that now, but my confusion kept me from saying anything. Deep down I knew it wouldn't go away. I held her, not knowing what else to do, tears filling my eyes, trying and failing to be the rock I think she needed. We cried together on the street for a long time,  just a little way down the road from her house. We cried some more when Brixton opened the door and saw our faces, knowing immediately that their secret was out. We cried when we told my mother later that afternoon, and my mom held us both to her bosom and sobbed loudly. On Sunday, Brixton made the announcement to his congregation, his face a mask of anguish and fear and he had to be helped back to his seat before he'd even finished. Everyone in the congregation stared in silent disbelief at the words they'd just heard. Then, all at once, the waiting began.

We sat with Brixton the day she told me, and Hayley patiently answered my questions. She didn't know how long  she had left. No, there wasn't anything the Doctors could do. It was a rare form of the disease, they'd said, one that didn't respond to available treatment. Yes, when the school year started, she'd felt fine. It wasn't until the last few weeks that she'd begun to feel it's effects.

"That's how it progresses," she said.

"You feel fine, and then, when your body can't keep fighting, you don't." stifling my tears, I couldn't help but think about the play.

"But those rehearsals, those long days... maybe you shouldn't have - "

"Maybe," she said, reaching for my hand and cutting me off, "Doing the play was the thing that kept me healthy for so long.

Later she told me that seven months had passed since she'd been diagnosed. The doctors had given her a year, maybe less. Nowadays they could've treated her. These days Hayley would've probably lived. But this was happening nine years ago, and I knew what that meant. Only a miracle would save her.

Why didn't you tell me? This was one question I hadn't asked her, the one I'd been thinking about. I hadn't slept that night, and my eyes were still swollen. I'd gone from shock to denial to sadness to anger and back again all night long, wishing it wasn't so. We were in the living room the following day, the day that Brixton had made the announcement to the congregation. It was January 11, 2009. Hayley didn't look as depressed as I thought she would. But then again She'd been living with this for seven months. She and Brixton had been the only ones to know, and neither of them had trusted even me. I was hurt by that and frightened at the same time.

"I'd made a decision, " she explained to me, "That it would be better if I told no one, and I asked my dad to do the same. You saw how people were after the service today. No one would even look me in the eye. If you had only a few months to live, is that what you would've wanted?"