"Then why do you have a picture with Adamo Pelino?" Angel asked.
I didn't want to tell him, but clearly it was time. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I blinked them away, looking out the window. "Look, I don't know who you think that is, but he's my end of life counselor."
"Come again?" Angel choked out.
I met his startled gaze. "I'm dying. I have an inoperable cancerous brain tumor."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Angel
"WHAT DO YOU mean, you're dying," I asked, staring at Markie. I heard the words coming out of her mouth, understood what they meant, but my mind refused to wrap around them. Less than twenty-four hours ago we'd been fucking like rabbits, and nothing about her contribution to the act had been fragile or weak. The girl was a freak and an adrenaline junkie. She couldn't be dying. That's not how dying people behaved.
She took a deep breath. "When I said I was leaving Vegas, I meant I'm leaving everywhere. I'm dying. That's why I didn't want to give you my number or go out with you. But you were so nice and wonderful, and now you're being crazy and horrible, so whatever. Now you know."
Nothing she said made sense. "But you're young and healthy."
She grimaced. "I don't think cancer cares."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I don't want you to look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're looking at me right now. Pity, disbelief, shock. I have limited time left, and I wanted to feel normal. Not like some freak everyone has to baby and take care of."
I swallowed and took a moment to fix my expression. "There has to be something they can do."
"They as in doctors?" she asked. "Last time they checked, they couldn't even get to it to operate. My doctor said sometimes tumors move, but even if it did, I don't have insurance, Angel. I have a small savings account that I get monthly deposits in from my parents' insurance, but between the surgery and radiation, I'd need between four hundred thousand and seven hundred thousand dollars. I can't come up withhundreds of thousandsof dollars. Especially not for a surgery that may or may not work."
She was going to die, and she'd accepted it. She wasn't fighting it... hadn't started some social fundraising page or anything. Instead, she'd flown to the other side of the world to help orphans. "This is why you went to Africa," I said.
She nodded. "Part of it, yes. I didn't want Ari to watch me die and I wanted to have crazy and wonderful adventures with what remained of my life."
Something still didn't make sense. "What about the picture with Adamo Pelino?"
"Can I see my purse?" she asked.
When I handed it to her over the seat, she retrieved a business card from the side pocket and held it out to me. It had Adamo's name, phone number, email address, and listed his occupation as "end of life counselor."
"I don't know who Adamo is to you, but he was advising me to get my will in order for Ariana and to make sure my funeral costs are paid for. No funeral. I'm going to be cremated. I have it all set up with--" She reached back into her purse.
I couldn't take anymore.
"Stop!" I snapped. "Please."
"Why? You kept asking me what was going on. You wanted to know what was up so freaking bad you had to pry until you found out. There it is." A tear ran down her cheek. "I'm dying, Angel. Might as well accept it. I have."
"Well, I don't." And I couldn't, but didn't know what else to say, so I turned around and put the hummer in reverse. The drive to my parents' house was brutal. Father had been so wrong about Markie, and I'd believed him. Bones had pulled a fucking gun on her, and we'd basically kidnapped her. How could I come back from that? Did it even matter? She was dying!
Cancer.
The word was like peanut butter stuck to the top of my mouth. It had a distinct, overwhelming taste, and I couldn't swallow it or spit it out. There had to be something we could do to get rid of it. I popped my bluetooth in my ear and called Mamma.
"Angel? Is everything okay?" Mamma asked, which summed up how often I called her.
"I'm fine," I replied. "Are you home?"
