“I have court-ordered community service, Viola. Ihaveto be here. That’s the onlyreason.”
“Uh huh. So… tell me everything. Which of those assholes went bald? Shit, I hope it’s Bobby Berger. Please tell me Bobby Berger is bald and mis’rable.”
“Unless he’s been to the store, I couldn’t say,” I murmur, picking at the skin on my cuticle. “I go from the hotel to the store and back to the hotel. Haven’t seen much of anybody lately.”
“That’s no good, kid. You should be around people.” Viola releases a long, rattling sigh, and my chest constricts. All thoughts of Eloise fly out the window as I’m reminded of the cruelty of the world. Viola—my sweet, vibrant Aunt Vi—has cancer.
“Enough about me. What did the doctors say?” I demand. “You never called me with an update.”
She chuckles, but the sound is weak. “I was hopin’ you’d forget.”
I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. The truth is, I’ve been running from the knowledge, doing everything in my power to ignore the fact that I might lose her. Aunt Vi is a private person, and I know she won’t tell me if I don’t ask. I guess lately I’ve been doing a lot ofnotasking. The thought fills me with guilt—but it’s not about me right now.
“I could never forget about you, Viola. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
She laughs—a real one this time. “I can always count on you to make me feel special, kid.” A coughing fit follows, sobering me up.
“What did the docsay, Vi?”
She’s silent for a long while.
“Vi…”
She sighs. “It ain't good. Doc says I got a 5 percent chance at best of beating this thing.”
I shoot out of my chair, squeezing the phone hard enough to crack it.No. No, it can’t be.“I’m coming up there. I’m going to talk to those hacks in Neon Valley and make them run more tests?—”
“Riot. Stop that nonsense,” Viola snaps. “There’s nothin’ you, the doctors, or the gods above could do to stop what’s happenin’ to me.” She sighs. “It’s cancer, Riot. People have been dyin’ of it for thousands of years.”
“But not you,” I say, my voice strained. “You’re better than that. You’re stronger.”
She snorts. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“I mean it, Vi. I’m not giving up on you.”
“There’s nothin’ to fight for,” she says, her voice matter-of-fact. “I’m dyin’, kid.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Iam. And I don’t want you…” She stops for a long moment, and when she speaks again, her strained voice is raw and full of emotion—so unlike the Viola I know. “I don’t want you to tear yourself up over this. That’s not why I called. Hell, I didn’t even want to bring it up, but since we’re hashing it out… “ She sighs. “I don’t want you throwing everything away to come visit me. I need to know you’ll be okay when I’m gone. So you stay there and get your shit in order. Can you do that for me?”
Fuck. Why does she have to use that tone?“Of course I can, Vi. Anything you want.”
“Good,” she says. “Now, tuck that lip and dry your tears. You can’t let them see you cry, kid. Especially not for me.”
“But you’re all that matters,” I whisper. “You’re all that’s ever mattered. Ever since Mom and Dad died, after Rush…” I shake my head, shocked at the emotion welling in my eyes. “You’ve always been there for me when I needed it most. Now it’s my turn. I can be there to help you with?—”
“I have it all figured out, kid. I’ve been preparing for the day I have to go ever since they found the damn sucker. Plus, I have my Bee, and she’s more than used to taking care of me.” She sighs softly, clearly thinking of her wife. “I appreciate you caring about me, though. You’ve always been a good kid. Always had a good heart.”
“I don’t like you talking that way.”
“Then you'd best get off the line,” she huffs. “Death is a natural part of life. Every day we’re moving closer and closer toward it.”
“And people sayI’mmorbid,” I choke past the lump in my throat. “Jesus, Vi.”
She laughs, the sound comfortable and warm and calming—just like home. “Where do you think you get it from? Your mom waswayworse than me. It’s a miracle she didn’t scare your poor father off.” Her joy is cut short by another round of coughing, and I’m immediately racked with guilt.I should be there. I could do… something.
But even as I think about it, I remember what my aunt made me promise. It’s the only thing that stops me from booking the next flight out to the city.
