How to Save a Life Page 15

  “I mean . . . there has to be a reason that Caroline wanted you to plant the tree. Have you thought about that?”

  He scoots away from me a little, his body tense. “Of course. I’ve thought through every interaction we had in those final few weeks, again and again and again. The thing is, she loved the tree that used to be here, and she wanted to make sure there was always a tree in the lobby. That’s all.”

  “But there’s more to it than that.” I pause. “You know how we told you earlier about my brain tumor?”

  Jamie’s expression softens. “There must be something your doctors can do, right?”

  I wave his words away. “No. I’ll be dead in five days. But this tree has allowed me much more time than that.”

  He looks dazed. “I don’t understand what you mean. And what does the tree have to do with it? How can you know you only have five days left?”

  “The tree told me.”

  “Jill, you’re not making any sense.”

  “I know it sounds crazy. But I need you to believe me. I’ve lived the same day over and over and over again for a long time now. I’ve met you almost every day, and I—I have feelings for you. I also think that if we had more time, you’d develop feelings for me too. It’s all possible because of Caroline, Jamie. It works mostly for the kids here who have terminal illnesses, but for some reason, I had the chance to use the tree too. I think it’s Caroline pulling the strings, helping us to live a little more so that we die with fewer regrets. We just have to go to the tree once a day and ask it for—”

  “Stop.” Jamie cuts me off midsentence. His face is pale, and his eyes are watery. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Caroline wanted me to tell you.”

  He stands up. “This isn’t funny. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Jill, but suggesting that Caroline is somehow talking to you through a tree is just cruel.”

  I swallow hard. “Jamie, I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Damn it, Jill!” His tone is anguished.

  “Please, just listen! Caroline wanted you to know this. She wanted you to know that she’s okay and that you can let go. She’s more than okay, Jamie. She’s still here. She lets me and others who are terminally ill have the chance to live—to really live—so that we can die without regrets. I’ve had the chance to gain a family, to reconcile with my dad, to learn some important lessons . . . and to fall in love.”

  Jamie is staring at me, his expression stony. “Please stop.”

  I shake my head. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Jamie. For the first time in my life, I know what love is supposed to feel like. That’s because of Caroline. Every day, she has allowed us to come to the tree and ask—”

  He cuts me off. “Go. Just go.” There are tears in his eyes, and I feel terrible, but Caroline wanted him to know.

  “Jamie—” I begin.

  “I—I can’t do this. Please, just leave me alone.” He turns away and leans into the tree for support. I look skyward, imagining Caroline reaching out through the tree to comfort him, but I know she can’t speak to him the same way she speaks to us. He doesn’t have a terminal illness.

  “Please,” I try again.

  He turns to look at me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I just need to be alone right now.”

  I linger a moment longer, but when he turns away again, I do too, heading for the front entrance of the hospital. I feel deflated and defeated. Caroline asked only one thing of me, and I wasn’t able to give it to her. Beyond that, this is my last repetition of today before the day finally counts, and I know I won’t be able to see Jamie again. It would be too unkind. It shatters me to know that this is the last memory I’ll have of him—and that he won’t remember a thing. It’s all over before it’s even begun.

  I’ve almost reached the door when I hear footsteps behind me. “Jill, wait!” Jamie’s voice is low and deep, and when I turn, he’s a few feet away, his eyes still glistening with tears. “What do you ask the tree?”

  “What?”

  “You said that you have to go to the tree once a day and ask it something. What do you say, exactly?”

  I study him for a moment. “I ask it for one day more.”

  His eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “And then what happens?”

  “Leaves fall. Indicating the number of days you have left.”

  “Oh, God.” Jamie seems to crumple, folding in at the middle. I reach out and steady him before he can hit the ground. “That’s exactly what Caroline said at the end.”

  I look at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “A couple weeks before she died, she insisted I take her down to the lobby. She touched the trunk of the spindly little tree in the corner and said, ‘One day more.’ Just like that. And then she began to cry. I asked her what was wrong, and she kept saying over and over, ‘There are no more leaves. It’s really over.’ I had no idea what she was talking about; I kept showing her the leaves on the tree and saying that of course there were leaves there. But she was inconsolable.” He pauses and adds, “And that’s when she became obsessed with the idea of me planting a tree in the lobby after the renovation happened.”

  I stare at him. “She was asking her tree for one more day too. And the memory you have is of the last day, when the tree wouldn’t respond.”

  He looks dazed. “But I never saw her with the tree other than that.”

  “Actually, you probably did. But you wouldn’t have any memory of the day she was repeating. For the people the tree isn’t helping, every other repetition of the day—except for the last one—is erased.”

  “But how is that possible?”

  I shrug. “It’s like the reset button is hit each time. It gives us—those of us who are dying—the chance to get things right without the rest of the world moving forward.” I pause and add, “For example, this isn’t the first evening we’ve spent together.”

  “It isn’t?”

  I shake my head. “You’ve helped me try to save a man’s life several times. We’ve gone out to dinner. We’ve gone out for drinks. I’ve helped you with Alison’s party on the cardiology floor. You even combined her party with one for Logan once, which thrilled him.”

  He studies me. “And every day, I forget?”

  I nod. “It’s the worst part of it for me. The fact that every day, I fall a little more in love with you, and every day, you forget me.”

  “You’re in love with me?”

  I feel foolish admitting it, but I nod anyhow. I’ve gone too far to play it cool now. Everything’s on the line.

  He reaches for me slowly, tentatively, as if he’s scared that I might vanish at any moment. “So now what?”

  I sigh as his hand touches my cheek. I can feel a future that will never happen. And for a moment, my heart is as broken as it is full. “In the morning, I’ll repeat today for the last time. And you won’t even remember meeting me.”

  “Then you have to come find me,” he says. “Tomorrow. First thing. Come find me and tell me all of this again.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t. You’ve already lost too much. You’re going to go on to have a wonderful, long life. But if I’m in it, even for a little while, I’m afraid I’ll hurt you and hold you back. Your future should hold only good things.”

  He takes a step closer and pulls me into his arms. Our bodies are intertwined now, his face just inches from mine. “But what if you’re one of those good things? Just because our time is limited doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend every second I can with you.”

  I take a step back, which rips open the hole in my heart. “I can’t. I can’t do that to you. It’s better that you don’t know me.”

  He closes the distance between us again, holding me tight and waiting until I look into his eyes. “Don’t I get a say in this?” he asks softly.

  “J
amie, I—”

  He silences me with a deep kiss. It’s different from any of the other kisses we’ve shared in repetitions of today. It’s fierce and filled with longing and persuasion. I find myself gasping for breath as he pulls away. “Give me a chance to remember,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come home with me tonight.”

  I stare at him. “I’m the only one who’ll remember in the morning.”

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “But I do.”

  “Then what do you have to lose? If you truly believe I won’t remember this tomorrow, there’s no risk of hurting me, is there?”

  I hesitate, because my brain is telling me one thing and my body is telling me another. But then Jamie leans forward and kisses me again, and the last of my common sense departs. He’s right; if he doesn’t remember this tomorrow, it will only be me who suffers for it, not him. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be as my final magical hours wane.

  “Okay,” I whisper as he finally pulls away.

  He doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, takes my hand, and leads me out the door.

  WE MAKE LOVE twice that night, slowly, tenderly, savoring every second of it. I’ve been in relationships before, but it’s never felt anything like this. Is it because we really were fated to find each other? Is the perfect waterfall of sensations due to the feelings we both have? Regardless, I know he feels it too.

  Afterward, he holds me close, like he’s afraid to let go. “I’ll remember,” he whispers. “I promise.”

  I can feel tears in my eyes. “You won’t.”

  “But don’t you believe? Don’t you believe that love can do extraordinary things? Isn’t that at the root of all of this anyhow? Isn’t Caroline granting you and the kids the chance to find love in your own ways? Maybe once you find it, things can happen that defy logic.”

  “All of this defies logic,” I say after a pause. “But this, I think this is set in stone. You’re not supposed to remember. It would throw the whole balance of the world off.”

  “Please, you have to come tell me all about it, then. Remind me of this.”

  I listen to his heartbeat for a while before I answer. “I love you too much to hurt you that way.”

  He sighs, but he doesn’t protest any more. After a moment, he says, “Tell me about Logan.” And so I do. I tell him about how I’ve always felt drawn to him, but how I realize now that our relationship is something special and that our roads were always leading to each other. I tell him how I regret that I’ll never be a mother in reality but that in a way, I’ve found my child. He in turn tells me about Caroline, and I tell him every interaction I’ve had with her through the tree, which makes him cry. Still, he never lets go, and as we drift through the middle of the night, barreling toward the moment that this will all end, he asks me about my mother, my father, my regrets in life. I’m surprised to realize I mean it when I tell him I have very few regrets now.

  “I think that knowing you’re about to die gives you a different kind of perspective,” I tell him. “You don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. And thanks to Caroline and the tree, I’ve had the chance to experience all the things I would have regretted not doing.”

  “What have you learned?” he asks, ruffling my hair and kissing my forehead. “What’s been the biggest lesson for you?”

  I yawn. Exhaustion is flooding in, which I know means our time together is almost up. I consider his question carefully before answering. “Love is the answer to everything,” I tell him. “I think I spent so much of my life focusing on small, everyday worries, or petty grievances. But at the end, all that matters is love.”

  “Love is the answer to everything,” Jamie murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. He’s fading too. “Jill?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll never forget,” he says. “I promise you, I’ll never forget.”

  It’s the last thing I hear before sleep overtakes me, and the moment is gone forever.

  WHEN I WAKE up in my own bed the next morning, it takes a few seconds before everything comes crashing in. Last night with Jamie. The fact that I have to steer clear of him from now on. The last chance at getting today right. The beginning of the end for me. I only have five days left, and I know they’ll go by in the blink of an eye.

  But that means I don’t have time to lie here feeling sorry for myself, so I take a deep breath, remind myself to be grateful for all those extra moments, and haul myself out of bed.

  An hour later, I’m walking through the entrance to Atlanta Children’s—with a handful of balloons for Megan—twenty minutes before I know Jamie will arrive. I pause by the tree, lay a hand on its trunk, and murmur, “Thank you,” but there’s no response. The tree is cold and motionless, almost as if the magic is gone altogether.

  I take the elevator up to the eighth floor, where I make a beeline for Megan’s room. She stares at me from her hospital bed as I walk in.

  “Balloons?” she asks, fighting back a smile. “I mean, really? Balloons? Like balloons are going to make chemo any better?”

  There’s something soothing about the familiar words, the predictability of today. “They’re not supposed to make chemo better,” I tell her. “They’re to celebrate. You’re almost out of here.”

  “I don’t need balloons.”

  “I know, I know, you’re not a kid,” I say. I take her blood pressure and temperature, which I note on her chart. I remind myself that today, I actually have to do my job, at least until my appointment with Dr. Frost. “But never forget,” I add as I turn to walk out of the room, “you’re going to beat cancer, and then you’re going to go on to have an amazing life. Always remember that you’re strong and tough, and that you’ve already been through the biggest battle of your life. Nothing else can take you down.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “That sounds like you’re saying good-bye.”

  I smile and walk out of her room before she can say any more.

  I check next on Jennifer, my eight-year-old retinoblastoma patient, and Shalia, my twelve-year-old with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Then, heart pounding in anticipation, I walk into Katelyn’s room and find Frankie sitting beside her bed.

  “Jill!” Katelyn cries, her face lighting up. “You made it to your last today!”

  I cross the room to give her a hug. Frankie stands and hugs me too. “How much longer did you and Logan keep going?” he asks.

  “Just another week.”

  They exchange glances. “That’s all it took to realize the two of you were made for each other?” Frankie asks with a sly smile.

  Katelyn nudges him. “He’s just saying that we knew it all along. What about that guy you liked?”

  I blink back tears. “It doesn’t matter.” I smile and change the subject. “You have no idea how much I missed the two of you.”

  Frankie laughs. “To us, it feels like we just saw you.”

  “Are you going to go to your doctor today?” Katelyn asks.

  I nod. I’ve thought about this. It makes sense to proceed with today as if I haven’t lived it yet. And that means receiving my official diagnosis so that I can come back to my floor, break the news to Sheila, and officially take the rest of the day off to cope. Of course I plan to spend my hours off reconciling with my dad, helping Sheila with her love life, keeping Merel company as he passes away, and talking with Logan. It’ll be the perfect last today.

  “Well, good luck,” Katelyn says.

  Frankie nods solemnly. “It seems unfair that you’ll be gone before the rest of us.”

  “Just make me a promise,” I say.

  “What?” they reply in unison.

  “That you won’t cry for me. And that you’ll tell anyone who’s crying for me that I’m okay. I don’t want to leave any sadness in my wake.”

  “We’ll do o
ur best,” Frankie says, “but you can’t stop sadness. Loss is a part of life, and grieving loss is a part of moving on. Let people cry, Jill. It means you were loved. And that’s a good thing.”

  “I just wish I had more time.”

  “You did have more time,” Katelyn reminds me. “We all did. And now, it’s time to let go.”

  15

  “PLEASE TELL ME you got laid last night,” Sheila says a few minutes later as I walk over to the nursing station. As usual, the sixty-something woman in the corner looks up and narrows her eyes at Sheila.

  “Sheila,” I say in a warning tone.

  “What? It’s a normal question. You’re a thirty-nine-year-old woman who’s never been married and who probably can’t even remember the last time she had a man in her bed. You getting a bit of action would be a service to society. The whole world would rejoice with you.”

  I sigh and cross behind the nursing station until I’m standing beside Sheila. I take her hands in mine and wait until she looks into my eyes.

  “What?” she asks crossly.

  “What happened with Darrell?” I ask as gently as I can.

  “How did you . . . ?” she asks, her voice trailing off as she bursts into tears. “I can’t . . . I don’t know . . . How could he . . . ?”

  “Tell me what’s wrong.” I pull her into a hug and rub her back until her sobs subside.

  “Darrell left me last week. We’ve been married thirteen years, Jill. And he just wakes up and decides he’s done?”

  “He should never have walked out on you,” I say, pulling back to look into her eyes again. “That was wrong, no matter what happened. But is it possible that there have been problems brewing between you two for a while that you’ve been ignoring?”

  “I . . .” she begins, trailing off.

  “It’s okay, Sheila. Every marriage has problems, and I think that after a while, it’s very easy to get into a rut where you’re both hurting each other and can’t seem to stop. For example, one of you might be criticizing the other more often than you realize.”