Even though it's negative temps outside (seriously?? WHY!?) there are good things happening today!
It's TEASER TUESDAY! Super exciting, I know!
Before the cover of NEVERLAND is launched (soon, I promise) I thought it might be fun to give a little teaser.
This story is about love and relationships... and magic. There should always be magic.
Enjoy!!!
NEVERLAND By Shari Arnold
Chapter 1
It’s
just before dinnertime at the Seattle Children’s Hospital. Beef Stroganoff
tonight. My sister’s favorite. I’m almost to the best part of Peter Pan — you
know where Wendy has just walked the plank and everyone on the ship is freaking
out because there was no splash.
I
pause for a moment and smile down at the newest addition to story hour. She
smiles back. She’s still clutching her mother’s hand like it’s her lifeline,
but she’s no longer hiding behind her. So that’s something. Her light-colored
eyebrows and pale skin make me think she was a blonde before they shaved her
head and injected her with poison. And the light in her mother’s eyes tells me
there’s still hope.
“Where’s
Wendy?” Jilly calls out even though she’s heard this story countless times
before. The way the children are watching me you’d think it was the first time
I’d read it to them. Jilly claps loudly and the IV attached to her right hand
sways back and forth as if it shares her excitement.
“Well,”
I say, drawing out the word. “What do you think happened to her?”
“Peter
Pan!” the children chorus, all except Gerald. He’s sitting in his mom’s lap,
eyeing me as if I’m foolish for asking this question.
“She’s
dead. Drowned in the water,” he says, before his mom shushes him. Lately Gerald
has developed a fascination with death. And from what I hear some of the other
parents find it off-putting.
“No!
She’s not dead!” Jilly says in her most authoritative voice. “It’s Peter Pan.
He’s saved her.”
And
I laugh. Of course it is. Who else would it be?
I
turn the book around to show them the illustrations and they collectively lean
in close. A handful of the kids are sitting on the floor near my feet while the
few who are too sick to leave their beds create a perimeter around us. But
every last one of them is locked on, waiting for the happy ending. Even Gerald.
Their eyes are wide and curious, and I love that. If I focus on their eyes I
can forget the disease each one carries around like a nametag. I can forget
that statistics rule their lives. I used to do this with my sister, Jenna, and
near the end she would put her face right up to mine so that our noses were
touching and say, “Can you see me, Livy?” and I’d say, “Always.”
Sometimes
when I close my eyes I still see her: honey and peach-colored and never without
a half-eaten candy necklace hanging around her neck. At least that’s how she
used to be. But most of the time I have to pull out a photograph and remind
myself of what her smile looked like, how her mouth was a mix of permanent and
baby teeth. And how she had this funny little birthmark near her right temple
that was shaped like an elephant, and when asked about it she would claim it
was a tattoo because it would make my mother cringe and my father chuckle.
After only four months of her being gone I have to rely on a photograph to
remember how her eyebrows were so blonde you couldn’t see them unless you
looked really close. And how her laughter was so loud and freeing that it would
usually catch the attention of perfect strangers on the street.
“Livy?
What happened to Wendy?” Jilly says, bringing me back to the present. I turn
the book around and flip to the next page.
“Tick,
tock. Tick tock,” I read and the children squeal: “It’s the crocodile!”
I
stop reading long enough to glance up. I wish I could capture their joy and
hold it in my pocket, bringing it out on those days when even the promise of a
new toy can’t drudge up a smile. “This is what happiness sounds like,” I’d tell
them as if a simple reminder is all they need to feel better.
“What
happens next?” Gerald calls out, and then thinking better of it he rolls his
eyes and says, “not that I’m interested.”
I’m
about to answer when I notice him. That same boy. The one I occasionally see
when no one else is paying attention. He’s standing just inside the doorway
wearing dark jeans and a hoodie. His arms are folded, his ankles crossed. He’s
lounging while standing up. And when our eyes meet he grins. Who is he? I know he doesn’t belong to
any of the children here because I’ve asked. In fact, no one on this floor
seems to claim him at all. But nevertheless, there he is. Watching me.
“Are
you going to finish, Livy?” Gerald asks with his sandpaper voice. “You know,
some of us aren’t going to live forever.”
The
boy in the doorway raises an eyebrow as if he too is wondering if I’m going to
finish. But he isn’t a boy. He’s perhaps a year or two older than me, which
would make him barely an adult. Not a boy. But there’s something about his
smile that makes him appear younger. More youthful.
“Of
course I’m going to finish,” I answer, except now I’m nervous. My hand shakes
when I turn the page and even though I will myself not to, I clear my throat.
“The
sound of ticking is coming from the water down below. Tick. Tick. Tick.” I take
a breath while the children continue to hold theirs. And he’s watching me.
Still watching me.
I
finish the story just as Nurse Maria strolls in to announce that it’s time for
dinner. But the children don’t want food. They want Peter Pan. The few who
entered the playroom on their own two feet are now flying about with their arms
extended and their pajamas flapping. I smile while I watch them. They look so
free, so happy. For a moment I forget their troubles, just like they have.
“Again!
Again!” they cry. “Read it again!” Even little Sammy, who rarely makes any
noise at all, has joined in. Sometimes I don’t even hear his footsteps before
he tugs on my shirt to get my attention.
“Please,
Livy!” Jilly begs from her hospital bed and I can’t look at her when I explain
that story hour is over. I never want to be the one to tell her no. She hears
it enough.
Nurse
Maria makes airplane noises as she pushes Jilly’s bed toward the doorway.
“Don’t
leave without saying goodbye,” Jilly calls out, her head arched back so she can
see me.
“Never,”
I say. Just like I always do.
“See
you tomorrow, Livy,” Gerald squeaks out and his skinny arms wrap around me. He
blushes when I kiss his cheek and it makes me want to hold him tighter, longer.
“Try not to die tonight,” he says. “It’s dangerous out there.”
“I’ll
be careful,” I say and playfully swat at his hair.
When
I glance toward the doorway the mysterious boy is gone.
Cover coming soon!!
