“People think I’m strange, don’t they?” she asked again.
My breath was coming out in little puffs.
“Yes,” I finally answered. It hurt me to say it.
“Why?” She looked almost despondent.
I thought about it. “People have different reasons,” I said vaguely, doing my best not to go any further.
“But why, exactly? Is it because of my father? Or is it because I try to be nice to people?”
I didn’t want anything to do with this.
“I suppose,” was all I could say. I felt a little queasy.
Jamie seemed disheartened, and we walked a little farther in silence.
“Do you think I’m strange, too?” she asked me.
The way she said it made me ache more than I thought it would. We were almost at her house before I stopped her and held her close to me. I kissed her, and when we pulled apart, she looked down at the ground.
I put my finger beneath her chin, lifting her head up and making her look at me again. “You’re a wonderful person, Jamie. You’re beautiful, you’re kind, you’re gentle . . . you’re everything that I’d like to be. If people don’t like you, or they think you’re strange, then that’s their problem.”
In the grayish glow of a cold winter day, I could see her lower lip begin to tremble. Mine was doing the same thing, and I suddenly realized that my heart was speeding up as well. I looked in her eyes, smiling with all the feeling I could muster, knowing that I couldn’t keep the words inside any longer.
“I love you, Jamie,” I said to her. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
It was the first time I’d ever said the words to another person besides a member of my immediate family. When I’d imagined saying it to someone else, I’d somehow thought it would be hard, but it wasn’t. I’d never been more sure of anything.
As soon as I said the words, though, Jamie bowed her head and started to cry, leaning her body into mine. I wrapped my arms around her, wondering what was wrong. She was thin, and I realized for the first time that my arms went all the way around her. She’d lost weight, even in the last week and a half, and I remembered that she’d barely touched her food earlier. She kept crying into my chest for what seemed like a long time. I wasn’t sure what to think, or even if she felt the same way I did. Even so, I didn’t regret the words. The truth is always the truth, and I’d just promised her that I would never lie again.
“Please don’t say that,” she said to me. “Please . . .”
“But I do,” I said, thinking she didn’t believe me.
She began to cry even harder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to me through her ragged sobs. “I’m so, so sorry. . . .”
My throat suddenly went dry.
“Why’re you sorry?” I asked, suddenly desperate to understand what was bothering her. “Is it because of my friends and what they’ll say? I don’t care anymore—I really don’t.” I was reaching for anything, confused and, yes—scared.
It took another long moment for her to stop crying, and in time she looked up at me. She kissed me gently, almost like the breath of a passerby on a city street, then ran her finger over my cheek.
“You can’t be in love with me, Landon,” she said through red and swollen eyes. “We can be friends, we can see each other . . . but you can’t love me.”
“Why not?” I shouted hoarsely, not understanding any of this.
“Because,” she finally said softly, “I’m very sick, Landon.”
The concept was so absolutely foreign that I couldn’t comprehend what she was trying to say.
“So what? You’ll take a few days . . .”
A sad smile crossed her face, and I knew right then what she was trying to tell me. Her eyes never left mine as she finally said the words that numbed my soul.
“I’m dying, Landon.”
Chapter 12
She had leukemia; she’d known it since last summer.
The moment she told me, the blood drained from my face and a sheaf of dizzying images fluttered through my mind. It was as though in that brief moment, time had suddenly stopped and I understood everything that had happened between us. I understood why she’d wanted me to do the play: I understood why, after we’d performed that first night, Hegbert had whispered to her with tears in his eyes, calling her his angel; I understood why he looked so tired all the time and why he fretted that I kept coming by the house. Everything became absolutely clear.
Why she wanted Christmas at the orphanage to be so special . . .
Why she didn’t think she’d go to college . . .
Why she’d given me her Bible . . .
It all made perfect sense, and at the same time, nothing seemed to make any sense at all.
Jamie Sullivan had leukemia . . .
Jamie, sweet Jamie, was dying . . .
My Jamie . . .
“No, no,” I whispered to her, “there has to be some mistake. . . .”
But there wasn’t, and when she told me again, my world went blank. My head started to spin, and I clung to her tightly to keep from losing my balance. On the street I saw a man and a woman, walking toward us, heads bent and their hands on their hats to keep them from blowing away. A dog trotted across the road and stopped to smell some bushes. A neighbor across the way was standing on a stepladder, taking down his Christmas lights. Normal scenes from everyday life, things I would never have noticed before, suddenly making me feel angry. I closed my eyes, wanting the whole thing to go away.