REBIRTHDAY chapter 12
Izzy presses Sara for the truth; Paige negotiates back into school
They found Lucretia’s portrait alone in the center of a vast wall. Blood cascaded down her gown in crenellated folds. She held a dagger at her side; a glimmering gold chain crossed her torso. Detail from Lucretia by Rembrandt van Rijn, Minnesota Institute of Art
Since Paige was banned from school, Izzy asked her and Sara to come along with her to the museum. The weather was classic Minnesota October: crystalline sky stretching over frostbitten earth. No snow had fallen yet. Near the granite stairs at the Institute of Art, they paused at a massive, blank-eyed bronze statue, cheek down on the pavement.
“He looks so sad,” said Paige.
“It’s Eros,” said Izzy. “He had a bad breakup.”
Paige and Sara followed Izzy through the soaring foyer, past the museum shop, to an open staircase. As she walked, Izzy worked her arms out of her down coat so it hung off the back of her head. The staticky arms swayed behind her.
“Before we look at the paintings,” said Paige, “let’s go see my mountain.” They passed through a battered Chinese gate that opened on a long marble corridor. Their footsteps echoed down a long display of ceremonial robes to the far exit.
Near them, a jade stone the size of a dorm fridge glowed under a spotlight. As Paige moved closer, the carving appeared, a mountainside pavilion with clinging bamboo trees. Tiny, robed scholars clustered together on miniature terraces. Paige crept around the statue while Sara read the placard silently. Izzy hovered off a way, doing wrist stretches, hyperextending one wrist, then the other.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Sara said, glancing up.
Izzy dropped her hands. “It’s been so weird,” she said, “thinking about you and Dad and Maren. I mean, I keep wondering about what would have happened if you’d made different decisions.”
“Like what, the decision to transplant early?” Sara said. ”I mean, once we saw the numbers, it was a no-brainer.”
“Not that,” said Izzy, “the divorce. The whole lead-up to my birth.”
Footsteps echoed from the other end of the gallery. An elderly woman wearing a turtleneck and a nameplate appeared in the far entry.
“We’ve gone through this a hundred times,” said Paige.
Sara’s face closed. “Gone through what?”
“What if,” Izzy said, “Dad had chosen Maren? It’s like a thought experiment,” Izzy said, “cause and effect.” She looked to Paige. “If you go back, there’s all these little decision points, one after another.” Her arms became tree branches. “I’m going through each branch point systematically.”
Paige aligned her shoes with the parquet pattern on the floor. “You’re talking like a crazy person.”
“It’s not crazy, listen: branch point one, Maren chooses whether to tell Dad about her pregnancy. Branch point two: Maren either does or does not miscarry. Branch point three: Dad decides whether to stay with her or be with Mom.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sara said. “These sound a lot like sticky thoughts.”
“No offense, Mom, but it’s totally different. I’m fully in control.”
“What’s your object?” asked Sara.
Izzy defocused. “Well, I need to know how close we were to not being a family. That’s what I’d like to know.”
Sara took a deep breath and released it. “Running through alternate realities, that’s classic OCD,” she said. “Believe me. You’re ruminating on something that didn’t even happen to you.”
“I was there,” Izzy placed a hand on her midriff. “I was literally inside your body.”
“As a fetus,” said Sara.
“If Dad and Maren had reconciled, and you’d been alone and pregnant, then what? Huh? You would’ve had a big decision in front of you.”
“No,” Sara shook her head. “See, that’s where I won’t follow you.”
“I get to process the story of my life any way I want to.”
“But now you’re recruiting me to reassure you, another feature of OCD, by the way, and I won’t do it. I won’t be tricked into some hypothetical abortion. Saying that out loud is, um...”
“Bad luck?” Paige said.
“No,” Sara said, throwing her hands up, “it’s profane. And, you know, a little ungrateful.”
Izzy flushed and sputtered something about unfairness when the woman, who’d begun walking their way, greeted them.
“Oh, good morning,” Sara said, through a pasted-on smile. “We’re done arguing now. You know, mothers and daughters.”
“Oh, listen, I understand,” said the woman, whose nametag said DOCENT, “but we really do need to keep the noise down so everyone can enjoy the display.” The kimonos stretched their arms wide down the empty corridor.
“We really appreciate your patience,” said Sara. “We’ll keep it down.”
“Actually, maybe you could help us find something?” said Paige. “My sister’s looking for examples of, um, how do you say it—”
“Chiaroscuro,” said Izzy.
“Do you know what it means?” asked Paige. “It’s got something to do with fancy shadows.”
The docent raised an arthritic hand to her pursed lips. “I think I can help you,” she said. “You’re going to go thataway, to the elevator. Push G for Ground.”
“What piece are we looking for?” asked Izzy.
“Lucretia by Rembrandt,” said the docent. “She has fantastic chiaroscuro. Terrible story, of course.” She lowered her voice. “She was r-a-p-e-d and decided to take her own life.”
“Oh my gosh,” said Paige.
“The bloody gown is quite dramatic,” she went on. “When you get to the ground floor, follow the sound of the fountain.”
“Well,” said Sara, “thank you. We’ll check that out.”
Izzy turned and marched down the hall ahead of Paige and Sara. At the elevators, she punched the down button several times.
“Maybe you’d like to talk to somebody about all this,” said Sara. They went inside.
“I’m fine,” said Izzy, pushing the ground floor button. “Forget I said anything.”
“Linda said she does family therapy,” said Paige. “Maybe that would be helpful.”
“Enough with the therapy, I don’t want it,” said Izzy. “Maybe I’ll talk to Maren. Maybe she’ll give me some answers.”
“Or maybe,” Sara said, “you could butt out of our business.”
The elevator chimed off-pitch. Slowly, the doors opened. The fountain tinkled in the distance. Izzy and Sara breathed heavily at each other.
“Sounds like we’re close,” Paige said, pressing against the jittery doors. Izzy broke first, sweeping past Paige with pink eyes.
They found Lucretia’s portrait alone in the center of a vast wall. Blood cascaded down her gown in crenellated folds. She held a dagger at her side; a glimmering gold chain crossed her torso.
“How did he do that?” asked Paige, moving as close as she dared. The surface of the paint itself came into focus; what looked like ropes of gold chain were only daubs of dull cream, chocolate, brassy green.
“This is the most beautiful freaking painting I’ve seen,” Paige said. “And it’s, like, mostly black.”
Izzy nodded, struggling to blink away some tears. Behind them, Sara sat down on a bench in the center of the room.
“Do you want to take some pictures or something?” Paige asked.
“Yeah,” Izzy said, reaching into her bag.
Paige went and sat next to Sara as Izzy moved from one side of the painting to the other, taking detail shots. Sara leaned on her palm, jogging her foot.
At last Izzy turned toward them. “I think I’ve got enough.” Her voice was high and weak in echoed in the big room.
“Do you want one of you and Lucretia?” Paige asked.
“Here,” said Sara, “I’ll get you both.” She held out her hand. Izzy crossed gingerly, laying her phone in her palm.
Sara rose, winging them over to the painting. “You,” she said, taking Izzy’s arm, “go here.” She parked her at Lucretia’s right. Then she turned to Paige. “And you go opposite.”
Paige stood close to the gilt frame and looked across the craggy canvas to her sister. Sara raised the phone above eye level. “Say cheese.”
The shutter sounded several times. Izzy stood listlessly by the painting, waiting for Sara to stop giving orders.
Sara became quiet. “Here,” she said, handing Izzy the phone. “I can’t imagine a world without you guys. So I can’t go back.”
“If you think about it, neither can Maren.”
Izzy turned to Paige. “What do you mean?”
“Maren isn’t wishing for a different branch point either because then her girls wouldn’t exist either.”
Paige’s suspension week ended, and quietly, she went back to school. Sara agreed to take a “don’t bother Dad” attitude, and everyone avoided the subject around Will. His fervor for a different school never surfaced again.
Mr. Loftus asked Paige to stop by his office one afternoon. He was sitting behind his big desk. “I trust you’ve had a chance to percolate on everything,” he said, not in an intimidating way, but warmly.
Paige, exerting all her will power, said only, “Yes.”
“I’m sure you’ve had to tell your family all the details of what happened,” he added.
“I was pretty upset, so, yeah. I processed it quite a few times.”
“And did you draw any conclusions from it?”
“I guess, don’t use that kind of language,” Paige said. She wondered if he’d had a medical event since the last time she’d seen him, on the day of the big C-word. He looked drained, his hair was so intensely white that she honestly couldn’t guess what color it had been when he was young. Mr. Loftus rested his thin wrists cross-wise on his desk and composed himself.
“I think I may have reacted too strongly.” His voice faltered. He spun around to reach for a soda can that was already open and took a long drink. “I’m sorry, would you like a Coke?”
He gestured to the mini fridge.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
He cradled the soda can against his chest and swiveled back in his chair. “After you left last week, I talked to more of the students who were there that day in the science lab.”
The scene had already begun to blur. “Oh,” Paige said.
“Some of the boys told me that Kai was calling you names, too.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell everyone,” Paige said. “She said me and my family were a bunch of racists.”
The coke can buckled in his hands, startling him. He tossed the can into the garbage and sat forward, folding his hands. “I’ve known Kai Jensen since she was born. Do you know that she’s my wife’s niece’s daughter? Our great niece?”
“Um, no. I did not.”
“Kai has a habit of speaking before she thinks.” He raised a hand. “She’s been in here before for other hijinks.”
“I mean, yeah. Nattie and Kai have been besties for a long time. She can be a hot-head for sure.”
“I think what she said was terribly out of line,” he said. “I didn’t know all the facts, or I didn’t have ears to hear them that day.”
“Oh, okay. Good, I guess.” Paige wondered if she sounded uncharitable. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I don’t want you to feel unwelcome in any way, especially because I know you’re a Protestants, and you’re are the first generation to come to Holy Spirit, and you’re…” He glanced fleetingly at the long braid that she’s slung over her shoulder.
It dawned on Paige that he was talking about race. Her mouth opened involuntarily. She shut it. Then she laughed. “Are you serious?”
“I was trying to think of a way to express my regret,” he said, “that you were put through all this, especially in the middle of Natalia’s chemo and whatnot.”
Paige leaned back in her chair. Then she sat up again. “Just out of curiosity, did you suspend Kai too?”
His eyes drew shut. “I’m considering giving Kai a week’s suspension to match yours.”
Paige laughed again, to which Mr. Loftus laughed, in a higher pitch than she would have expected. They sounded like a couple of loons.
“Look,” Paige said, laying her palms flat, “my family is not scheming to sue the school, or doxx you, or get you kicked out of society.”
Mr. Loftus, despite his best efforts, was turning pink around the eyelids. “This is starting to sound tawdry, but bear with me. I want to say I’m sorry, Paige. I was hasty. I’d heard an incomplete version from Kai’s mother, and also several other versions filtered through my wife and her family.” He paused to rub his eyes. “And my judgment slipped. I’d be happy to meet again with your Mom and Dad and explain everything, but—”
“But they’re really stressed and busy,” Paige said.
“Yes. And also, how would that look? Like I’m pandering to you because you and your sisters are Latina.”
Paige suppressed a smile.
“I don’t see a good way out of this predicament.”
“It might be nice to get an apology from Kai,” Paige said.
“That’s fair.” Mr. Loftus removed his glasses. His long fingers spanned his entire forehead. He kneaded the fragile skin at his temples. Jesus shone, in oil pastels behind him, scarlet and cerulean blue and saffron gold.
“I forgive you,” Paige said.
He looked up.
“My mom says none of us are at our best right now.”
“You have good reason,” he said, and traced his finger down a laminated list by his phone. “Let’s get Kai down here.”
“Right now?”
“I don’t see why not,” he said.
A few minutes later, Kai arrived in the office.
“Come in, have a seat,” Mr. Loftus said, pulling out the chair next to Paige. “Time to make amends.”
She sat, but not before tracing the chair further away from Paige with her foot. Her mouth was set.
“I wonder if there’s anything you could offer the Garces family to support them?” As he said this, Mr. Loftus gathered an armful of books and papers and swept around them to the door.
Kai sunk back in her chair.
“Natalia’s pretty lonely in the hospital right now,” Paige said, after Mr. Loftus closed the door on them. She laid her hands upward in her lap. Kai was as tall as the basketball players, but also hot, and her presence made Paige want to throw away her glasses and inject her lips with fillers.
“What do you want from me?”
“Come and see her in person.”
Kai gathered her hair over one shoulder and began picking through it with long, raking motions. Whenever she had a point to make, she grasped all the hair in both hands like a bouquet or a microphone. Paige had seen this a thousand times.
“I hate hate hate hospitals,” she said.
“Welcome to the human race, dummy.”
“No, Paige,” Kai said, dropping the hair. “I get hives.”
“What’s the date today?”
Kai turned her phone up. “October 21st.”
“Your bestie has lived in the hospital since August 1st, and in a couple days, she’s going to be on such strict isolation that only the five of us can visit her, plus maybe one other person.” Kai became still. “Have you even seen her since her hair fell out?”
“I saw the pictures.” As she spoke, her voice became ragged.
“Three months, almost, without a hug from you.”
“They told us it was a germ thing.”
“No they did not. If you’re scared of doctors, fine, a lot of people are. My mom is scared shitless of the hospital, and she’s living there.”
“Are you still mad at me for calling you a racist?”
“I don’t give a hoot about the racist thing.” She stopped herself. “Okay, yes, I was mad about that, but I can see how you’d be ignorant about the details of transplant. Whatever.”
“I’m not ignorant, I had bad information—”
“Sure, fine. The bottom line, for me? I want my sister to feel better. She’s about to get the biggest dose of chemo humans can endure. Come to the freaking hospital and shoot a video with her. Do her makeup or something. Make up a dance. Wait, are you alright?”
As Paige spoke, Kai’s gently tanned skin had started to mottle. Her hand went to her neck. “Shit,” she said, raising her phone like a mirror. “Fucking hell, Paige. See? I told you.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Kai.” Paige scrambled to remember what her dad had told her. “I’m pretty sure stress hives aren’t dangerous like a bee allergy,” she said, feeling sheepish.
“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Kai lowered her phone and scratched her neck in long, rasping strokes.
“Do you need an anxiety pill?”
“No, I need a Benadryl, dummy. And a nap.” She dug into her shoulder bag and unwrapped the pink pill. “And guess what? This shit knocks me flat, so you get to drive the Bronco back to my place,” she said.
“I’ve got a class…”
“Fuck your class. And if you get so much as a scratch on the Bronc, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
“Are you wheezing?” Paige was becoming concerned about the number of hives on Kai’s neck.
“It’s fine,” Kai said, flinging her hair bouquet back over her shoulder. “I’ve been through this a thousand times. I’m not going to die.”
Paige gathered up their book bags, one on each shoulder, as Kai inspected herself in selfie mode.
“Satisfied now?” she said, raising the phone to another angle.
Paige opened the door and held it wide as Kai passed through. She walked slowly ahead, curling her long arm up between her shoulders and with her dexterous wrist, flipping the bird.
After she’d dropped off Kai, Paige rode a city bus to the hospital, but Natalia wasn’t in her room.
On a whim, she began walking with the flow of traffic in the long hospital corridor outside the double doors. People walked busily across it, nurses and doctors in white coats. The building opposite was a few hundred feet away. She merged into the flow of people and before she knew it, she was entering a different building. Inside, a sign hung from the ceiling with a right-point arrow: “INFUSION CENTER.”
She followed a middle-aged couple through the automatic door, to the long line of IV poles and vinyl recliners holding cancer patients. Paige thought about the dozens of chemo treatments she could see dripping into these patients simultaneously.
In a neglected corner, she found a chromed wire chair with a padded seat. She sat down with her phone and tried to look like someone who was supposed to be there.
At her shoulder, a wheezing voice startled her. “World famous cancer clinic, don’t even have outlets.” An old man, rotund and chemo-bald, held a phone and charger. He gestured to the wall behind her. “I’m out of juice,” he said, “and you’re sitting in front of the outlet.”
Paige hopped up. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.
“I could be at home cutting wood,” he said, leaning over. A paroxysmal cough racked his heavy frame as he pushed the plug into the wall. “And they tell me I’ve got to stick around so they can pump me full of poison.” He glared at Paige. “Again.”
A younger version of the man, portly with blonde whiskers and a CAT cap pulled low over his eyes, said to Paige, “Don’t listen to him. He’s talking to me.” Both of them wore heavy coats and battered work boots. “Dad, listen, we came all this way. Doc’s got it all set up for you. They’re waiting.”
“Maybe I changed my mind,” the older man said.
“Do you want my chair?” asked Paige. She nudged it toward him.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” said the son.
The old man sat on the chair with a long exhale. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, “find her something to sit on.”
“I’m totally fine standing up,” said Paige.
“Where are you from?” the old man asked. “We’re from Hibbing, you know where that is? You heard of the Iron Range?”
“Oh yeah, I have, actually,” said Paige. “We went to Iron World one summer.” The two men looked at one another. “I remember, we rode the trolley all the way around the pit and then we got to climb all over these enormous dump trucks.” Paige said. “Do you know anyone that mines?”
An explosive laugh burst from the old man, and the odor of smoke and oral bacteria and half-eaten food flowed over her. She steeled herself against it, remembering how doctors were supposed never to act disgusted by their patients. She supposed it was never too early to learn professional behavior. When the son came up with a chair, she sat down, resisting the urge to move it out of range.
“She wants to know if we’re miners,” the old man said, releasing another forceful breath.
“I didn’t say that. I asked if you knew anyone who mines.”
The son shook his head and hunkered down against the wall. “We have a lumber business,” he said, offering a calloused hand. “I’m Matt.”
“Jim,” said the older man. “Double hit lymphoma. Stage IV.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Paige.
“So am I,” Jim wheezed. They sunk into a silence as Jim’s phone charged on the floor. A nurse in her fifties, with dyed-red hair and purple scrubs, usher a woman in a turban to a recliner next to them.
Jim turned toward her, at last. “You getting chemo? Because you’ve still got your hair.”
“Oh no,” Paige said, drawing her braid over her shoulder, then flipping it back. “I’m just killing time. My sister’s in the middle of a marrow transplant.”
Jim’s eyes were tap-water blue, screwed deep into the wrinkles pleated under his brow. She felt as if she knew how he must have been as a little boy: inquisitive, mulish, wary. He cleared his throat. “I can think of a few places I’d rather be than here.”
“Well, you know, I don’t have a car yet.”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat,” said Jim.
Matt straightened up, both hands anchored in his coat pockets. “Look, if you’re not going to do it, then we ought to tell the nurses so they can get on with their lives. What are we doing here?”
“Go ahead and tell them,” said Jim. Matt walked stiffly off to the nurse’s station. Though Jim was sitting still, Paige could hear a tiny wheeze at the end of each breath. His nose looked sculptural, almost beaky. He had no stubble, no eyebrows, no ear hair. Heavy folds of skin angled down over his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. “That’s how they get you,” he said. “They got to keep you coming back.”
“I’ve never heard of double hit,” said Paige. She ran her thumb against the edge of her phone case. “It sounds serious.”
“I had a transplant last year,” he said. His jaw worked. “Fat lot of good that did me.”
Paige considered this. “Well, you’re alive.”
Jim released his breath. “Looks like it, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe you should, you know, take the chemo today,” Paige said. “What harm could it do?”
Jim shot her a look. The wheeze sounded like a tiny kitten in the back of his throat. Paige felt annoyed by the warmth on her neck and cheeks.
Matt came up to them. Jim pushed off the chair to a tilting stand. His belly swayed over his feet. “A little advice for you.”
Paige felt her heart pound. She leaned back.
“Get out of here. See a picture, drive around.” His gaze wandered down the long line of IV poles and recliners. “You’ll be back here soon enough.”
“God, Pa,” Matt said, “Morbid much?” He took off his cap, itched his forehead, and replaced it. “Miss, you said your sister’s sick?”
“Yeah. She’s got leukemia,” Paige said.
“How old?” asked Matt.
“She’s my age. We’re sixteen. Twins.”
“I’ll be damned,” Matt said. “Did she get the transplant from you?”
“No,” Paige said. “It was someone else. My dad’s a doctor.”
The three off them looked down the long row of alternating IV poles and footrests, the sloping lV lines lit by the sun.
“I think you got to have a screw loose to work in the hospital,” James cocked his thumb at Matt. “His little sister wanted to be a vet.”
“Oh?”
“Her grades weren’t so hot, so she switched to a vet tech. It was a hell of a lot less school, wasn’t it?”
Matt nodded in agreement. “They got the medicine all set up, Pa. All they’ve got to do is plug it in.”
“Does your daughter help you, since she’s medical?” Paige asked. “When you get the chemo?”
“Yeah, she flushes the line, brings over a lasagna, whatnot,” said Jim.
Something Maren had told Paige came to mind. She moved forward in her seat; a smile wanted to come, but she composed her face to look neutral. “You know, they’ve already made up your bag of chemo; they do it early in the morning. It literally has your name on it already.”
Jim tried to wave her off.
“And if you don’t take it, they’ll have to throw it away,” Paige said. “Thousands of dollars in the trash.”
Jim looked at her. The wheeze paused for a fraction of a second, and Paige thought she could imagine Jim as a young man with whiskers and eyebrows. “What would your sister tell me to do?”
Paige didn’t hesitate to lie. “She’d tell you to be brave.”
Jim looked down the row again. His breath whistled at his nose. “They throw it in the trash, huh?” He shook his head.
Paige stood up and offered Matt the chair. “Whatever you do,” she said, “I’ll be thinking of you. I’ve got to see someone across the street.”
Matt dipped his head. “Take care, now.”
James didn’t look at her directly but he did raise a forefinger slightly off his knee. Matt got down to his father’s eye level. The men were talking when Paige took off for the skyway.
She walked down the skyway, into the hospital building, past the elevators and through the automatic doors that opened to the ICU. One of the nurses pointed her to Chase’s room, where Stacey was pacing and speaking into a cell phone. Chase lay on the bed with sleepy eyes. Paige didn’t see a breathing tube, but there were several bags of fluid attached to clicking pumps around him. A man who Paige didn’t recognize sat next to the bed. He leaned over his knees.
Paige hung back, not wanting to be seen. Avoiding Stacey’s gaze, she fast-walked past them and jogged down the echoing stairwell.
Paige leaned against the wall by the door and looked at the Caring Bridge app again. She searched for Chase, but there were no updates.
She wrote, in a text, “Nattie needs more visitors. You’ve got to come by.” Kai’s check marks came up immediately.
Paige was walking back to the hospital when she answered. “I’m still covered with hives.” A selfie appeared, Kai’s décolleté, with purplish spots.
“Your great-uncle was about to suspend you, dude. You owe me.”