Chapter 1
The Results
The clock on the wall was wrong.
Genevieve Hayes had been staring at it for the last eleven minutes, which meant she knew this with unreasonable certainty.
It said 10:43.
Her phone said 10:54.
She considered getting up and telling someone.
Then decided against it.
There were already enough things in this room that were wrong.
The clock didn't need to join the list.
Genevieve sat in the corner chair of Examination Room Four, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her left thumb rubbed slowly over the edge of her wedding-ring finger, even though there had never been a ring there.
She had considered buying one once.
Not an engagement ring.
Just a ring.
Something beautiful she could wear on her right hand and pretend belonged to a life she might eventually have.
She never bought it.
The door opened.
"Genevieve?"
She looked up.
Dr. Patel stood in the doorway holding a tablet against her chest.
There was a particular way doctors walked into rooms when they had good news.
There was a lightness to it.
A smile already waiting.
A sentence beginning with I'm pleased to tell you...
Dr. Patel wasn't smiling.
Genevieve knew before she sat down.
She hated that she knew.
"Hi," Genevieve said.
"Hi."
Dr. Patel pulled the chair closer.
Not beside the desk.
Closer to Genevieve.
That was never good.
Genevieve looked at the tablet.
Then at Dr. Patel.
Then at the closed door.
"Okay," she said.
Dr. Patel took a breath.
"Your scans are back."
Genevieve nodded.
"I figured."
"I've gone through them with the radiologist."
Another nod.
"And there are some changes we'd hoped not to see."
Genevieve looked down at her hands.
There it was.
The language.
The careful language doctors used when the truth was too heavy to put down all at once.
Changes.
Not tumors.
Not progression.
Not cancer.
Changes.
She almost laughed.
"Just say it."
Dr. Patel's expression softened.
"The cancer has progressed."
For a moment, Genevieve heard nothing.
Not the air-conditioning.
Not the faint footsteps outside the room.
Not the distant beep of a machine.
Nothing.
Then sound came rushing back all at once.
She swallowed.
"Where?"
"The lesions in your liver have increased in size."
Genevieve stared at the floor.
"And the bone metastases?"
"There are two new areas we're concerned about."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay."
Dr. Patel watched her.
"We'll discuss changing your treatment plan."
"Okay."
"There are still options."
Genevieve finally looked up.
"Are they options or are they treatments?"
Dr. Patel paused.
"Treatments."
"That's not what I asked."
Another pause.
Genevieve looked away.
She had always hated when people tried to make things softer for her.
Cancer had already taken enough from her.
It didn't get to take the truth too.
"Can you cure it?"
Dr. Patel didn't answer immediately.
She didn't need to.
Genevieve's eyes burned.
She blinked rapidly.
"No," Dr. Patel said quietly. "At this stage, we can't say that."
Genevieve nodded.
The room suddenly seemed too small.
She looked at the little motivational poster taped to the wall.
YOU ARE STRONGER THAN YOU THINK.
She had hated that poster since the first time she saw it.
She wasn't stronger than she thought.
She was tired.
There was a difference.
"How much time?"
Dr. Patel's face changed.
"Genevieve..."
"Please."
"We can't give you an exact timeline."
"I know."
"Everyone responds differently."
"I know."
"Treatment could still control the disease for some time."
"For how long?"
"I can't promise you."
There it was.
The sentence she had spent four years trying not to hear.
I can't promise you.
Genevieve pressed her lips together.
She stared at her hands.
Four years.
Four years of blood tests.
Scans.
Chemotherapy.
Radiation.
Surgery.
Hope.
Fear.
Hope again.
She had learned the names of medications she had never imagined she'd need.
She knew which waiting-room chair had the broken armrest.
She knew the nurses' birthdays.
She knew exactly how long it took the infusion machine to empty.
She had become fluent in a language she had never wanted to learn.
And now her body had decided to change the vocabulary.
"Can I still work?"
Dr. Patel smiled sadly.
"We can make adjustments."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes. For now."
Genevieve nodded.
"Can I travel?"
"Within reason."
"Can I drink wine?"
A tiny smile appeared.
"Within reason."
"Can I have cake?"
"Absolutely."
"Good."
Genevieve looked down.
"I was worried cancer had outlawed cake."
Dr. Patel laughed softly.
And that almost broke her.
Because Genevieve had always been good at making people laugh when she was scared.
It was easier than crying.
Much easier.
───
Twenty minutes later, she walked through the hospital doors.
The September air hit her face.
Cool.
Fresh.
Ordinary.
That was the strange part.
The world hadn't changed.
Cars still moved through the parking lot.
Someone was arguing into a phone.
A mother was trying to convince a small boy that he could not have a chocolate bar before lunch.
A woman walked past carrying a bouquet of flowers.
Everything was continuing.
Genevieve stood still.
She looked at the sky.
Clouds were gathering over the town.
Rain later, probably.
She checked her phone.
Three unread messages from her sister.
Clara: How did it go?
Clara: Gen?
Clara: Please tell me something.
Genevieve stared at the screen.
She typed:
I'm okay.
She deleted it.
Typed:
I'll call you later.
Deleted that too.
Finally:
Can you bring cake tonight?
She sent it.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Clara: Genevieve.
Genevieve smiled despite herself.
She put her phone away.
She walked toward her car.
Halfway there, she stopped.
There was a tree beside the parking lot.
Its leaves had begun to turn.
Not completely.
Just around the edges.
Gold creeping into green.
Genevieve took out her phone.
She photographed it.
She had no idea why.
Perhaps because she had always loved autumn.
Perhaps because autumn was the season of beautiful things beginning to disappear.
Or perhaps because she needed proof that the day had contained something other than bad news.
She lowered the phone.
For a few seconds, she simply stood there.
Then she whispered to herself,
"One day at a time."
She got into her car.
She started the engine.
And drove home.
───
That evening, Genevieve sat on the floor of her kitchen with a fork in one hand and a piece of chocolate cake in the other.
Clara sat opposite her.
"You lied to me."
Genevieve swallowed.
"I didn't."
"You said you were okay."
"I am okay."
"You're eating cake with your hands."
Genevieve looked down.
There was chocolate icing on her thumb.
She shrugged.
"That's how you know I'm coping."
Clara didn't laugh.
Genevieve stopped smiling.
"I'm sorry."
Clara's eyes filled.
"How bad?"
Genevieve looked toward the window.
Outside, the first drops of rain had begun falling.
"Bad."
Clara closed her eyes.
Genevieve reached across the floor and took her sister's hand.
"I'm still here."
"I know."
"And I'm not going anywhere tonight."
Clara squeezed her hand.
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
They sat there together.
Two sisters.
One cake.
One kitchen.
One rainy September evening.
Genevieve looked around her home.
The books stacked beside the sofa.
The blanket she'd left on the chair.
The mug she'd forgotten to wash.
The photograph of her parents on the mantel.
All the ordinary things she had never thought to appreciate because she had assumed ordinary meant permanent.
She looked at Clara.
"Do you ever think about how strange life is?"
Clara wiped her eyes.
"Constantly."
Genevieve smiled.
"I think I want to start making plans again."
Clara froze.
"What kind of plans?"
Genevieve looked toward the window.
The rain was getting heavier.
"I don't know."
And for the first time in four years, she allowed herself to imagine tomorrow.
Not next year.
Not forever.
Just tomorrow.
It was enough.
For tonight.
It was enough
