I got up, going into the hall. My mom’s door was closed, her voice muffled behind it. On the porch, the printer was steadily at work, page after page jerking out in increments. By the time I walked over, papers had overwhelmed the tray, some fluttering to the floor.
I bent down, picking one up. It was a property deed, dated 1948. Beneath it: a PDF of some legal document, signed in spidery, slanting cursive by an Emily Finley Woods. The other pages I gathered also had to do with the sale, by the looks of it. It was only when I got to the paper from the tray that I saw the lab results, marked Timlee Medical Group. My mom’s name was at the top.
I glanced at her door, then back at the sheet in my hand.Treatment plan. Lumpectomy. Mastectomy. Chemotherapy.What?
“… deal with this first,” she said, suddenly emerging, her phone to her ear. Quickly, I stepped back from the printer. When she saw me, she stopped where she was. “Marella, I’ve got to go. I’ll get those documents to you later tonight.”
I watched her hang up, those words still settling in my head. Cancer?
“Hey,” she said, tilting her head a bit to the side. “How are you doing? I was worried about you.”
I made myself nod. “I’m okay.”
“Good,” she replied, as another sheaf of papers fluttered to the floor. Seeing this, she said, “Meanwhile, I just drove all the way to get a new cord, and you fix it.”
Not me. I was pretty sure it had been Lana. I didn’t say this, though, and then she was moving to the porch, stooping to pick up a sheet on her way and scanning it.
“I’m going to bed,” I called out. “Start fresh tomorrow.”
She looked up, studying my face for a moment. I wondered what she’d been thinking about on that long drive, allby herself. Then she stood, sliding the paper under the stack. “Sounds good. Sleep well.”
I nodded, then went into the bathroom. As I started to brush my teeth, I could still hear papers being spit out, one after another. When I came out later, though, it was quiet, and all the sheets, plus the printer, were gone.
CHAPTER NINE
That night, I slept only in what felt like half-hour increments, broken up by sudden, agonizing jolts. Each one had an accompanying image: Colin’s face on that video call. My phone arcing over the water. Words on the printer page.
At five thirty a.m., exhausted, I was coming out of the bathroom when I saw Lana on the couch. She was curled up in the same way, tight, her face turned away from me. Shoes on the floor, bag beside them. The blanket was over her.
My stomach rumbled, suddenly. I couldn’t even remember eating anything since Ben’s sympathy grapes. I went to the kitchen, opening the fridge, wincing when I saw the beers. Then I took out a piece of bread from one of the unopened loaves and ate it standing there.
Back in my room, I got out my laptop, then went to my contacts. I had to find an old fast-food receipt in the outside pocket of my bag to write down Marisol’s number and my dad’s so I could carry it to the landline.
I moved into the living room to the small table that held that old, clunky phone, lifting the receiver. The dial tone was so loud that I was sure it would wake Lana immediately. But whenI turned to check, she was still breathing steadily. Just in case, I pulled it with the cord around the corner and down the hallway.
My dad sounded worried the minute he answered.
“It’s me.” I swallowed. “Hi.”
“Finley.” My name was more an exhalation. “Are you okay? Your mom told me what happened with Colin.”
“Is she okay?” I heard Marisol ask, muffled behind him.
“I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t. “I just—it was a shock.”
“Oh, mi amor,” Marisol said. “I wish we could hug you!”
Hearing this, my eyes filled with tears. “I threw my phone in the lake.”
“What?” my dad asked. “Why?”
Good question. “I was just upset. And stupid,” I said. “So I don’t have one now.”
“What’s this number you’re calling from?”
“A landline in the Woods.”
“Ah… okay.” He sighed. “Well, things are a little tight at the moment. But we’ll get you one. At some point.”
