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“Do you think he hasn’t thought his decision through?”
“How could he have? I mean, who doesn’t fight cancer?”
“It does happen, for various reasons.” And Simon, for one, would know. He’s had his share of terminal patients who come to him for help with dealing with their grim reality. “Did he explain his decision to you?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, and I repeat everything my father told me earlier.
“Sounds like maybe he hasn’t made the decision lightly.”
“Maybe. But it’s still not okay.” It’ll never be okay. “What would you do?”
“I’d like to think I’d go through with the treatment, at least to start, but I’m not in his shoes. Besides, your mother would have me hog-tied and dragged to the hospital if I even suggested skipping it.”
“She should come here and do that to him, too,” I say half-heartedly. “Or at least call him. I’m sure she still remembers his number. She sure dialed it enough times twelve years ago.”
Silence meets my words.
“I mean—”
“There isn’t anything about what happened with your parents that I’m not aware of, Calla,” Simon says carefully.
I sigh. Of course Simon would know.
God, what a mess my parents are.
“I imagine Wren is quite scared,” Simon finally offers as a way out of the awkwardness.
“He said he wants to die on his own terms.”
“That doesn’t mean he can’t be downright terrified while doing it.”
“I guess.” And I ran right out of there today, leaving him alone. A sting of guilt pricks me.
We sit in loaded silence, my pajama-clad body wrapped in my flannel jacket and a layer of blankets, my gaze drifting out over the night sky, still much brighter than what I’m used to for almost one a.m.
“So I guess you don’t have any wise words to make this all better.”
“Sorry. No wise words,” Simon says with a sigh.
“That’s okay. Just talking to you helps.”
“Good. And remember, you can be angry and frustrated with him for his decision but still love and support him through it.”
“I’m not sure how to do that.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’re a well-adjusted and self-aware young woman, and you make smart decisions.”
“Calla! You coming back to bed?” Jonah hollers from somewhere unseen but nearby. He was reaching for a leather-bound book on his nightstand, the sheet draped loosely over his bottom half, when I threw on my clothes and left him to come here. It was an oddly erotic sight.
Speaking of making smart decisions . . .
Jesus. Half of Bangor probably heard him.
“Let me guess . . . That must be that horrid pilot from next door that I’ve been hearing about from your mother,” Simon says dryly. “Pray tell me, how is your vicious feud with him going?”
“I used up all my dad’s water, so I have to stay over there tonight if I want plumbing.” I could also stay at Agnes’s house, a point I’m not about to bring up.
“Right. Well, that was kind of him to welcome you, despite your being mortal enemies.”
