Part 17 (1/2)

When I answered the doctor's door, I could tel right away that Priscil a Sparrow barely recognized me. I was about three sizes bigger than I'd been on Bobbie's first day of school, for one thing, and no longer wearing men's clothes. My hair was bundled up in a bandanna, my feet were bare, and in my eyes there were pinp.r.i.c.ks that Prissy had never noticed before. She put a self-conscious hand up to her turban and adjusted the mermaid pin.

”Hel o, dear,” she said.

To be fair, I almost didn't recognize Priscil a Sparrow. Her voice was the only unadulterated thing about her. High and clear, it stil rang with authority. She fixed me with her cloudy stare. ”May I come in for a moment? I have something to discuss with you.”

In the front parlor, Priscil a Sparrow perched on the spindled edge of the Victorian sofa and glanced around the room. Almost no one ever came into the main house, and I could tel Prissy was surprised by the austerity of it. Plain wooden planks shone under her feet. The duck-egg wal s glowed, and bare windows let in the sunlight.

and bare windows let in the sunlight.

Prissy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If she had been by herself, I thought, she might have been tempted to slip off her orthopedic shoes, stretch her legs on the sofa, and take a nap.

Instead, she interlaced her k.n.o.bby fingers, making a temple out of her hands for luck, knelt as best she could on the waxy floor, and started begging woman to woman.

It's strange to see what time does to your adversaries. Here I had the indomitable Miss Sparrow kneeling in front of me, but with a couple of teeth missing, yel ow eyebal s, and a head as bald as a plucked goose. As she spoke, I remembered the day she'd confiscated my mother's cracked mirror and the sound it made hitting the metal trash can, the tinkling of the gla.s.s splintering. Even now, that was stil the noise I imagined a heart made when it gave up on life. For a moment, I wished I had that mirror back so I could hold it up to Priscil a Sparrow's face and invite her to take a good long look. See, I would have said, ugly fits into anybody's skin. Size doesn't have a d.a.m.n thing to do with it.

The truth of it is, though, size has plenty to do with forgiveness. Staring down at the measly-boned Priscil a Sparrow, I realized for the first time that maybe my enormity was an unintended gift. Al that fat and muscle hanging off my frame-the very same flesh that Robert Morgan seemed so determined to chip and whittle away at-was like a suit of armor laid overtop my spirit. And so far, I'd taken al the misery thrown at me and absorbed it like salt sucking up water.

Without taking my eyes off Prissy, I leaned close to her. Gently, as if persuading a mean dog into a better temper, I took her clawed hands into my own. ”I'l take care of it,” I whispered, my voice as supple as the surface of Tabitha's quilt. ”I promise. One way or another, I'l take care of it.”

The doctor was not exactly congenial to seeing things in my fas.h.i.+on. I'd decided to try him first.

”Absolutely not,” he sputtered when I informed him about Priscil a Sparrow's visit. ”I've told her I won't.

It's completely unethical.” He worked a bit of ham gristle out from between his teeth. It was after dinner.

Bobbie was upstairs doing homework. For supper I'd made al the doctor's favorites-cola-glazed ham, two-fried potato hash, and sour patch tomato salad -but it wasn't helping. He was crabby, and dangerous, and not inclined to agree with me about anything, especial y when it involved his work.

”But maybe it's more unethical to prolong her life.” I slid a cup of overly bitter coffee across the table, trying to ignore the image of Sentinel's pinched gray muzzle going slack in the moonlight.

”It's murder.”

”It's stil an option.”

”Which is murder.”

”Or peace.” I eyed the doctor. After putting up with his p.r.o.nouncements and orders, it felt like liberation to voice an opinion of my own, even if he was shooting it down. I put my hands on my hips.

”Listen, you may know a lot about how the human body hangs together, but you don't know doggone about the soul. People get tuckered out. They get tired of hanging around waiting when the finish line's in plain sight. You ought to know that better than in plain sight. You ought to know that better than anyone.”

The doctor shut up and slurped at his coffee. His hair was beginning to thin out, and what was left of it stuck up in tufts off his head. For a moment, he looked just like Bobbie. ”It's il egal,” he snapped, accusatory and mean, just like his old self.

But maybe he can't help it, I thought. Maybe his cel s were just programmed that way.

”Wel now, that al depends.”

”On what?” Robert Morgan was not a man who appreciated the easy morals of August Dyerson, but I was pleased to note that they were stil alive and kicking in me-just like one of his hobbled old racehorses.

I raised my eyebrows. ”On not getting caught.”

I was preparing to make my grand exit, sweeping out of that kitchen with al the dignity of the Queen of Sheba, but the doctor was a man who'd never lost out on the last word, and he wasn't about to start now, even if it came at the cost of tarnis.h.i.+ng his honor.

”Not so fast. Sit,” he ordered. He kicked a chair out for me, then licked his lips and spoke with the sweet slowness of a man who had al the time in the world. ”I didn't want to have to do this now,” he said, running his hands through his hair, ”but you're leaving me no choice.” He looked back over at me.

”Tel me, Truly, if it was you sitting on the other side of the fence, do you think you'd be making the same argument? Because what I'm about to say to you may change your mind.” I hesitated, a bad feeling rising in my chest. ”Now, do you have any idea of the name of what afflicts you?”

I refused the seat. When I'd decided to go to bat for Priscil a Sparrow, I hadn't counted on nitpicking my dimensions, but if the doctor wanted to go that route, I figured, it was one I could fol ow.

”Wel , I'm guessing the word giant is in the t.i.tle somewhere,” I said, ”and if it isn't, I'm sure you'l pet.i.tion to put it there.”

Robert Morgan drummed his fingers on the tabletop, unperturbed. He appeared to debate something inside himself for a moment, then he nodded, satisfied, and continued speaking. ”The precise term is acromegaly. You're a kind of giant, Truly. Do you know what that means?”

I sighed. How many times in my life, I wondered, was I going to have to have this conversation? I thought back al those years to my first day of school and Miss Sparrow's incredulous a.s.sessment of me. It made me feel as dul and heavy inside as a rusty old barrel. Maybe I would take that chair, after al . I sank into it before answering, ”It means I'm bigger than average, Robert Morgan.”

He shook his head. ”No, it's more than that. How did my father explain it to you when you were a child? A little clock?”

”Yes. A clock.”

”Wel , that's not technical y accurate. It's more like a stopwatch, or a kitchen timer. Most people's pituitary quits sending out hormone after p.u.b.erty, but yours never has, probably due to some kind of tumor. Your timer is infinite. In other words, you've never stopped growing, and you probably never wil .”

I sat back in the chair, absorbing this new information, wis.h.i.+ng I had some more coffee to go with it.

”There's more,” the doctor continued. ”I never told you before, but given our topic of conversation tonight, I believe now is the time. You need to know that there's a high probability that this condition wil be terminal for you, Truly.”

”What?” The word terminal flapped in my throat like a duck trapped in lake ice. I tried to take a breath and found I couldn't.

The doctor lowered his gaze, slipping into professional mode. ”Your heart won't be able to keep up with your growth. Your organs wil become enlarged and stressed. Inevitably, your vital systems wil start to fail.”

I s.h.i.+fted on my chair, aware for the first time of precisely how much the wood was bending and bowing under me. More than last week? I wondered. Much more than a month ago? I put a hand on my chest. ”Oh. Oh my.”

Robert Morgan folded his hands. ”I realize this must be a shock.”

He had no idea. My mind swirled with questions. How big would I get? How long would it take? How would I know if my organs were failing?

But there were a few questions that were larger than any of the others and one in particular that couldn't any of the others and one in particular that couldn't be ignored. ”How could you keep this a secret al these years?” I final y blurted.

Robert Morgan sipped his muddy coffee and considered. ”I was always going to tel you. You have a right to know, of course.” He hesitated a moment, then cleared his throat roughly. ”I was waiting for the right time. A better time.”

I slammed my hands on the table. ”Better than what?”

To give him credit, the doctor didn't even flinch. ”Better than now,” he replied, calm as cabbage. He ran his fingers through his hair and elaborated. ”Look, Truly, it's always tricky giving someone bad news, and it's even more so when that person is a member of your household. I suppose I didn't like the idea of rocking our little boat. Not while you were stil healthy, and not after everything Serena Jane put us through.”

”But what if something had happened to me in the meantime? What if, what if-” What if I died? I couldn't say it.

Robert Morgan held up his empty palms as if he were offering al the blame back up to the universe. ”Then it wouldn't matter that I'd never told you, would it?” That sounded about right, I thought.

Plus, it gave him a few hidden benefits. If I didn't know about my condition, Robert Morgan would be able to watch me like a lion getting ready for a kil , tail twitching, eyes al narrow and tight. He would be able to keep measuring every inch of me right up until the end, notating al the changes, and when I was gone he would be able to write al those numbers up in a nice, fat medical article with his name signed in red.