Do They Wear High Heels in Heaven? by Erica Orloff Page A

nightgowns?”
    “No. You were the woman who entered the wet T-shirt contest the time you wrote a story on spring break. You were the woman who told the doctors to hold a mirror up to…you know where so we could both see Noah being born. You used to breastfeed in a way to invite conflict, as if you were just waiting for someone to give you shit about an exposed nipple. Privacy? I don’t think so.”
    “I draw the line at puke.”
    “Personally, I think their visit did you a world of good. You have color in your cheeks now.”
    She glared at me. “Next time you have a hangover…I’m sticking anchovies on your pillow.”
    I was thrilled. Anger, I was sure, would keep her fighting.
     
    I went to check on Noah after I settled Lily in with a movie. He was still awake and staring at the ceiling.
    “What’s up, kiddo?”
    “I don’t get this chemo thing.”
    “What about it?”
    “Mom gets sick because the chemicals make her sick.”
    “Sort of. The chemicals that make her better also make her sick.”
    “That makes no sense.”
    “I know.”
    “Cancer makes no sense. Why did God make it? It kills people.”
    Damn, kids really come up with the Big Questions.
    “Sure, sometimes. But you know when the Yanks are down at the bottom of the ninth?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “What do I tell you?”
    “It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”
    “And what does that mean?”
    “You told me, ‘Anything can happen.’”
    “Right. So we never give up.”
    “Right, Uncle Michael. Never.”
    “Okay then. So…” I took a big breath. “You know how your Mom has cancer?”
    “Uh-huh?”
    “Well, no matter how sick she is, we can’t give up. Being sick actually means the drugs are doing what they’re supposed to.”
    “Okay.” I saw his eyes go dead. Maybe I hadn’t noticed before how he steeled himself for bad news each time she went to her doctor’s appointments lately.
    His eyes welled up, and he turned his little face away from me.
    “It’s okay to cry, Noah. We can be scared. We can. But we have to keep praying that she gets well. And soon!” I tousled his hair, hoping to lure him out of whatever grim path he was skipping down.
    “Tell me the truth. Is Mom going to die?”
    “We all die someday, Noah.”
    “You always say that.”
    “It’s always true.”
    “Is she going to die soon? ”
    “I could walk out of my apartment and get hit by a bus tomorrow, Noah. We don’t know when we’re going to die. Only God knows. It’s like the great Lottery in the Sky. When it’s your number, it’s your number.”
    “You always say that, too.” Noah turned back to look me in the eyes, and a tear balanced in the outer corner of his eye and finally trickled down his freckled cheeks.
    “Uncle Michael?” he whispered.
    “Yes, Sweetie.”
    “No matter what, will you be my uncle forever?”
    “No matter what.”
    “Cross your heart, hope to die, stick a thousand needles in your eye?”
    “Wow. A thousand needles. You know how I hate pain.” I mock-shuddered. “I’m really wimpy that way.”
    He giggled.
    “I love you, Noah.”
    “I love you, too, Uncle Michael.”
    I turned out the light and went downstairs to clean up after the chemo party.
    I read. I worked on my book—my editor was pushing me to finish it before March first. When I went back to check on Noah, I saw he had kicked off all the covers, and I once again pulled them up under his chin and kissed him on the forehead. The rosary beads I’d given him were in his hand. Lily told me he slept with them under his pillow.
    Noah had saved me from myself seven years ago on a snowy night. I swore a thousand needles in my eye that whatever happened he would not be alone.

15
    Sisters
by Lily Waters
    I used to go to parties, in my vain and glorious twenties, and look around the room and see each woman as competition. Each woman was shorter or thinner, fatter or had bad hair—compared to me. Or they were taller and more glamorous. Maybe they dressed