There are moments when being a mother becomes nothing but waiting for someone smarter than you to say the words, We know what’s wrong.
But nobody said them.
Infectious disease evaluated her.
Hematology evaluated her.
Toxicology was consulted.
More blood.
More scans.
More questions.
Had she traveled?
No.
New medications?
No.
Supplements?
No.
Drugs?
Absolutely not.
Mushrooms?
Cleaning chemicals?
Pesticides?
Unusual foods?
Nothing.
Claire grew weaker.
For the first four days, I was the only person who visited her.
Then on the fifth afternoon, the hallway outside her room suddenly filled with voices.
Sneakers squeaked against the polished floor.
Someone whispered too loudly.
I stepped outside.
And froze.
Nearly Claire’s entire class stood there.
Twenty-three teenagers.
Balloons.
Cards.
Cupcakes.
A giant stuffed bear so big one kid had to carry it with both arms.
At the front stood Rocky.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Neither of us knew what to say.
Mrs. Evans, their homeroom teacher, stood behind them.
“They asked if they could come.”
“All of them?”
She smiled uncertainly.
“Almost.”
I looked through the glass.
Claire had seen them.
Her mouth was open.
Then she started crying.
Not frightened crying.
Happy crying.
The kids entered awkwardly at first.
Then the room transformed.
Someone put on music.
They taped cards to the wall.
A girl named Hannah brought Claire’s chemistry notes.
Two boys argued over who had cheated during a card game.
Rocky placed the enormous bear beside the bed and said:
“He’s ugly, so I figured you’d like him.”
Claire laughed.
Actually laughed.
It was the first real laugh I had heard from her since the admission.
They came back the next day.
Then the next.
Homework.
Snacks.
Photos.
Inside jokes I didn’t understand.
One girl braided Claire’s hair when she became too weak to do it herself.
Rocky came more often than anyone.
Sometimes he sat quietly.
Sometimes he brought stupid videos.
Once I saw him helping Claire finish a math worksheet.
The change was so dramatic that I called Mrs. Evans.
“Did something happen at school?”
“What do you mean?”
“They hated her.”
There was a pause.
“I wouldn’t say hated.”
“I would.”
Mrs. Evans sighed.
“I’m surprised too.”
“Did Claire tell you anything?”
“No.”
“Did the principal?”
“No.”
“Then why are they suddenly acting like her best friends?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she said:
