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“Cancer?” I repeat in disbelief. “How bad is it? Are you being treated? Is it curable? It is, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Warden shrugs, looking a little defenseless.
“They say it is,” she says. “But at stage three it takes a lot, a lot of radiation therapy—which luckily, I’m still strong enough for—and additional treatments, depending on what I can afford, you know. But most of all, it’s in God’s hands. In the end, I’ll have to leave it up to him, don’t you think?”
I can’t believe this. Mrs. Warden is one of the best people I know, so strong and independent and with the biggest of all hearts. I’m not the only one of her students who owes her beyond belief. She has always been special in so many ways, but most of all in the way she cared for her students. The world would be a better place with more people like her—and nowsheis the one who gets cancer, so shortly after retiring?
This isn’t fair. She’s the last person on Earth who deserves this.
“Well, yes, but even God can need a helping hand here and there,” I argue, forcing a smile on my face, when really all I want to do is cry. “So, you’re getting treatment? Like... chemotherapy and such?”
“We will start with that soon,” she says. “The doctors said my chancesaren’t the worst, and it’s worth a shot.”
“Of course!” I exclaim. “That’s... that’s good.”
“It’s my fault, really,” she adds. “I’ve been feeling a little under the weather for a while, but I never paid much attention to it, thinking it was just a stomach bug. I was having these cramps and losing weight—”
“Yes, I noticed,” I interject. “So this has been going on for a while? And you never told me?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to worry you, Katherine. I want youtoget out there and live your life, not worry about your old teacher.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t give you that,” I respond. “It’s my right to worry about you as much as I want—and to help you with everything I can. I’m sure there’s something I can do?”
Mrs. Warden pats my hand, before she reaches for her tea again, beckoning me to do the same with a nod of the head.
“Drink, before it gets cold,” she says. “It’s a nice Chai, very spicy. Tastes so much better when it’s still warm.”
“Mrs. Warden,” I say in a low voice, almost pleading. “Don’t try to change the subject on me. I invented that move.”
A short giggle, almost childish in its innocence, escapes her lips when she winks at me.
“I know, it’s you who taught me this,” she says. “But I’m serious. I’m fine. I will be fine. I’ve got insurance and it covers most of the therapies my doctors recommend, so—”
“Most?” I cut her off. “So, there’s some things you won’t do, because of money?”
She sucks in a sharp breath of air, visibly annoyed at herself for letting that one slip.
“It’s nothing major,” she assures. “Nothing that will decide over life and death. Just complementary treatments that may improve wellbeing or something like that. You know, to go along with the radiation, I think. I’m not sure exactly, because I never looked into it.”
I nod along as she speaks, my lips pressed into a firm line to stop myself from speaking. I get what she’s saying, and I understand her reluctance to let me help her. After all, new job or not, she thinks I’m still as broke as I was when I was living with her and thus don’t have the means to help her with anything. She doesn’t want me to feel bad for not being able to help.
But Icanhelp. I do have the money to help. I was going to pay off most of my debt with the down payment from Logan, but that can wait. I will have all the money in the world once my contract with him ends, I can still do it then—along with all the other things I have planned, like opening my own bookstore. It’s a dream I never dared to give voice to, because it sounds too ridiculous, but it has become a realistic option now.
But for now, thisismore important, and time sensitive. Mrs. Warden needs my help now and not in a few months.
And I will find a way to help her. I just need to figure out how to do it without unveiling my lie.
I will find a way to do that.
I must.
Chapter 25
Kat
Mrs. Warden wouldn’t let me leave without giving me some of her famous lemon squares. I feel bad for accepting a gift from her after what she just told me. She made them especially for me when she knew I was coming to visit. That poor woman should be resting in her current state, and my visit prompted her to labor in the kitchen instead.
“You’re too good to me,” I say, close to tears as she shoves the Tupperware into my hands when I’m standing in her doorway. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble just for me.”
