On the Victory Trail (7 page)

Sooze raised her head and wiped her eyes with her fists. “What am I going to do, Skye?”

Skye squeezed Sooze's shoulder. “I don't know,” she answered. “But I do know someone who can show you what to do.”

“Who?” Sooze's voice filled with hope. She turned and looked at Skye.

“God,” Skye said.

Sooze's eyes, bloodshot and troubled, searched Skye's. “What?”

“I said God can help you.”

Sooze slid away from Skye and gave her a nasty scowl. “Where are you coming from with this God stuff again? I told you the other day I didn't want to hear it! If God is so great, why would he let this happen to me?”

“I don't know — ”

“Well — when you've got some answers, let me know,” Sooze cried. “I'm the one with this thing growing in my head! I don't need anyone shoving religion down my throat along with everything else. Got it?”

“Got it,” Skye said sadly. “But I want you to know that I'm here for you — and God is too.”

Skye studied the brilliant blue sky that had come after the afternoon rain. She took in a lungful of cool evening air as she stood with Mrs. Chambers on the lopsided front porch of Sooze's mother's house.

“Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes! Look at those bruises.” Skye could hear Mrs. Bodmer, even over the television chatter inside the house.

“Thanks for caring!” Skye heard Sooze snapping back.

A few seconds passed before Sooze came back to the doorway and said, “Mom says it's okay to come in.”

Skye followed Sooze and Mrs. Chambers into a living room stacked with boxes and newspapers. Mrs. Bodmer lay on a haggard brown sofa that looked like a prop from a haunted house. Her pudgy body, dressed in a cherry-red halter top and jean shorts, absorbed the breeze from a fan. Her frizzy hair swirled in the breeze, and her stubby, ring-clad fingers, now decorated with long purple fingernails, held a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Come on in,” Mrs. Bodmer's gruff voice ordered above the noisy TV, “and shut the door tight. We don't need any more flies in here!”

“It's good to see you again,” Mrs. Chambers said loudly above the noisy TV. Sooze flopped into a sagging green chair and closed her eyes. Her head rested back on the dirty upholstery.

Mrs. Chambers continued, trying to be heard. “We need to talk to you about your daughter, Mrs. Bodmer! About her progress so far, and — well — her health!”

Mrs. Bodmer clicked off the TV, inhaled on her cigarette, and blew out a stream of smoke from her nose. Folding her arms, she squinted through the last puff of smoke that blew back in her face.

“Yeah, how's the kid doing? When I called the hospital this morning, they said she was sleeping, so I didn't want them to wake her. So what's going on?” She looked at Sooze with obvious suspicion. “You aren't getting into more trouble, are you, Susan? From the looks of you, trouble should've been your middle name!”

Heavy silence hung over the room.

“Skye, why don't you and Sooze find something to do, so Mrs. Bodmer and I can talk alone?”

“Sure,” said Skye. Sooze reluctantly pulled herself out of the green chair, and the girls disappeared up the stairs to Sooze's old room.

Mrs. Chambers shifted from one foot to the other and then took a seat in the chair Sooze had vacated. “Mrs. Bodmer, I have some troubling news. The doctors ran some tests on Susan while she was at the hospital.”

“Tests?” Mrs. Bodmer said. She took a gulp from her can.

“Yes,” Mrs. Chambers said. “We had a meeting with two different doctors earlier today, and they think Sooze has a brain tumor.”

“A brain tumor?” Slowly, Mrs. Bodmer sat forward onto the edge of the sofa, set her can on the coffee table, and eyed Mrs. Chambers skeptically. “That's ridiculous!” she snorted. “What are you ­people trying to pull?”

“I assure you, it's true,” Mrs. Chambers answered. “I know this is a shock.”

“Now wait a minute. You're telling me my kid has a brain tumor? Does that mean an operation?” Mrs. ­Bodmer asked.

“No. Surgery isn't an option because of the location of the tumor. Next week the doctors want to run another series of tests, and if the results are the same, Sooze will need to begin chemotherapy and then radiation. The doctors would like you to come in with us at that time, so they can go over the test results with all of us.”

“Well, how much is that going to cost me?” Mrs. Bodmer scowled. “I don't have any insurance, you know. And how do they know it's a brain tumor anyway? It could be a mistake.”

“That's the reason for running a second series of tests,” Mrs. Chambers said, “just to be sure. Mrs. Bodmer, I hope you realize that this is serious. Hopefully, with the treatments, she'll be okay. The tumor is what's been giving her the headaches. And the costs will be covered by the state since Sooze is in foster care.”

Mrs. Bodmer stared at Mrs. Chambers. Then she returned to her original position on the sofa and took a long drink. “Susan isn't going to die, is she?”

“I hope not,” Mrs. Chambers answered. “We're praying for her.”

At the mention of prayer, Mrs. Bodmer sniffed loudly. “Great,” she huffed sarcastically. “God's done so much for us in the past.”

“Mrs. Bodmer,” Mrs. Chambers continued, “the doctors are very hopeful that the treatments will curb the growth of the tumor. We're all hoping they have found it in time. Sooze knows about all of this. It's an awfully big deal for a kid her age. She really needs all the support we can give her right now.”

Sooze and Skye reappeared on the stairs and slowly made their way back to where the women were sitting. Mrs. Bodmer stared intently at her daughter and then took one last puff on her cigarette before putting it out.

“Now wait!” She shook her head and drew her hands through her hair, flattening it against her head before it went back to its dance with the fan. “This is all going too fast.” She studied Sooze again. “You mean my kid's so sick that she needs radiation and chemo?”

“Sooze, I've told your mother what's going on with you.”

Mrs. Bodmer looked Sooze up and down one more time. “Susan, this isn't one of your dirty tricks again, is it?” Mrs. Bodmer growled. “If it is, it isn't one bit funny.”

“I assure you it isn't,” Mrs. Chambers said. “Sooze didn't cause this. It just happened.”

“Don't worry, Mumsy,” Sooze said sarcastically. “It's going to be loads of fun. First, I'll lose my hair, and then, I'll be throwing up my guts. Who knows — maybe I'll even die. That would be a lucky break for you, wouldn't it?”

Mrs. Bodmer reached for another cigarette and her lighter.

“Well, isn't life grand!” she hissed. “Like I don't got enough trouble. Now I got a sick kid.”

“Before we leave,” Mrs. Chambers said, “we'd like to pray with you and Sooze. Prayer always helps in times like these when we don't know which way to turn.”

Mrs. Bodmer took another drink and then scowled.

“No thank you!” she harped. “I've never had a need for God, and I don't need him now. You can just take your prayers and be on your merry way. No god would let this stuff happen to me.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Mrs. Chambers said. “God has helped me through some pretty tough times. He — ”

“I said no!” Mrs. Bodmer shouted. “Like I said, you can just get on down the road!” Then she looked at Sooze. “And you let me know what's going on, okay?”

Sooze rolled her eyes and without as much as a glance at her mother headed out the front door, letting the screen door slam behind her. Without a word, Skye started toward the door.

Mrs. Chambers turned to leave, still looking at Mrs. Bodmer. “Let us know if you can go to the hospital with us next week. It would be good for you to hear the information directly from the doctors. And, of course, you're always welcome to come out to Keystone Stables for a visit. I'm sure Sooze would appreciate that.”

Mrs. Bodmer turned on the TV with the remote control. Again sitcom laughter blasted through the room.

“Yeah, thanks,” she slurred, settling into her couch. “Call me.”

“We certainly will,” Mrs. Chambers said.

chapter eight

S
kye, look at this cool game I'm playing on the Internet.” Morgan worked the computer keyboard like a pro. “It's called Asteroids.”

The walls of the Chambers' game room vibrated with the noise of electronic laser blasts.

“Yeah, I've done that at the mall zillions of times.” Skye called above the noise of her own Nintendo game. “One time I scored thirty thousand before I got zapped.”

“I wonder how Sooze is,” Morgan said.

“I don't think she feels too hot, especially since her first treatment. Man, did she throw up after that! And her poor hair. She looks like a scarecrow with a bad hair day.”

“I hope the doctor has a good report. It's been two weeks since the chemo.”

Skye glanced at the wall clock above the computer. “She and Mom ought to be back soon. We could all use some good news. I've never known anybody before who had a brain tumor. Kind of scary, isn't it?”

“Yeah. But I know God could help Sooze if she'd just let him. It has to be scary without having him on your team.”

“Yikes! Get over there!” Morgan said to the screen.

The outside door to their right opened, the girls oblivious to it.

“Hey, what's happening?” Mrs. Chambers spoke above the game racket as she walked up behind Skye. “Hard at work helping Tom paint the fence, I see,” she teased.

“Oh, we're going to help him in just a minute,” Skye said, “as soon as these last games are done. Where's Sooze?”

“She'll be down in a minute,” Mrs. Chambers answered. “She wanted to do something first. By the way, girls, I have sandwiches in the fridge down here if you want to eat before you attack the paint can.”

Skye's game came to a crashing halt. She shut it down and followed Mrs. Chambers to the kitchenette.

“Mom, what did the doctor say about Sooze?”

Mrs. Chambers opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea. “Well, the doctor is quite hopeful that we caught this thing in time. He plans to give Sooze three more chemo treatments followed by radiation. That's supposed to shrink the tumor or kill it all together. They're pretty optimistic. I just wish Sooze's mother would join the process.”

Morgan came in at the tail end of the discussion. “How often will she get those treatments?”

“Once a month,” Mrs. Chambers answered, handing wet wipes to the girls. “That's all a body can handle.”

“Yeah,” Skye said, pulling paper plates from a cup-board, “but it doesn't seem to be working with Sooze. She threw up her guts, and her hair's falling out in gobs.” Skye ran a hand through her hair, pulling a lock forward to study a few strands. “That would freak me out — I don't think I could handle that.”

“Yeah, no hair would be awful,” Morgan agreed.

“Girls, when your life's at stake, you look at things in a whole different light,” Mrs. Chambers said. “Which would you choose? Your hair or your life? Getting sick and losing your hair is part of the process, unfortunately. Sooze needs our prayers and support. Just encourage her as much as you can. She needs some good friends right now.” She poured iced tea into three paper cups and smiled. “Let's pray over this feast, and we'll dig in.”

Skye bowed her head and prayed. “Dear God, please help Sooze to feel better and get well, and thank you for this food. Bless it in Jesus' name. Amen.”

“Hey, guys,” Sooze's tired voice said.

Skye turned toward the doorway. Her gaze fell on Sooze, who had lost considerable weight, her skin was pallid, and her eyes seemed sunken more deeply into her thin face. But something was very different.

“Sooze,” Skye exclaimed. “You have hair! Where —how — when?”

“Wow!” Morgan added. “That is too, too much! How did you get hair that fast? It's got to be a wig. Right?”

“Morgan, sometimes your brilliance knocks me out,” Sooze slurred as she slowly squared a sky-blue cowboy hat on her wig. “They told me at the hospital that you guys wouldn't even notice the difference from my real hair.”

“It's true,” Mrs. Chambers said.

Skye took a gulp of tea. “It looks so much like the real thing, the kids at church won't even notice. Too cool!”

“Would you like a ham sandwich, Sooze?” Mrs. Chambers said.

“No, I'm not hungry,” Sooze forced out, “just tired.”

“Why don't you go lie down for a while,” Mrs. Chambers suggested. “I'll wake you when we're ready to go to Maranatha. How does that sound?”

“I've got nothing better to do,” Sooze complained. “Of course, I could go throw up for a while. Oh, sorry. I forgot you were eating.”