Bill Pronzini: Mourners

Cancer had been just a name until tonight.

Cancer, the crab. Perfect fit, all right. Ugly, scuttling, sharp-clawed creature that tore through flesh, fed voraciously on human cells.

I was having trouble imagining that, too-the crab wreaking its havoc inside Kerry. Bad enough, the scare I’d had years ago, the spot on my lung from years of heavy smoking. But that scare had been false. This one was real. The spot hadn’t been malignant. The lump in Kerry’s breast was. And the victim wasn’t me, it was the one person I loved more than my own life. That made it harder to deal with, because back during my brush with the crab I hadn’t had her, I’d had no one to care about but myself.

I wished again that she’d told me as soon as the lump was discovered. And again, perversely, hating myself a little, I was glad she hadn’t. Now at least I could focus my fear, concentrate my hope-I was better equipped to handle what lay ahead for Kerry, and for Emily when we told her. She’d known that about me. She knew me so well, better than I could ever know myself.

One good thing: it would be the last of the secrets between us. We’d vowed that to each other inside, before I came out. No more secrets. It was a vow we’d both keep. How could we not keep it, now?

Behind me the sliding glass door whispered open, whispered closed. Kerry came over to stand next to me, close. She’d put on a sweater, was holding it wrapped around herself with her arms crossed.

“You okay?” she said.

“Yes.” More or less. “I just needed some air.”

“Chilly out here.”

“Not too bad. Supposed to warm up tomorrow, stay nice for a while.”

“I hope so. I always feel better when the sun shines.”

“So do I.”

Neither of us said anything more for a time. Feeling welled up in me, sudden, sharp, and I straightened from the railing and turned her and held her again, the way I had inside after she told me.

“I love you,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “I love you.”

“We’ll get through this. It’ll be all right.”

“I know that, too.”

We kept holding each other, tight, tight, and I looked up once more at all those bright glittering anonymous stars.

Don’t let her die, I thought. You hear me up there?

You better not let her die.