Into a damp storage room.
There was a narrow bed pushed against the wall.
The ceiling was cracked.
A small window barely opened.
I stood in the doorway.
“You sleep here?”
Gwen looked down.
“It’s okay.”
“No.”
She flinched slightly at my tone.
I softened it.
“No, Gwen. It isn’t.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
For a while, she said nothing.
I sat beside her.
The mattress dipped under almost no weight from her side.
That scared me all over again.
“What happened?”
Her hands began shaking.
“Please don’t get angry.”
“Not at you.”
She looked at me.
I had never seen that expression on her face before.
It was fear mixed with exhaustion.
Not fear that I would hurt her.
Fear that the truth itself would hurt me.
Slowly, she began unbuttoning her blouse.
I almost stopped her.
Then I saw the fresh scar across her chest.
Biopsy.
I knew enough to understand what I was looking at.
My mouth went dry.
Gwen’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I have br:e:ast c:ancer.”
The storage room seemed to move around me.
“They found the tu:mor five months ago.”
Five months.
I stared at her.
Five months while I was overseas sending money home.
Five months while my mother sent messages telling me everything was fine.
Five months while Paige posted pictures of new things.
Five months while Gwen had apparently been fighting something that could kill her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her face broke.
