Page 40 of Healing Eleanor

Trees blur past the windows, the GPS speaking softly in the background. The breeze picks up, and leaves drift freely through the air. My thoughts spiral, everything colliding at once. I shake my head gently and whisper one final prayer… that tonight, I will have the strength to keep moving forward.

9

Lord, Please Take Me Now

Nikolai

A steaming plate of lasagna is placed in front of me, and my stomach growls louder than a lion ready to pounce.

“Well, I’m glad I made four casserole dishes’ worth of lasagna,” Evelyn says with a smirk as she sets the plate down. “Between you and Austin, I think we’re going to need it.”

“Hey,” Austin protests from across the table, fork in hand. “This is only my second serving. It’s not my fault they showed up late.” He nods toward Mama and me. “This is great by the way, Mrs. E,” He adds, shoveling a heaping bite into his mouth.

Was I that much of a mess as a teenager, too?

Beside him, Grace stifles a laugh. “Austin, I’m sure you could eat an entire casserole dish by yourself.” She dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin before turning to us. “It’s good to see you, Nik. And you too, Irina.”

Grace and Austin have been best friends since childhood. They don’t see it, but they’re basically a match made in heaven. Maybe going through high school will finally make them realize it.

Mama beats me to a response. “It’s great to see you too, Kukolka. You’ve grown so much from the last time I saw you.”

A faint flush colors Grace’s cheeks.

I remember watching Daria go into freshman year and how the smallest bit of attention made her feel like she was under a spotlight. The last thing she liked was comments on how much she changed, and I’m sure Grace felt the same.

“Thank you for having us over, Evelyn. Richard. And thank you for cooking.” I smile and redirect the conversation away from Grace. “I haven’t eaten since lunch, so I’m ravenous. My stomach’s already made that pretty clear.”

Grace offers an appreciative smile, and I’m glad I made the right call.

Grace is the kind of person who avoids the spotlight. Even as a cheerleader at the local high school, she gravitates toward the background. I’ve never once seen her fight for the front row, even in a squad full of girls who did. I have no idea how she and Lily ended up sisters because they couldn’t be more different.

Evelyn takes her seat between Grace and Richard, reaching for the salad in the middle of the table. She has a knack for hosting. Every time our families gather, the table is always set with her best dishes and decorations. Linen placemats rest beneath ceramic plates, a garden salad waits in a wooden bowl, and homemade breadsticks fill a wicker basket in front of Richard. Between Austin and me, a glass pitcher of water catches the warm glow of the lights overhead.

“You are very welcome, Nik,” Evelyn says, passing the salad to Richard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you and Irina. Busy at the company, I assume?”

Lily, seated beside Mama, answers before I can. “It’s always busy at the company, Mom.” She shifts to Mama. “But my favorite seamstress has been MIA. Where have you been, Mama Rina?”

Mama shrinks back. The last time she gave bad news, it shattered us. Tears were shed, but hope rallied us. We gathered around her and prayed with a ferocity born of absolute necessity. But this time feels different.

She offers Lily a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, just a few health appointments keeping me away, Rybka. Nothing to worry about.”

Evelyn perks up. “Health appointments? Are you feeling sick? You should’ve told me. We could’ve rescheduled.” She takes a sip of water and glances at Austin. “Didn’t you say something was going around on the team? Maybe that’s it.”

Austin swallows a bite of lasagna before answering. “Yeah. A few of our offensive linemen have strep. Been out all week.”

Evelyn raises a strawberry-blonde brow, as if to say: That’s probably it.

If only.

Mama pushes her salad around her plate, probably weighing what to say. I reach under the table and take her hand, a silent reminder that I’m with her and that she isn’t alone through this.

She squeezes my fingers gently in return, and looks up. One by one, she meets the eyes of everyone at the table. “I’m sick again.”

The room falls into silence, confusion spreading across their faces.

It’s Richard who speaks first, his voice cautious. “What do you mean ‘sick again’? Like a cold or…” he doesn’t finish the thought, unwilling to name the darker possibility.

Mama releases my hand and places both of hers on the table. “No, Rich. I mean I’m sick again. The cancer has come back.”