The Perfect Stranger (Social Media #2)(97)

It was the right decision. Back on campus, she was busy when she wanted to be, and when emotions overwhelmed her—which they did, frequently—she could cry on the shoulders of colleagues who had known Roger. It got a little easier later in the week, until she went on an errand that took her past the Academic quadrangle where his office was located. She lost it, and vowed to take the long way around from now on. Probably forever.

Every day after work she came home, walked and fed the dog, and then fell into bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep until the alarm went off at six.

Today, of course, it didn’t go off.

Poor Maggie.

Sheri pets the dog, then hurriedly follows her down the stairs and opens the back door to let her out into the sun-dappled yard.

If only Roger had done that on the fateful morning that shouldn’t have been his last. But he didn’t think it was fair for a puppy to be limited to the confines of a small fenced yard.

“She needs the exercise,” he’d told her, “and so do I. You’re always telling me I need to get into shape, build up some muscle . . .”

She didn’t point out that walking wasn’t going to turn her scrawny husband into a he-man anytime soon. Any physical activity at all was probably a good thing, she thought at the time. Even strolling while smoking.

Standing at the sink, filling the glass coffeepot with water, Sheri finds herself thinking, again, of the tortoiseshell guitar pick found among her husband’s belongings.

It’s been in the back of her mind ever since she decided it would probably be a good idea to at least mention it to the police. But the week got away from her; she’s been too caught up in mourning, working, and sleeping to do anything about it.

Today, she decides, turning off the tap and dumping the water into the coffeemaker. I’ll do it today.





Thanksgiving Gratitude

Today most of us will gather around tables with loved ones, stuff ourselves with heaps of home-cooked food, and give thanks for our blessings.

Me? I’ll be sitting alone in my kitchen eating a turkey sandwich, most likely, same as I do every year. But don’t feel sorry for me. I have plenty to be grateful for. My health, with continued remission, tops the list. All of you, my good friends, are right up there, too—along with the incredible, unexpected education I’ve gained late in life.

Since my diagnosis, it sometimes seems that I’ve learned everything there is to know about breast cancer—about the disease itself. But there have been other lessons along the way: lessons I learned once I started blogging, precious lessons you have taught me.

I learned how similar we all are, despite having different backgrounds. And how very different we all are, despite sharing similar postdiagnosis experiences.

Thanks to you, I’ve had my eyes opened to the shameful inequity in fund-raising.

I’ve come to know very little progress has been made in finding a cure for metastatic breast cancer, and that early detection is by no means a cure.

I’ve learned that although I live by myself, and spend most of my days and nights in solitude, I’m far from alone. I’ve learned that I can care deeply—and yes, even love—people I’ve never met. With that, I’ve gained not just friendship, but also something I never imagined: the return of a childlike wonder for the world around me, so foreign to my own midwestern city. Beyond my house in Indianapolis are places I now want to explore because someone in our cyber community has brought it to life.

I want to watch a marching band do formations on the football field at a huge southern college and peek inside the graceful old houses of sorority row.

I want to sit on a rocky beach beside a lighthouse and watch the sun rise over the Atlantic ocean, and I want to eat lobster pulled out of the sea just minutes ago.

I want to buy a hot dog from a street cart in New York City and check out the view of Central Park from the top of a skyscraper.

I want to cheer for the home team in the stands at the Great American Ballpark and taste Skyline chili.

I want to fly across the ocean to England and see a real castle and Big Ben and London Bridge.

And so today, and every day, I’m grateful for the blogging friends that have stopped along the way, read my words, shared their own and broadened my small world. Who would have thought writing about cancer could do that?

—Excerpt from Kay’s blog, I’m A-Okay





Chapter 14

Something’s wrong, Landry realizes, watching Kay and Elena walking out into the airport terminal, clearly in the midst of a weighty discussion.

Well—a one-sided discussion: Elena, pulling a wheeled carry-on bag, seems to be doing all the talking. And whatever she’s talking about has them both so absorbed that they don’t even remember to look around for her.

“Guys,” she calls, “over here.”

Distracted, they glance over, wave, and head toward her—Elena in such a hurry that she nearly bowls over several leisurely southerners on the way. Landry senses that her rush has nothing to do with being glad to see her again, and everything to do with whatever they were talking about.

“Kay just saw her in the airport,” Elena blurts, then catches herself and leans in for a hug. “Sorry. Hi. Thank you so much for coming to get us, for having us . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be—”

“What is going on?”