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PROLOGUE
43.0760° N, 107.2903° W
Elora
With the weightofmy mom’s shoulder pressed into mine, I flip through a travel magazine that’s so tattered that someofthe images have started to disintegrate off the worn pages.
“I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans,” Mom says wistfully when I turn the page to a photoofSt. Louis Cathedral lit up at night.
“Really?” I ask, studying the pictures on the other page, photosofcobblestone roads, people drinking at cute bars, and couples walking hand in hand on sunlit streets.
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“You’ve never talked about it.”
“I’ve never had the money or the time to take a trip like that.” She laughs while my insides shrivel up. We’ve never had money—or at least not enough—so that’s never been a big deal to me. But time is something I always assumed we’d have plentyof.
“Millie Hart.”
Hearing Mom’s name, I get up and grab my purse along with hers, then take her hand as we walk across the waiting room toward Tiffany. The pretty redhead has worn an ever-present reassuring smile every time we’ve seen her. “How are you today, ladies?”
“Good, and you?” Mom asks as we walk down the cold hallway toward Dr. Howards’ office.
“All right. Jackson’s summer break started yesterday, so you’ll have to ask me that question again in a coupleofweeks when he’s been home every single day.” She laughs, and Mom and I join in. Her son is a little older thanthe kids I teach at the preschool where I work, so I imagine having oneofthose little rascals around all summer when they’ve been at school all year would be a lot. Especially since he’s a boy. I mean, don’t get me wrong; girls can be a handful. But boys have an energy inside them that seems unlimited most days.
“Are you guys doing anything fun this summer?” I ask as Mom removes her shoes and steps onto the scale Tiffany stops in front of.
“I have to work, so he’ll be at camp for a few hours each day. Then, at the endofthe summer, we’re taking a Disney cruise for a week, so that should be fun.” She jots down Mom’s weight.
“I’ve heard those are fun,” I say as Mom leans her weight into me and slips her shoes back on.
“Me too.” She pushes open the door across the hall and smiles at us. “Dr. Howards should be just a coupleofminutes. Do you want any water while you wait?”
I look at Mom, and she shakes her head.
“I think we’re okay, thanks,” I tell Tiffany, and she nods before she backs out, closing the door.
As Mom gets settled in the seat next to me in frontofthe huge desk taking up mostofhis office, I look at all the plaques and framed newspaper clippings on the walls around the room. Each one showcases Dr. Howards’s accomplishments in the fieldofcancer.
“Millie, Elora.” Dr. Howards steps into the room, seeming so much older than the first time I met him eight years ago. “How are you feeling today, Millie?” His gaze becomes laser-focused on Mom as he takes a seat behind his desk.
“Great.” Her hand finds mine on the armofmy chair.
He nods, then steeples his fingers under his chin. “I got your labs from the blood work you did today. I wish I had better news, but your numbers don’t look good,” he says, and Mom’s cold fingers squeeze mine.
“Okay.”
“So what is the next step?” I ask him.
“Honey,” Mom whispers, and I look over at her. “I’m done.”
“What?”
“I’m done. I’m not trying any more treatments.”
“You still have options.” I turn to Dr. Howards. “She still has options, right?”
Her fingers around mine squeeze tight once again. “I don’t want to spend the last… however long I have left… in bed, because I’m so exhausted and can’t get up. I want to live.”
