ARR 1988 - Flipbook - Page 152
Nicole smiled, "Well, it's better than nothing."
"Want a candy cane?" Marilyn offered. "I saved a couple from your last
week's coming-home party."
It seems like a million years since then! Nicole thought. She'd stepped
off the plane, and the first person she'd seen had been Craig, who said, "So
this is the girl with the pretty eyes."
How ironic. The very next day she was washing a load of laundry to
prove her new-found college independence, and somehow she'd stumbled
against the machine and the bleach had spilled and splattered all over her.
The bathroom door swung open. It had just been cleaned, and for a
moment the odorous disinfectant dazed Nicole. Dr. Pierce's office had
smelled of disinfectant that day, when he told her she was lucky. It was only
temporary, he'd said; she would regain her sight, possibly even as soon as the
bandages came off her eyes.
Thankfully, Joey disrupted the memory. He put a hand on Nicole's
shoulder, saying, "Come on, Nicki. Let's go help; they need us."
Nicole heard someone bounding over to them as soon as they stepped
down into the dining room. "Nicki!" a voice boomed. "You're not blinded for
good, are you?"
"Uh, no, I hope not," stammered Nicole. Who was this?
"I'm glad," said the voice. A man? Giant? Titan? "You know rumors;
they travel at the speed of sound."
Nicole gave up. "Who are you?" she demanded plaintively.
"You don't know? It's me, Greg," he revealed.
Greg? Could it be her kid- cousin was that baritone voice coming from
up there? Nicole did some fast addition- he was fifteen now. Ye gods! He
must have really grown.
"I guess I can't call you 'little' anymore," she said.
"You can't call anyone 'little' anymore," said Greg. He was smiling,
Nicole knew, even though she couldn't visualize it. "You're practically the
smallest one in the family."
"Don't I know it." At five three, and twenty-three years old, Nicole
knew she was as big as she was going to get. Joey towered above her now,
and even Marilyn was a willowy five seven.
"Excuse me," she blurted out. "I'm going to get some cider."
"I'll get it Nicki," Lissa called out. "It's hot; you'll burn yourself."
Lissa was twelve and one of the few people Nicole had already seen at
the airport. She was at the stage where image was important; her sandyblond hair had been chopped into the very latest geometric cut. As Lissa
handed Nicole a mug of cider, Nicole wondered if Lissa's nails were still
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