The Puzzle Master (8 page)

She smiled coyly, and brought her hands up to her chin. “It’s true. You need that, and I read them, and that’s it.” She leaned her head back. “You also can do breathing techniques; learn how to control your breathing, so you don’t have to rely on that inhaler so much.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that. It seems too hard.”

The room was nearly black, so Marshall flipped on his side table lamp. She held a hand up to her eyes and rubbed them.

“How come you know so much about weird things?” he finally asked.

She didn’t answer right away and instead stared at the bed, then at her fingers, then at Mason’s guitar sitting on the desk.

“That’s a strange question, you know.” She still had that smile on her face, and was watching him
like
she knew a hundred things he didn’t know. It was getting on his nerves.

“Well, you’re looking at me funny, and then you tell me I need hydrochloric stuff, and then—” he wasn’t sure if he should mention the other thing. But he did. “When I said that my sister had a fever, you looked like you’d swallowed a chicken. You went chalky white.” He laughed out loud.
“Whiter than usual.”

She smiled and then grew very serious, as if she was trying to solve world peace, fix global warming and aid the aging population within the next ten years. She sighed and put her head in her hands. Marshall thought he’d done something bad for sure.

What a stupid idiot I am,
he thought. “I’m sorry
Iris,
I didn’t mean to say something that hurt you. You’re just so smart. I don’t know how you got that way, and I guess
I
…”

“No,
it’s
okay,” she said, cutting him off. “Listen, you have to promise not to say anything to anyone. Not even to your family, as good as they are.”

“They’re not that nice.”

“No, actually, they are. They’re normal.” Marshall didn’t want to go down that route: his family was weird, no questions there. He wanted to know what her secret was.

Marshall’s heart began beating like a set of bongos, and he was sure she could hear them.

“What is it?” he said in a lowered voice.

“It’s why I was hesitant to come over, when I heard your sister was sick. It’s why I was glad to hear of your condition,” she nodded her head at the inhaler.
“Your asthma.”

He leaned in ever so slightly. He didn’t want to miss one word.

“It’s also why I’m so pale and thin and have such short hair.”

Marshall waited for more, but nothing came.

“And?” he asked. “Why? Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“I am telling you.”

“No, you’re speaking in riddles. You’re being smarter than
me
. I don’t know. I give up. What, are you sick too?”

“Bingo.” And suddenly, he wished he hadn’t guessed. He wished he hadn’t said it at all. He was always being so stupid.

She stared at the floor, her ringlets bobbing all over the place like a bunch of coils.

“You’re sick?” he asked again, this time in a whisper.

“In theory, but I’m not supposed to be anymore.”

“What … what does that mean?”

She cleared her throat. “I have juvenile
myelomonocytic
leukemia.”

Marshall didn’t say anything for a long time.

“You have cancer?” he asked, hearing the word leukemia and thinking the worst.

“I did, do, or whatever. It’s easier to call it JMML. Lots of kids get it,” she said counting the stitches in her hemmed shorts. “And I’ve had treatments you know, drugs, chemotherapy; several bone marrow transplants. I’m getting better.”

“Then, how do you feel?” he asked. “Are you in pain right now?”

“No, I’m fine. Most kids are young when they get this one,” she said. “Like
under
four years old. I was nine when it began.”

Marshall nodded in silent astonishment.

“Guess I’m just lucky—I get to be an even rarer case,” she smirked. Marshall wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. He said nothing and nodded again.

“Marshall, please,
don’t
treat me like that. I’m doing okay.” She turned her head to the side and put a hand on her face. “Bone marrow transplants are hard; it takes a lot out of one. But treatment to get better over any sickness is difficult. I’m normal; a normal kid and everyone who hears about me and my cancer treats me that way—different, you know, like I’m weak, or dying. But, I’m not dead. I’m doing fine, things are getting better.”

Marshall nodded. “No, I know. I believe you. I just … it explains a lot of things. Like why you’re so thin. And why you have such short hair.” He smiled after he said that and she laughed at him.

“You should’ve seen me when I didn’t have hair. Wow. My head was shinier than a waxed watermelon.” They both laughed at the imagery and the air conditioning unit shut off. It was quiet and it hurt his ears.

The truth of her situation was worse when the sound was gone.

“Is that why you’re here in Sacramento?” he asked, rubbing his hand along the wooden floor.

“No, my aunt really is sick. My parents are dead, and my uncle really has to take care of me. I go back to the Bay Area for treatments in a few months.”

She had an odd life and so very different it was
from his own
. Yet, he felt so connected to her, somehow. Marshall suddenly felt like he had to get out of his room. He felt hot again and couldn’t breathe. Not the tickly, stifling kind, but the kind where one can’t breathe because their brain
is overloaded
with bad data.

“Hey, you want to go out back with me? I can show you our vegetable garden, since I’m the one who single-handedly weeded it just a few weeks ago.” He just wanted to get outside.

They walked onto the patio and a delta breeze, the wind carried off the bay of San Francisco and flowing to the valley, met them with a ruffle to their hair.

“Ah, finally,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Maybe we can actually sleep with the windows open tonight.” He felt better. The wind was right; outside was right. He and she were both
alright
.

He pointed out the tomatoes and squash, and basil and thyme, and other vegetables and fruits growing alongside them. Mrs. Kelso was out watering her grass. Marshall could hear the water moving about, hitting trees that came between the water’s
pathway
.

“So, we’re both sick, aren’t we,” Marshall said, once they sat down on the swinging bench. They were underneath a giant sycamore tree. Missy walked along their adjoining fence wall, her tail up and flitting back and forth. The water had stopped flowing from next door as soon as they started talking. Mrs. Kelso was listening.

Marshall knew she couldn’t hear them though. They were practically whispering.

“I suppose so. But, you’re not going to die of your problem. Like I
said,
hydrochloric acid.” And she smiled.

“Yeah, well, guess you have a right to be reading those medical journals.”

She kicked her feet out from under her, and they moved back and forth, rhythmically and smooth, like a wave on the sea. “I want to be a doctor when I grow up,” she said. “When I’m better, it’s going to be my focus to solve all the juvenile cancer; to solve all the cancers in the world.”

“I bet you could do it. You’ll solve like a hundred cancers and win the Nobel Prize. I can just see it, ‘And this year’s Nobel Prize for Humanitarian effort and Scientific discoveries,” Marshall said with a low voice, ‘Goes to Iris Nuevo.’” He took of a leaf from the tree and rolled it up, presenting it to her with a bow.”

She was laughing so much now, that she clutched her stomach in pain. Her eyes scrunched up when she laughed, so that you could only see brown specs glinting back at you like the backs of beetles. Marshall laughed too and they kicked the swing into movement, rocking back and forth.

When the laughing died down, they were quiet. Mrs. Kelso had gone back inside. She’d given up trying
hear
them.

“No one has to know, Iris,” he said when the breeze picked up again, and carried their voices back to them.

“I know,” she looked at him. “It’s why I knew I could tell you. You understand me. You have asthma; you know what it’s like to be,” she paused trying to find the right word, “restricted, in just about everything you do.”

Someone was barbequing steaks, and the smell wafted over to them.

“
Mmmm
, that smells good.” Iris closed her eyes.

“Hey, we haven’t eaten yet. I just realized that.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t eat a lot. When I was on chemo and through the bone marrow transplant stuff, nothing sounded good. Sometimes even today, nothing sounds good.
Nothing but ice cream.”

Marshall nodded. “Now there’s a diet. I love ice cream too. Say,” and he jumped up, “We have ice cream inside. Let’s go get some.”

“For dinner?

“Yes silly, for dinner. You just said you liked ice cream and we haven’t had dinner.”

“Okay,” she said throwing up her hands. They went in just as Mason was getting home from football practice. He stunk worse than the egg salad.

“Mason, ugh,” said Marshall plugging up his nose. “I have company—go take a shower.”

“Okay, okay, Gee.” Mason smiled at Iris. “Who’s your friend?”

“Iris, this is my smelly brother Mason. Mason, Iris… she’s Luke’s niece.”

“Nice to meet you,” and they shook hands.
“ So
you’re like the
neice
of Luke’s Junk Luke?”

She nodded and smiled.

“Yes, for Pete’s sake, yes.
Now go
,” said Marshall shoving Mason toward the bathroom. Get out of here, before you smell up the entire kitchen.”

Marshall stuck his head in the freezer. “Whew, smells way better in here. Sorry about him, he’s just gross. Okay, we have mint chip or rocky road.”

She chose rocky road and he chose the same. He spooned out about three scoops for each other them and handed a bowl to her. “Let’s go out back before the whole house is filled up with everyone. Once Leila’s home, we won’t get to talk in peace ever again.”

They ate their ice cream in silence. Crickets chirped, talking for them—filling up the silence. The breeze was even better now, and the ice cream felt good inside their hot bodies.

“This is probably the best dinner I’ve had in ages,” she said, taking a huge bite and stuffing it into her mouth.

“Yeah, me too.”

They finished eating, and talked about school, and the stupid club the three amigos created. Iris said she thought she heard Michael say he might want to allow girls this year. Marshall was about to laugh and say that Michael was just trying to get the girls, when the phone rang. Mason came to the door to tell them Luke was coming by to pick Iris up.

She grabbed her backpack and they walked to the front of the house. The driveway and asphalt road were still hot from the sun, so that the front was much warmer than the back and hot like an oven.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “You think we should start on the big one?”

Marshall scratched his chin. “
Nah,
lets finish the little ones. And I’ll bring that glue so we can stick them up on the wall.”

Her eyes widened in excitement.

“Then we’ll start the big one,” he said. “I figure, if we do one puzzle every two days, we can start on the big one the Monday after next. We just have to win that bet. That fishing pole has my name on it.”

Iris agreed. “I know we can do it,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for having me over.”

Luke’s beat up Lincoln chugged up to the front of the house. The windows were down, and they could smell the cigarette smoke from the front porch.

“Sure. See you soon.”

She smiled again. “Yes, tomorrow,” she said, running down the sidewalk. “I’ll be there around four.”

“Okay!” He was so excited he felt like jumping out of his shoes.

“And thanks for dinner!” she yelled back.

He waved. Iris was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Chapter 6: Devil’s Hill

     Saturday morning began with every intention to do just as he should. Marshall was going over to Luke’s later and if he didn’t want that taken away from him too, he’d have to do a lot. Like read his mother’s body language, do what his father wanted him to do before he asked (even if that meant mowing the lawn for free) let Leila whine and tell on him if she pleased, and clean up Mason’s side of the room—bed and all. He had to, or be banned from fun.

He’d had trouble falling asleep last night, which didn’t help when Leila whined to help her with her cereal. His head was in a fog. All he could think about was that Iris had cancer—or used to. Even when she sloshed her cereal across the kitchen table, and it ended up all over his lap, Marshall didn’t yell. He just got up and went to the sink to grab the dishrag.

Mason was at the table too, but Marshall hadn’t noticed.

He had a mouth full of cereal and stopped chewing after watching his brother do whatever he needed to do without talking back, or telling Leila to be quiet. “What’s gotten into you Marsh?”