"Wake up, my darling." Her voice was gentle and husky in a pleasantly musical sort of way, and I could hear the smile I knew was on her face. Augustine always seemed to be smiling. I felt a warm kiss grace each of my cheeks, around the facepiece of the BiPAP machine. I opened my eyes a slowly as possible, savoring my last moments of slumber. Augustine's face was inches from mine, her green eyes sparkling. I stared blearily back into them for a moment, then put a hand on the flat part of her chest just below her collarbone and gave a friendly push. She giggled and pretended to fall backward so that she was sitting on my lap. I pushed myself into a sitting position. Augustine helped me unhook myself from the BiPAP, then kissed my mouth.
"Good morning," I said with a yawn. "You're awfully perky, aren't you?" Augustine had clearly wanted me to be the first thing saw in the morning; she was still wearing her pajamas and hadn't bothered to put her wig on. It was a bit odd, seeing her with no hair, but it made her eyes look even bigger and brighter.
"I've always been a morning person. Big day, today!"
It was more than just a big day. It was the day I'd been waiting for for years. I was finally going to do it. I was going to meet Peter van Houten. I climbed out of bed, suddenly ten times more energetic than I'd been in a while. My mom was still snoring loudly.
"Are you going to watch me change?" I asked Augustine, not knowing what I expected or wanted her to say. She laughed knowingly and went back to her room, closing the door behind her. I put on a pair of jeans and a beige shirt that had a picture of a pipe on it with words underneath that said "Ceci n'est pas une pipe." in a cursive script. It's a famous piece of art by a French artist named Magritte. The words mean "This is not a pipe," the point being that it is a picture of a pipe rather than a real one.
When I was finished getting dressed, I woke up my mom. (She was pleasantly surprised to see me awake before her, and immediately guessed that Augustine had come in.) Then I knocked on the door to Augustine's room. She opened it, fully dressed but still without her hair. She was wearing black jeans, combat boots, and an orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt. I knew it was a reference to the Percy Jackson books, but it had been a long time since I actually read one. Augustine put on her wig, which she'd styled into a braided bun at her neck. When my mom was ready, we headed down to breakfast.
Two hours later, Augustine and I found ourselves standing in front of a battered old door. My mom had decided to spend the day at an art museum; only Augustine and I had been invited to Peter van Houten's. The door was painted black, but the paint was peeling to reveal light blue underneath. There was a lit-up white doorbell labeled P. van Houten next to it. I sucked in my breath and pressed the bell.
A smiling woman with dark hair cut in a professional looking bob answered the door. "Hazel and Augustine?" she asked. I nodded. The woman offered her hand to each of us in turn. "I'm Lidewij," she said. I never could have guessed that that was how her name was pronounced. "It's a pleasure. Come this way, Peter is in the sitting room."
Lidewij led us through the house. There were books everywhere: double-stacked on bookshelves, piled on the floor, lying open on the tables. One particularly tall stack had an old cat sitting on it that watched us curiously as we passed. The house had a funny smell, too, like socks and brandy.
"Peter," Lidewij announced quietly as we entered the sitting room. "They're here."
A grey haired, bespectacled man in a wrinkled shirt was sitting in a chintz armchair, hunched over a book. He didn't look up. "Who's here?" he asked irritably.
"Hazel and Augustine," said Lidewij with the same patience that a preschool teacher has for a small child. "Fans of your book, remember? You knew they were coming."
Peter looked up and squinted unsmilingly at us. His eyes lingered on me. "You read Anna's book?"
"I- yes." It struck me as odd that he credited the book to the main character, but I managed a smile. "It's my favorite book in the world. I feel like you really understand-"
"Feelings!" he interrupted, his voice tripling in volume. "They are lies, you understand? Life is not full of feelings, there is no happiness or sadness. There are only the horrors of life."
"Calm down, Peter," said Lidewij, a hint of worry audible in her patient tone.
"Why have these children come into my house?" Peter continued to yell, ignoring Lidewij. "To tell me I'm wonderful? To make me have feelings?"
"To thank you," I tried again, "For inspiring us when we needed it most."
Peter van Houten snorted loudly and reached down to the floor beside his armchair. He picked up a dark bottle and raised it to his lips, but before he could sip Lidewij knocked it out of his hand. It hit the carpet with a dull clunk. A dark puddle of brandy seeped out onto the carpet. No one moved to pick it up.
"These children have been inspired by you," Lidewij hissed, her patience evaporated. "They looked to your work for support through their cancer, they came all this way because meeting you was their dream. And this is how you greet them? You drink, you yell, you shatter their hopes?"
Augustine slipped her hand into mine and squeezed it. It was reassuring, having her there. I stood, frozen, at a complete loss for what to do.
"Did you dress like her on purpose?" asked Peter suddenly. I knew he was addressing me.
"Sort of, I guess." He was exactly right. Anna would have loved the philosophical depth of Magritte's pipe, the out-of-the-box way of looking at reality. I hadn't thought about that when I put on the shirt that morning, but it had surely been on my mind when I bought it.
"Anna…" Peter's voice trailed off. "You look like her, too. Short, brown hair. Blue eyes."
There was a long silence. The cat leapt off the stack of books and scurried out of sight.
"Out!" Peter roared suddenly. He sounded as though he were on the verge of tears. "Lidewij, get them out of my house."
Lidewij opened her mouth to protest, but Peter's face was livid. Lidewij nodded in defeat. We followed her to the door. She went outside with us, closing the door softly behind her.
"I'm so, so sorry, girls," said Lidewij. A tear rolled down her cheek. "I thought if he saw that he mattered in the world he would open up, but he is so stubborn. I had hoped he would understand, but he only wants to drink and mourn for his daughter, even though it has been nearly twenty-five years to the day of her passing. I'm so sorry your trip has been for nothing."
Augustine put one of her comforting hands on Lidewij's shoulder. "Our trip hasn't been for nothing, Lidewij. I'm loving Amsterdam, and I get to spend time with Hazel. Where's the waste?"
Lidewij considered this for a moment. "Would you two like to see the Anne Frank House?"
"Sure," I agreed. It sounded interesting to me, and there was no way I was going to kill the momentary hope and say no.
We caught a water taxi to the museum. It was in a narrow building that had once held offices. You entered the "secret annex" where her family had lived by going behind a bookshelf, which was a bit like being in a Nancy Drew mystery. But the thing was, the Anne Frank House had a lot of very steep steps. And my lungs don't exactly love exercise.
The first flight wasn't too bad. I had to stop and catch my breath after the second. And then it got really challenging. Step up. Lift oxygen tank next to me. Breathe. Step up. Lift tank. Breathe. I got into a rhythm, but it was a slow and painful one. As the stairs got narrower, I started holding the people behind me up. Step up. Lift tank. Breathe. But I was determined to do it. Now that I had started, I wasn't going to give up. I wasn't going to ruin the outing for Augustine or Lidewij. Step up. Lift tank. Breathe. Step up. Lift tank. Breathe. And then, finally, painstakingly, I took the last step, lifted my tank, and grinned. The room was tiny, but I'd reached my goal.
"Well done!" said Lidewij.
"Did she do it?" asked another tourist on the stairs.
"She did it," her husband replied.
"Whoo-hoo!" she called up.
Augustine beamed.
As soon as we got down, Augustine kissed me. A long, passionate kiss that I was all too happy about. "I knew you could do it, Hazel," she said, her face glowing. "I would have kissed you up there, but I was afraid someone would chuck us out the window for taking up space." I laughed. Lidewij had been looking away politely, but she chuckled too.
"Thank you so much, Lidewij," I said at the museum door. The museum was walking distance from the hotel.
"Thank you both for coming," said Lidewij. "I am so sorry."
When Lidewij had left, Augustine turned to me. "It's only two," she said. "We're meeting your mom at 4:30. What do you want to do?"
I knew exactly what I wanted to do. "Well, I want to go up to your room and…"
Her eyes shined like two green suns. "Yes."
As soon as we got into the hotel room, I started kissing her. First on her mouth, then down her neck. I just wanted more. And she wanted more too- her hands wandered up my shirt, across my chest, through my hair, everywhere.
"Take off your shirt," she said. "If you feel comfortable, that it is." I did, and then kicked off my shoes and took off my pants as well. She couldn't have looked more delighted, and immediately did the same. Her whole body was uniformly soft and beautifully honey-colored, except for a red scar near her collarbone from a lymphoma surgery.
"Your bra doesn't match your underwear," she pointed out jokingly.
"Take them off, then, if it bothers you."
She pushed me onto the bed, climbed on top of me, and kissed me. "Tell me if you want me to stop, ok?" Her low voice was so sexy.
"Don't you dare stop."
She didn't.