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“Are you sure you’re okay?” Xavier asked.
“I’m fine,” I lied. My head felt heavy, and the car ride had done nothing to silence my thoughts.What if Helen dies? What will I do without her? Is this what it will feel like when my doctor inevitably gives me the same news?
Xavier looked unconvinced.
“I’ve got a few things to do in the studio. But you know where I am if you need me.”
I nodded and went upstairs, dragging my feet with every step. Right now, all I wanted was to be alone, but when I opened the door, there was Jackson, working on a sketch.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, dropping his drawing utensils on the couch.
“Nothing,” I said, just wanting to be left alone, but Jackson didn’t believe me. He opened the alcohol cabinet and perused his collection.
“What’s your poison? Rum? Brandy? Cognac?”
I’d heard those names before, but I’d never tried any of the drinks.
“Do you have wine?” I asked, but Jackson had already picked up a square-shaped bottle.
“Give this a try,” he said, and poured two shots, handing me one and keeping the other for himself. “I think you’ll like it.”
The liquid burned my mouth, and I pulled a face.
“How do you drink this stuff?” I asked, and Jackson laughed.
“You get used to it,” he said. “Give it a minute.”
After a few seconds, the burning sensation faded, and I was left with a warm, pleasant feeling. I took another sip and placed the glass on the coffee table.
“I don’t think I can do it,” I spluttered. “It’s too strong.”
Jackson fetched a bottle of cola from the fridge and poured both it and my liquor into a bigger glass.
“Give that a try,” he said, and I sniffed the drink first, not sure what to expect, but when I took a sip, it tasted smooth and sweet, much like the drinks Cora ordered when we went out.
“Better?” Jackson asked, and I nodded. Satisfied with my answer, he reached across the couch and squeezed my hand. “I know you’re not really okay. What’s going on?”
“I am, I promise…” I lied, but trailed off when I caught my reflection in the antique framed mirror on the wall. My eyes were red and puffy, and there was no way I could pretend everything was fine. “One of my volunteer clients has breast cancer,” I admitted. “She was in remission, but her cancer has returned.”
Jackson’s blue eyes watched me as he sipped his drink.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, as my voice cracked. “She’ll need a total mastectomy, she’ll lose her nipples, and…” I looked at him hopelessly. “What if she dies?”
Jackson’s reaction was nothing like I expected.
“What if she does?” he asked. “Isn’t that the circle of life?”
My mouth fell open, and I didn’t know what to say. How could his reaction be so cold and heartless? We weren’t talking about losing a botched tattoo or running out of blue ink: we were talking about a woman’s life.
A woman who reminded me of my mother.
I blinked back tears and turned on him. The alcohol fueled my anger, and I let loose.
“How dare you!” I accused. “How would you feel if I said thatyourdeath was no big deal?”
“I didn’t say that,” Jackson said, throwing his hands up in anI’m innocentgesture. “I said it’s the circle of life. Everyone’s going to die: you, me, Adrian, Xavier. The best we can hope for is to die peacefully when our time’s up.”
