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Kent reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m right here,” he told her. “You can do this.”
Palmer sighed again and nodded, as if she had given herself a mental pep talk. She tugged the trifolded sheet of paper out of the envelope and held it in her hand, trying to use the x-ray vision she didn’t have to see through the linen.
“You have to unfold it,” Kent said with a hint of laughter. She knew he meant well and was only teasing her about how painstakingly slow she moved. Palmer thought about asking him to unfold it, but knew she was looking for an excuse to ignore her fate.
“Here goes nothing,” she said.
Before she could take the plunge, Kent put his arm around her and kissed the side of her head. She leaned into his embrace, wishing it was more, and not so friendly. If she wasn’t sick, she could see herself with a man like Kent. Although, if she wasn’t sick, they wouldn’t be together right now.
“You can do it,” he said, speaking words of encouragement. He leaned forward slightly to look at her. His eyes were expectant, eager. He wanted to know just as much as she did. She likened him to what she would look like on Christmas morning—if she were to have one.
Slowly, she unfolded the flaps and tried to process the words. Her vision blurred and then clouded instantly with unshed tears. She dropped her hand to her lap and shook her head.
“May I?” Kent asked. She handed him the paper and stared out into the ocean. She saw what the painters saw, and it was beautiful.
Kent read the letter to himself and then said, “It says here that you have a familial match and that it could be an aunt or sister.”
Palmer turned quickly. Her mouth opened and then closed before she shook her head. “No match, right?” she asked, her voice quivering.
“A match, Palmer.” Kent lowered the paper. “You have a family.”
When the tears prickled in the corner of her eyes, she let them fall. She covered her mouth when a strangled cry released and was in Kent’s arms instantly. “You have a family,” he repeated in her ear. “There’s a part of you out there, waiting to meet you.”
“I don’t have the time,” she whispered back.
“We’ll make the time,” he told her.
They stayed in each other’s arms until her tears dried. She tried to read the letter, but her focus was off. Kent was excited and pumped up, to the point that he almost tipped her over when they hit a rock on the way back to the car.
As soon as they were situated, he turned the music up, and he sang loudly to whatever song played and sang to Palmer. He got her to smile and feel a bit of happiness, which was easy to do because he was her savior. Her guiding light through the worst of everything.
It was because of Kent she’d know her sister or aunt—whoever it was who had submitted their DNA—all Palmer had to do was send an email and introduce herself. She relaxed in her seat and held the paper to her chest while she stared at him, until she eventually fell asleep.
“How long was I asleep for?” she asked when she came to.
Kent looked at the clock on the dashboard. “About an hour.”
Palmer looked out the window and saw the sign to New York City, their next destination. The Statue of Liberty was on their list of places to visit, but the more Palmer thought about it, the more she wondered if it was a place she absolutely needed to see. She pressed the button to open the top and then reclined her seat. Palmer gazed out of the open roof and watched as the clouds moved at a fascinating speed. She likened their movement to how fast her health had declined. She could feel herself dying and see the physical evidence on her face. Her once-visible cheekbones were now thicker and made her look puffy. Palmer could hardly stand to look at herself in the mirror anymore.
She reached toward Kent and touched a small curl at the nape of his neck. Kent didn’t look at her but leaned into her touch. Something had shifted between them. Palmer wasn’t sure when, but she was certain they both had the same feelings for each other. Although hers were stronger by far. It made sense they would be. He’d come to her in her time of need. He’d stopped her from taking what many considered the easy way out.
Nothing was easy when it came to what her body would go through—what had already started. Palmer had yet to tell Kent, but her already-blurry vision had gotten worse. She used to have perfect vision. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had started changing. Sometimes when she woke up, her eyes would be blurry, and she’d rubbed the sleep away. When the muddied edges started, she asked the eye doctor—normal age progression or common with people who stare at computers all day, he’d said. Except, she wasn’t old, and while she did work on a computer, it wasn’t for a straight eight hours. She took breaks and made sure she sat the correct distance away. Palmer went as far as buying reading glasses, even though she didn’t need them, to help with the blue light from her screen and take the pressure off her eyes.
