Page 63 of We Drank the Dawn

Hardly able to summon my voice, I breathed, “It—it counts.”

Satisfied, he leaned forward, and kissed me again.

TWENTY

Sarah

My head rested on Peter’s shoulder, the Rockies game playing on mute with subtitles in the background. He’d been helping me study for an upcoming math exam, but we put the books away when he got nauseous. Now, he seemed to be dozing. In between his final chemo treatments, Peter stayed at home, watched TV, played video games, slept, and did what he could to keep up with school remotely.

And I stayed with him. As much as possible.

We sat on the couch in the basement where it was quiet. On his lap, our hands were palm-to-palm, fingers entwined. And my five thousand piece puzzle of the Rocky Mountains was only a quarter finished on the coffee table. I’d foolishly added finish a 5,000 piece puzzle on my list, and to say I regretted it was an understatement. But, at least it kept me occupied when my school was done and Peter was sleeping.

Peter startled me when he suddenly spoke. “Have you noticed anything weird about my parents?”

“Not really.” I turned my face to look up at him. “Explain weird.”

He stared straight ahead, concentrating as his brow wrinkled where his eyebrows used to be before weeks of chemo ravaged his body. His already weary voice scraped with heaviness. “I think…I think they’re getting a divorce.”

I sprang up. “Your parents? No way.”

“Seriously. I heard them talking.”

I shook my head, in total denial. “You must’ve misunderstood. Your parents would never get divorced. They love each other.”

Peter shrugged. “That’s not what it sounded like.”

“When did you hear them talking?”

“The last week I was in the hospital.” He blinked as if trying to make the details more clear. “They thought I was sleeping. Mom said something about getting a divorce. It made Dad really mad, and he started cussing, which I’ve never heard him do. And Mom said something like, ‘couples don’t make it through stuff like this, Cal.’ Then she said, ‘Families that stay together when this happens are a miracle.’” Peter shook his head, disturbed. “I think they were talking about my cancer, Sarah. I knew being at the hospital so much was hard on them, but…I had no idea they were struggling that much. I feel responsible somehow.”

“Oh, Peter.” I tucked in closer to him.

“I know I’m not in control of what’s happening to me, but it made me feel really bad for wanting Mom or Dad to stay at the hospital with me. Like, maybe if they weren’t so stressed or they had more time at home together, they would⁠—”

“No, Peter. You can’t think like that. Maybe they weren’t even talking about you.”

“It certainly sounded like it.” He took a deep breath. “And they’ve been acting weird ever since. Hardly talking to each other, super standoffish. I don’t know. I’m worried.”

“You like to worry.”

He huffed. “I can’t help it.”

“If you’re bothered, ask them about it.”

He nodded. “I want to, but I’m afraid of what they might say.”

Peter stopped his old Honda Accord by the railroad tracks, the yellow street lights barely illuminating the loose gravel and stringy weeds on the ground. Waggling his eyebrows, he popped the trunk and threw open his door. Following him around, I peered inside at the duffle bag.

One by one, he passed me things.

A flashlight

Two masks.

A can of yellow spray paint.

And that’s when I started laughing.