My Genes Don’t Fit

20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Meg

O n my way to Mike’s house, my boots crunched over the newly fallen snow. I loved that my footsteps were the first to tarnish the smooth blanket of white on the sidewalk. I may have resented all the winters when I was growing up, but after I chose to settle in La Crosse, I’ve developed a fondness for snow and winter—as long as I got to enjoy all the seasons. With winter came hot chocolate and spiced herbal tea—and lots of cuddling up with Maya under a fluffy comforter while I was reading.

As I turned onto Tenth Street, there were only four residences on the odd-side of the block, and Mike’s was the largest—the Victorian wasn’t just large, it was gargantuan—as showy as the homes on Cass Street. The house was set back from the road and surrounded by a stone and iron fence. The clapboard siding was beautifully painted in subtle hues of blue with an expansive yard including a half-dozen orchard trees, which I was certain with the squirrel problem in this town, Mike never harvested a single piece of fruit.

The sidewalk in front of his house and pathway to his door had already been shoveled, though snow was still lightly falling. The stone pillar supporting the gate had a brass nameplate inlaid that read “Crosby”. I recognized the surname as one of the city’s founding families.

All the substantial nineteenth century homes in La Crosse had been built by prominent businessmen and families who had made their fortunes by supplying and shipping commodities up and down the Mississippi. Though the river was still used by barges to ship goods, in the Victorian and Edwardian eras it had served as a thoroughfare that contributed to the expansion and industrialization of the United States.

I turned the iron handle on the gate, making it screech as I opened and closed it. “Here goes,” I mumbled under my breath as I climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on Mike’s door .

I swear, the man must have been watching me through the front window because he opened immediately.

“You live here by yourself?” I marveled at the stained glass above. “This Victorian is even bigger than my mother’s.”

“It’s nice to see you, too.” He took my hand and led me inside. “Would you like a tour?”

I checked my watch. “Mom said the turkey ought to be ready about four.”

“Great.” Wearing jeans and a navy-blue nautical sweater with one button at the top, he kissed me on the lips—so quickly I might have missed it if I’d blinked, aside from the erratic fluttering of my heart. “We have some time.”

I stumbled into this arms, not planning to throw myself at him, though I had made a resolute decision to keep seeing him—as long as we kept it chill. Rather than turn my chin up for another kiss, I pressed my cheek against his warm chest.

He kneaded my shoulders, the gentle touch taking away weeks of pent-up tension, and replacing it with a stirring deep inside—familiar, but different. A feeling I wanted to explore but didn’t at the same time. My heartache was still too raw.

I took off my boots, coat, and hat.

Mike gestured to his stockinged feet. “You okay in your socks?”

“Sure, they’re wool and warm.”

His home was full of beautiful woodwork including oak doors, wood-wrapped windows, and plush wall-to-wall carpet. Mike’s furniture was cozy—a couch, an overstuffed chair, a coffee table…then we moved to an empty room that totally needed someone like me to fill it. For the most part, the ground floor was stark as if he’d forgotten to buy artwork for the walls or lamps or anything to give the rooms unique character. Maybe, like Mom, he was still in the process of decorating.

He led me into the kitchen and gestured with an upturned palm. “ La piece de resistance ,” he said in French.

“Wow, this looks like it could be used for the set of a television cooking show.” I was exceedingly impressed. The kitchen was enormous, flooded with brilliant light made brighter by white cabinetry. Mike had two ovens, and a long island with a sink in the middle. Even the countertops were white and so spotless I wondered if they’d ever been used.

I ran my fingers over the shiny quartz. “How do you manage to keep this place clean?”

“Housekeeper. One floor a week. ”

“I guess it’s a good thing you don’t have kids.”

He followed me as I wandered up the oak staircase. “Kids would be nice.”

“You want a family, huh?” I said. I’d never asked Lance about kids. Hell, he said he didn’t want to leave Ohio, which basically kept me from mentioning anything about the future.

And I will stop thinking about that jerk this very moment.

At the top of the steps, Mike’s arm brushed mine as he sidled past, the connection sending fissions of energy tingling up my neck. “Someday.”

“What’s up here?” I asked, rubbing away the sensation.

“Bedrooms. Lots of them.”

Too many inappropriate things came to the tip of my tongue. The worst being, “ Want to have a sleepover? ” Which I definitely did not want to say, should not say, and I ought to admonish myself for even thinking it.

“Where’s your office?” I asked instead.

He pointed upward. “Servants’ quarters.”

“You still have servants’ quarters?”

“Technically no, since I’ve turned the entire third floor into an alpha-geek dreamland including a home theater.”

I spotted the staircase to the next level. “Do you mean to say you watch the Badger games on a movie screen?”

He shrugged. “Not quite Megaplex Theater-sized.”

I laced my fingers through his and took a step nearer—bold move, I know. But we both were major Wisconsin football fans. Badgers on a big screen? Sexy as hell. Whoa, I need to chill. “You know they’re playing on Saturday?”

“Sure do.” Mike’s eyes turned dark as he arched his eyebrows. “Want to come over?”

“Yes. Want me to bring food?”

“Pizza?” he asked, sliding his hands to my waist.

“Oven ready?”

“Mm.” His agreement sounded more like a sigh as he slowly dipped his chin and kissed me. This one wasn’t a flyby peck, faster than a blink. Nor did he try to devour me like the turd who shall not be named. Mike took his time as if he were asking permission—soft, warm lips. The scent of a forest, woodsy and clean. I think woodsy just became my favorite perfume. Sighing, I turned into a melty candle as I closed my eyes and let him in.

When we finally broke apart, we were both panting. My head was reeling. I glanced aside, straight into a room with a king-sized bed, neatly made with a white comforter and heaps of pillows—one dresser, no wall art. I lowered my forehead to Mike’s chest. “Maybe we ought to get going before we miss Thanksgiving altogether.”

“Okay. But…”

“Hm?” I took his hand, leading him back down the stairs before I asked if I could test out his mattress.

“Um…how’s your heart healing?”

I really didn’t want whatever this was with Mike to turn into a rebound fling. But I’d be a damned fool if I tried to discourage him too much. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

We held hands as we walked to my mother’s house, though we didn’t talk much because I was thinking about what I’d say to her when we got there. Generally, I avoided confrontation which is why I never got around to asking Ripper to turn down his music—go figure, the hairy beast turned out to be kinda friendly. Anyway, the problem was when I decided to confront someone, I would stew for so long, I usually blew everything out of proportion and exploded. But I was a little peeved with Mom at the moment. She still hadn’t called me to give me the details about her appointment at the Moya Clinic in Rochester.

Yes, I was glad to be seeing a specialist who might be able to explain what happened to me in Elaine’s car, but Mom hadn’t shared anything aside from insisting I set up appointments with a vascular specialist named Dr. Davis. Since she’d moved here, it wasn’t terribly unusual not to see her for a couple of weeks here and there. We were both busy. Mom by her nature was busy and I had a real job.

Nonetheless, I expected her to call me and tell me how her appointment went. When she didn’t, I’d phoned her and she merely said it was fine, that I needed to be checked out, then continued to cut me off by telling me about Grandma’s disgusting podiatry appointment. It infuriated me to have my mother so reluctant to open up. I was her next of kin. She should have at least explained the details about Dr. Davis. But what frightened me the most was I didn’t know if my mom was okay or on the verge of having another TIA. Though I assumed she would have informed me if she needed surgery or if her scans found something serious.

After all, she had talked to me about her dissection—probably because it had been misdiagnosed with a migraine. I don’t know. I’ll never figure her out.

At least she hadn’t brushed aside our dissection incidents as if they’d never happened. I swear, the woman was the queen of downplaying anything that related to health. When I was a kid, she told me time and time again my headaches weren’t worth complaining about—after all, she lived with them, too.

The problem? Mom was usually right and I hated that. I wanted answers. I was too young for debilitating migraines or arterial dissections. Who had those at the age of twenty-nine?

I’d gone to see the neurologist who visited me in the hospital without much success—at least no explanation as to why the arteries in my neck had dissected just because Elaine had braked too hard. Hell, I didn’t even have whiplash. The neurologist ended up giving me a prescription for a new migraine medicine which definitely helped—so far.

Anyway, today was Thanksgiving and Mike lived only four blocks from Mom’s, so it took us less than five minutes to walk. I used my back door key and was surprised not to see Mom in the kitchen, even though it smelled incredible.

Mike and I followed the laughter through Mom’s empty drawing room to the parlor.

My gaze homed in on the man standing in front of the bay window while my blood pressure rocketed skyward. “Bob?” My question didn’t sound polite or welcoming or friendly. No, no. In fact, I don’t think I’d used that tone since I was in high school.

“Meg!” He buried me in a hug like we’d known each other forever and I hadn’t just spat out his name as if he were shower scum. “It’s good to see you without tears in your eyes. Can I get you two something to drink?”

Mom was sitting on the little settee beside Grandma and I gave her a questioning eyebrow slant. What the hell was the yard guy doing crashing Thanksgiving and then offering to pour the drinks? The man sure was making himself at home.

Mom smiled as if there were nothing amiss, then she hopped up, made the introductions, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “We just opened a bottle of chardonnay, or would you prefer something else?” she asked as Bob stood by expectantly with a stupid smile stretching his gray beard.

Yes, stupid .

I refused to acknowledge the fact that the man was handsome. Attractive older men had no place in my mother’s parlor unless they were vetted by me.

Mike and I agreed to wine, then we sat on the floor beside my grandmother because my mom hadn’t bought enough furniture yet. At least she’d found lovely Persian carpets—blue for the parlor and burgundy for the drawing room. “Are you ready for the snow?” I asked.

Grandma cringed and shivered even though she had a fleece throw covering her lap. “If it snows, send me to the Bahamas.”

I glanced at the winter wonderland outside—the snow-kissed tree branches and the blanket of pristine white covering the grass. Then I leaned forward and tugged Grandma’s throw a bit higher. “Okay, the Bahamas it is.”

“The best thing about modern conveniences is that it’s warm inside,” Mike added as Bob set two glasses of wine on Mom’s new Louis XIV coffee table as if he lived here.

Grandma tugged the throw up to her shoulders. “I’m never warm.”

Without a fast comeback, I looked to Mom. “How are the renovations coming?”

“Most of the big things are done, the painters will start the exterior in June.”

“We finished the floors a couple of weeks ago,” said Bob.

My hackles rose as I mouthed “ We? ” to my mother.

And then she patted the yard guy’s shoulder—a very telling pat, mind you. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but Bob and I have decided to start a renovation partnership and I’ve been busy developing our business plan.”

“Really?” asked Mike before I could erupt. “I’ll be your first customer. I have a number of projects for you.”

I glared at Bob. “I didn’t realize you did more than yard work.”

“He’s a retired pharmacist,” Mom said as if that explained everything.

I clamped my mouth shut. I don’t remember my mother ever going on a date after she divorced my dad. And once I left home, she never mentioned anything about dating. But she hadn’t said she was dating Bob, she’d just said they were forming a partnership. Mom’s decision to start some sort of business didn’t surprise me, but her choice of partner did.

I hated being surprised by shit out of left field. And on a holiday of all things. “Why does a retired pharmacist need to mow lawns for a living?”

Bob shrugged. “Something to do. ”

Fortunately, my interrogation was interrupted by the oven timer. But I was bamboozled when Bob and Mom disappeared into the kitchen to slice the turkey, leaving me and Mike with Grandma. “Do you need me to set the table?” I called after them.

Why was I was so piqued? Because everything was happening too fast?

“If you haven’t noticed, it’s already set,” came my mother’s disembodied voice.

I wasn’t usually irritable, but I felt like marching into the kitchen, facing the pair, and demanding an explanation. Why didn’t Mom tell me Bob was coming? Why didn’t she discuss her decision to start up a renovation business with me? And most of all, why was a former pharmacist-turned-landscaper making himself at home in my mother’s house?

By the time dinner was on the table, the glass of wine I’d consumed had done a decent job of helping me relax—or had it been the soothing way Mike had rubbed my shoulders while I was drinking the wine? Anyway, I was relieved to have Mike sit beside me. Not only did his presence provide generational support, his easygoing demeanor helped to tamp down my anger. Mom seemed more chill than I’d seen her in ages—Bob aside, maybe it was good for her to move to La Crosse. After all, for years I’d been asking her to quit her job.

“You didn’t tell me about your appointment at Moya,” I said, leaning forward, eyebrows arched, ready to stand on my chair and scream.

“Let’s talk about it later.” Mom cut me off like I was some bratty twelve-year-old. I hated to be cut off. She reached over and squeezed my hand. “How about after we take Grandma home?”

My grandmother waved her fork, sending a bite of green bean casserole flying across the table. “You don’t have to share secrets behind my back.”

“I told you about my appointment.” Mom used her damask napkin to clean the mess. “In fact, you were the first person I went to see because I knew how concerned you’d be.”

Grandma stared at my mother with a lost expression, her lips twisted as if she wanted to argue, but couldn’t because she didn’t remember her last conversation let alone one weeks ago. She didn’t even remember that it had snowed today or that we drank wine in the drawing room before we sat down to eat.

“So, Bob.” I gave the yard guy a half-smile and changed the subject. “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

After we ate pie and ice cream, Mike and I did the washing up while Mom and Bob left to take Grandma home. “I need to tell you something,” I said, standing at the sink, wearing pink rubber gloves with tulips, and looking at him through the fan of my eyelashes.

He pulled the drying cloth off the rack. “Oh?”

Well, it was probably too early to give him a full billet of health, but the dude ought to know I’ve had a few weird issues of late. I needed to tell him about my medical stuff now, before things got out of hand—or before things turned romantic which I still wasn’t sure I was ready for…aside from the kisses, the flirting, the hand holding.

We’d already filled the dishwasher, so I doused the turkey roaster in sudsy water. “This summer I was in a car accident—actually, it wasn’t a collision, the car just braked hard and I ended up in the hospital with dissected carotid and vertebral arteries.”

There. I’d said it. Now he could put on his coat and head for home, never to enter the library again.

Mike twisted the dish towel between his hands. “That sounds awful.”

Why doesn’t he just make his excuses and leave?

I scrubbed ferociously. “It was scary and excruciatingly painful. It’s the main reason why I’d rather walk than drive.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “God, I don’t blame you. I’d be scared if something like that happened to me.”

I wanted to close my eyes and melt against him, but I reminded myself not to dive in and crush hard on a dude for once in my life. Fortunately, I found a spot of baked-on grease and attacked it. “I guess you should also know that a week before my accident, my mother was doing pushups and basically had the same thing happen, except her carotid dissection was a result of strenuous exercise.”

Mike leaned his hip against the counter. “Seriously? Back-to-back dissected arteries? What does that even mean?”

“We’re trying to find out.” I rinsed the turkey roaster and put it on the rack to dry. “So far, we’ve been given a lot of contradictory explanations. That’s why my mom went to Moya in Rochester.”

Mike dried a water glass. “Oh…didn’t you ask her about that at dinner?”

“Yes—and she hasn’t told me anything . I’m pissed because she called from the clinic and scheduled an appointment for me with her vascular doctor. They’re going to do CT scans and the whole business.”

He put the glass in the cupboard. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“I think so. I wanted to talk to Mom about it today, but Bob was here and he…”

“You didn’t know Bob was coming for Thanksgiving?”

“No!” I grabbed the cutting board and started to scrub off the greasy turkey residue. “Can you believe it? The dude does her yard. I had no idea he’d be here, let alone join forces with her restoring old houses.”

“Help me understand,” Mike said calmly, slipping the board from my fingers and rinsing it. “Are you worried that he’ll take advantage of her?”

I had to think about that for a moment. “Mom doesn’t let anyone take advantage. She’s a badass. The woman even has a black belt in karate.” I told him about her former job as VP of Operations. I also told him about the fact that my mother never dated. At least not that I was aware of.

How many other things was Mom keeping from me?

Mike folded the dish towel and hung it on the rack. “Look, it sounds like you need some time alone with her. Why don’t I go?”

“Go?” I asked, sounding a little outraged. This was not how I’d expected the evening to play out. We were supposed to walk home together and kiss…maybe make out. “It’s still early.”

“Yeah, but she’ll be back soon.” He leaned against the island. “And didn’t Bob say something about going home and calling his daughter in Florida?”

“He did.”

“Well, then I should slip out. It’ll be easier for you to talk to her if I’m not here.”

“I could walk home with you and come back,” I offered.

“I’d love for you to walk me home, but I’d have to follow you back here because it’s dark outside.” He clasped my cheeks between his warm palms and kissed my forehead. “See you Saturday?”

“I’ll bring the pizza.”

Heaven help me, I was falling for another man only weeks after I’d sworn off the opposite sex forever. Perhaps karma had intervened in my musings of a steamy make out session. After all, I’d tried to convince myself to proceed with caution. Now I had no choice but to take my own advice .

But what had just happened? I started out trying to tell Mike about my weird health stuff and ended up holding forth about my mother…who happened to come in the back door just as Mike closed the front.

Mom smiled as she took off her hat and coat, hanging them on the peg by the door. “Where did your date go?”

“Home.”

“That’s a shame, he seems like a really nice guy—far more your type than Lance.”

I thrust my fists onto my hips. “Exactly what do you mean by that?”

The woman gave me a knowing mom-stare. “Mike’s educated, polite, he combs his hair.”

“Seriously?” What gave her the right to judge? “And because Lance looked like a bum, Mike is a better person?”

Mom crossed her arms, her expression turning from patronizing to annoyed. “What is this about? Lance chose to lie about his name and his marital status. He’s a scumbag. Don’t tell me you’re back in touch with him?”

My shoulders fell. “No. And I like Mike. I just don’t like you telling me what my type is.”

“Right. Sorry.” Mom tucked a string of gray hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. She’d complained about thinning and under the new, brighter kitchen lights, her scalp shone through more than I’d noticed before. “Is this about me cancelling Bermuda?”

“No!” I shouted. “I don’t give a flying fig about Bermuda. I thought I was having a good time and it turned out to be a sham!”

Mom took a glass out of the cupboard and pointed to the half-full wine bottle. “Want one?”

“No, no, no!” I was on the verge of erupting, and she was drinking a glass of wine?

She poured one for herself. “I’m not going to try to guess what has you so upset.”

How she could pretend that she didn’t understand what had pissed me off and speak to me without an iota of hysteria as if she were on Grandma’s beach in the Bahamas.

I took her glass and downed half. “ You , that’s what.”

“Me? What the hell, Meg? You sound like an adolescent.”

It was like her to be condescending, but I wasn’t going to back down even if I sounded like a teenager to myself. Not after the yard guy crashed Thanksgiving. “You didn’t tell me you were going to Moya. Then you called me from Rochester and had them schedule an appointment with some doctor who’s going to do CT scans, then meet with me afterward. What happened? Why didn’t you tell me? You never open up to me!”

Mom looked at the glass, her nostril’s flaring. “Sure I do.”

“When?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “When, Mom? You didn’t say one single word to me when you left Dad. You already had my bags packed and took me on an airplane thousands of miles away from him.”

“But you were just seven years old.”

“I was a human being capable of cognition! I had no say in what happened to me. Do you have any idea how much I hated spending winter in America followed by winter in Australia?”

She rubbed her temples. “You’ve mentioned it many times.”

“Well I’m mentioning it again because you ruined my childhood and I’ll never forgive you for it!”

Mom closed her eyes and blew out a long breath. “And for that, I am eternally sorry. Ever since, I’ve done my best to try to make it up to you, but it’s never enough.”

Oh, my God, she always tried to make herself out to be the martyr. “Make it up to me by not going on cruises to Bermuda?”

“I’m sorry!” My mother appeared to shrink before my eyes, the corners of her lips drawn downward, her shoulders tensing. “I should have gone. I should have told Leon to eat the goose shit. Especially now that I know he’s the twisted freak who planted the damned botte.”

I pounded the counter making the wine in the glass slosh. “But you didn’t!”

“No, and now I don’t have a do-over.”

“No, you don’t.” I grabbed the dish towel and dried the turkey roaster. “And what about this Bob guy? Why didn’t you tell me about him ? What else are you hiding from me? I hate it that you still treat me like a child as if telling me the truth about your life will wound me.”

“What do you want to know?” Mom asked, taking the roaster and stowing it in the cupboard above the microwave.

“Why the hell was Bob at Thanksgiving?”

She brushed off her hands. “Because I invited him.”

I crossed my arms and tipped up my chin. “And didn’t tell me. ”

Mom might have appeared to be a tad meek before, but now that I was challenging her about Bob, she jammed her fists into her hips. “Excuse me, but I didn’t realize you needed to approve the guest list.”

Grr, my mother could be so infuriating. “What is he to you?”

She headed for the dining room and started collecting the damask napkins from the table. “He’s a friend—he’s been incredibly helpful ever since I moved here. He helped me with my floors. He did a good job on the yard. He’s knowledgeable about older home renovations—starting up a partnership was his idea.”

I pulled off the tablecloth. “I’ll bet it was.”

Mom shook her wad of dirty napkins. “He’s a nice man.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Those vice-president shoulders squared while her blue eyes sparked. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Are you?”

“No!”

A weight lifted from my shoulders as if our roles had just reversed and I was the parent worried about my kid having premarital sex.

Mom grabbed the tablecloth from me and headed toward the front staircase. “One thing is for sure, I’m not going to ask permission if I decide to start.”

I gasped. Maybe our roles were solidly established. Mom had never shared anything about sex—at least sex as it pertained to her.

She stopped on the landing. “I thought you wanted to be treated like an adult!”

Damn, she could push my buttons. But rather than storm out, I followed her. I was damned-well going to get some answers. “Will you please just tell me about your appointment with Dr. Davis? Why in God’s name is she so anxious to see me?”

Mom huffed out another sigh. By all her deep breaths, she was way more stressed out than she tried to let on. “I didn’t give you a lot of details because I wanted you to go into your appointment without any preconceived ideas. I wanted you to tell Dr. Davis what happened to you without knowing my results. I wanted you to have the scans—to see if you have FMD or what.”

“Did the doctor talk to you about your CT scan?”

“Yes.” She continued into the laundry room and tossed the soiled linens in the washing machine. For the first time in my life I saw fear haunting my mother’s blue eyes. By God, a tear dribbled onto her cheek—one she quickly swiped away. She added detergent, her hand trembling. “I have four aneurysms and my splenic artery is as messed up as my carotids. The good news is that the aneurysms are small. They clip them after two centimeters. For the time being Dr. Davis is going to monitor them closely.”

Good Lord, my knees buckled. My grandfather died of a burst aneurysm. “Are you okay?” I asked, kicking myself for being so pushy—dammit, if she had just opened up to me in the first place, I never would have lost my temper.

“Yes, I’m just terrified that I’ve passed this FMD thing on to you.” She drew in a ragged breath. “And I could barely admit the aneurysms to myself, let alone to you.”

“Oh, God, you’re afraid,” I whispered, the back of my neck tingling.

Mom wiped away another tear. “Yes.”

I stared, my lungs starting to burn. “This sucks.”

“It does. There’s another thing.”

“Okaaay.” I braced myself, wanting and desperate to hear all of it.

“I’m not allowed to push—no tough workouts, no bearing down when constipated. I’m supposed to walk every day—ten thousand steps.”

“Ten thousand?”

“That’s what Dr. Davis recommended.” Mom pulled me into her arms. “Oh, Baby, I wish I had been a better mother. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

Why did Mom’s hugs always make me want to break down and bawl my head off? “I know,” I squeaked, my throat closing.

“Do you want me to go with you to your appointment in Rochester?”

“No.” I twisted away from her embrace and tipped up my chin. There would be no crying tonight. “I think I’d rather go alone.”

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Regardless of my resolve, a gamut of emotions still flooded through me, wringing me out. “Your feelings are like a spigot, but mine can’t be turned on and off quite so easily.”

Mom snorted with an ugly sounding sob. “I’m kind of an insensitive witch.”

“You are.”

We stared at each other for a beat before she reached out her arms. But she didn’t hug me. It was a peace offering, giving me the choice of whether or not to impart affection. I liked being giving the choice, but my right brain told me I wanted my mommy to hold me—to not present an option. In concert with my warring emotions, I raised my arms a fraction.

With a sob, the woman pulled me into a bear hug so tight, she stole my breath. “I love you more than anyone in the world. You do know that, don’t you?”

I couldn’t talk because my throat closed. Nope, wasn’t going to avoid crying this time. “Mm hmm.”

“Know what?”

Gulping through my tears, I shook my head against her shoulder.

“We’re going to face this thing. You and me. We’re going to face it together.”