Heft - By Liz Moore Page 0,53

Trev, I said.

What are you doing here? he asked.

—Honey, Kel’s mom is in the hospital. What happened, Kel? Do you want something to eat?

I felt Trevor looking at me. I had never felt lower in my life. I felt him staring at me.

Well, I said, I’ve never told you this. But she has lupus. She took a bad turn.

Trevor’s father made a low humming noise. His mother put both hands on her face and went Ohhhhh. Like, Ohhhhh, I’ve always wondered why people said your mom was so fucked up.

What’s lupus, said Trevor, and his mother whirled around to frown at him. It’s very serious, Trevor, she said. It’s a very serious disease. I mean—she looked back at me—isn’t it?

Um, I said. I guess it can be.

Honey, said Mrs. Cohen, do you have family? Was anyone with you at the hospital?

I could tell this was a question she had always wanted to ask me.

His dad’s dead, said Trevor.

Yeah, I have a big family, actually, I said, but they’re all from California. Most of them live in California.

Say no more, said Mr. Cohen. What this boy needs is a bed!

Walt, said Mrs. Cohen, don’t you think he might want something to eat? And she looked at me and rolled her eyes. He’s probably been in the hospital for hours.

I’m OK, I said, and she said Don’t be silly.

We all went into the kitchen. The Cohens have two refrigerators. That’s something. Two refrigerators in one kitchen.

Mrs. Cohen opened one of them and said Let’s see what Maxine put in here. Is there anything in particular you want?

Trevor had pulled a stool up to the island in the center of the room at this point and he was still gazing at me, kind of like he was annoyed. He was wearing pajama pants with rockets on them. If I’d been in a better place I would have made fun of him. His father was sitting next to him. I was hovering behind Mrs. Cohen as she went through her own refrigerator as if she’d never looked in it before.

Ham, she said. Turkey. Cheese. Sandwich? Fruit. Here’s a roast chicken, she said. Then she opened the freezer. Ooh, ice cream, she said, and I said yes to that because it seemed the simplest to me.

I’ll have some too, she whispered, and held a finger to her lips as if she were doing something very naughty. Guys?

Trevor and Mr. Cohen both shook their heads.

Mr. Cohen asked me what she was in the hospital for, exactly, and I said she had passed out which was the truth.

They’re just keeping her there to do tests on her for a while, I said, which was partially the truth and partially a lie.

Mrs. Cohen and I ate vanilla ice cream together and then we all went upstairs. Trevor’s little sister April who is a freshman at Pells was sleeping in her room but Mr. Cohen said I could take any of the other rooms. There were five to choose from. I chose the one next to Trevor’s. Blue walls with a bright white bed.

Trevor gave me clothes to sleep in and after I changed and got into bed Mrs. Cohen knocked softly on my door.

If you need anything, honey, she said, and pointed down the hall at their room.

You know you’re welcome to stay here anytime, she said.

I nodded.

They’re nice to me. The Cohens.

Today, waking up in the Cohens’ bright white bed, I must make the decision of whether or not to go to school. It is not a hard one: I’m going. If I missed school I’d have to miss practice and if I missed practice I’d have to miss the Thanksgiving Day game on Thursday and these are the only things right now that make me glad to be alive.

I get out of bed and take a shower in the bright white bathroom and put on the same clothes I wore yesterday except for a shirt I have borrowed from Trevor. I pick up my cell phone and call the number that Dr. Moscot gave me, as he instructed me to do, but the woman who answers my call tells me that he is not in yet. It is 6:50 a.m. Why would he be.

At midday I get a phone call from a Westchester number and the caller leaves a message. I sneak into the bathroom to listen to it: Dr. Moscot, asking me to please call him. I do, from the bathroom stall I am in.

Dr.