How Do I Love Thee by Lurlene McDaniel Page B

plan, you can follow it. You know what to expect, what's coming next. I just have to keep my cool, follow the course.”
    “How long?”
    He shrugged. “A few months, maybe more.”
    “So you're not going back to school?”
    “What would be the point?” He shook his head. “No. I'll wait here. This is home. My family's here. And so are you.”
    “I—I'm sorry … so sorry …”
    “I told them I didn't want to die in the hospital. Mom's contacted a hospice so that I can stay at home until the end.” His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “I've been to the radiologist, and he's taken me through the preliminaries. I start treatments tomorrow afternoon, five times a week for six weeks. The tumor will shrink, give me a reprieve.”
    “I'm glad you'll be close by. I couldn't stand it if this was happening to you and you were far away.”
    “My parents are taking it really hard—especially Dad. Bobby's mad too. Finally he andDad are in agreement about something. They re both angry because the doctors can't do much to help me. Bobby wants to help by going on the Web and tracking down some miracle cure, and Dad's all for it. There is no miracle cure, Dana. And I don't know how to tell my kid brother that the only help I want is more time with his girlfriend.”
    She wept for both of them, for his plans and dreams never to-fee fulfilled, for herself because he was being taken away so completely. Together they sat in the fading warmth of the sunlight, watching shadows lengthen across the yard. A breeze broke a few fading leaves from the treetops, and they spiraled downward, hitting the patio like teardrops.
    “I want to quit school and stay at home with Steve, but Mom won't let me,” Bobby told Dana a few days later, while they were on her front porch. They had carved a jack-o’-lantern together, and Bobby was wrapping the mess from the pumpkin in newspapers. “Mom and Dad are planning on doing flex time at their jobs so they can be at home more, but theywon't let me do the same thing. I think it stinks.”
    “I'm sure Steve won't let you either.” Dana set the grinning pumpkin at the top corner of the steps, loathing its artificial smile. “Quitting school and hanging around the house won't change anything.”
    “When things get really bad, when Steve's dying, they can't stop me.”
    “They probably won't stop you then.” Ever since her talk with Steve, an incredible lethargy had hung over Dana like a shadow. She felt as if she ‘d been shut up in a dark, win-dowless room with stale air and no sound. Not even music could break through the heaviness inside her heart. She kept feeling Steve's arms around her but seeing Bobby's face whenever she closed her eyes.
    Bobby said, “You know who called him the other night? Brittany, his old girlfriend.”
    Dana felt as if Bobby had twisted the pumpkin-carving knife in her. “What did she want?”
    “To come see him. He said no. He says he doesn't want people coming by to stare at himlike he's a freak. He doesn't look so good right now anyway. The radiologist shaved his head and marked it up with blue ink to help the doc line up the machine to zap the tumor. For all the good it'll do,” he added bitterly.
    “It's only hair,” she said.
    “He doesn't care about his hair. He just doesn't like feeling pathetic and having people talking about him. I don't blame him. All his life everybody's admired him, talked about how great he was, but now—well, things are different. I bought him a baseball cap, and he wears it whenever he goes out.” Bobby sounded pleased.
    “Good idea.” Without meeting Bobby's gaze, she added, “Did I tell you? I'm starting to play the piano at the hospital two afternoons a week. The hospital's posting signs on every floor so that any patient who's ambulatory can sit in and listen.”
    “I'll go with you.”
    “Um—it's the same afternoons you have Brain Bowl.”
    “Oh.” He sounded disappointed, then brightened. “That's all right, I