Page 20 of How You See Me
Tuesday morning, just after sunrise, I load up my supplies and a few gifts for Ava and head out to meet the driver I hired to take me to the van. From there, I’ll visit with Ava and Mom in Charlottesville before picking up Josie in Richmond on Wednesday.
Josie Jones.
Sigh.
How did I let this happen?
???
When I arrive at the Pediatric Cancer Center, I text Mom. We thought it would be fun to surprise Ava and agreed to keep my plan a secret.
I can't wait to see her reaction.
Twenty minutes later, the automatic doors open, and Mom emerges, pushing Ava out in a little wheelchair. My heart caves in at the sight of them. Mom’s dark hair, pulled tight into a low, no-nonsense ponytail, has thinned. And so has the rest of her. She isn’t taking care of herself because she’s stretched too thin. I wish she’d let someone help, butI’m not the only stubborn member of this family. Her light blue eyes, matching Ava’s, find mine and glisten instantly.
I swallow my concerns and force a grin as I make my way to them, my gaze dropping to Ava. She looks smaller than I remember—swallowed by an oversized sweatshirt and pants despite the warm spring temperatures. A knit beanie covers what used to be a wild mess of auburn hair. No hair peeks out now. The bruise-like tone beneath her eyes accentuates just how pale her skin has become.
She’s leaning back, staring off into the trees beyond. Mom whispers something, and she sits up, finding me in the parking lot. Her face breaks, trembling between a smile and something I can’t read until tears streak down her cheeks.
Running up to her, I crouch to see her face. “Don’t cry.” My hands settle gently on her knees. “I made a promise, and I’m gonna keep it. I’m ready for our trip.”
Mom sniffs and pats at her wet cheeks.
“I’m so happy,” Ava chokes out, her voice barely a whisper among her own tears.
“You don’t sound like it,” I tease and attempt a distraction. “What do you think of my van?”
She peeks around me. “I love it. It’s like the Barbie van I have. Just a different color.”
“Really? Isn’t that an awesome coincidence?”
“Hush, you silly goose. I know Mom told you.”
“Guilty,” Mom says. “But I didn’t tell him everything. Only you can explain the rest.”
“It needs explaining?” I narrow my eyes at her, earning me a raspy giggle. “Should I be scared?”
“You’re silly.”
Taking over wheelchair duty from Mom, she wraps an arm around my waist, and we head inside. For the first time in a long while, our troubles seem to pause long enough for us both to take a breath.
???
“It’s time.” I tap the top of the small kitchen table in their temporary apartment and sit beside Ava. “Where’s this infamous list.”
Ava drags a crumpled notebook out of her pile of art supplies and opens it to a page covered in her loopy handwriting and drawings.
“These are the things I want you to do.”
She passes me the notebook, and I read the activities aloud.
“Swim under a waterfall. Go to a concert. Find a fossil. Ride a rollercoaster. Ride a horse. Make s’mores by a campfire. That’s very specific.” I stop and raise an eyebrow. “Gamble at a casino?”
“That’s for Momma.” She smothers a laugh behind her hand.
“Fine.” I continue down the list. “Sunset at the Grand Canyon. Hot air balloon ride. Dive into the ocean.”
This is more than a list. It’s a dream.
