The Best of Us (Sullivan's Crossing #4)(31)

“No,” Finn said. “Research.”

“What are you researching?”

“Meningioma. Glioblastoma,” Finn said, turning the computer screen toward Rob. There was a drawing of a brain, a growth in the brain. And a lot of text. “That’s what it is. A brain tumor. They’re just not sure exactly what kind yet.”







When you arise in the morning, think of
what a precious privilege it is to be alive—to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.

—Marcus Aurelius



7


“I WANT YOU to think about taking someone else to prom,” Maia said. “I can’t go. I want to but it would be crazy—things are wrong in my head and anything could happen.”

“I’m not taking anyone else,” Finn said. “I wasn’t even that interested in prom until we got together. What’s happening next?”

Finn and Maia sat on her patio on a pair of lounge chairs. He wore a hoodie and she was wrapped in the throw from the sofa. Under the circumstances, her parents were just freaked out enough to have no problem with her being totally alone with a boyfriend and the two of them wrapped around each other in the dark.

“Next, we’re having consultations with a bunch of doctors. They’re going to talk about treatment options—everything from medicines and radiation that might shrink the tumor, to surgery. More tests will probably show exactly what kind of tumor and whether or not it’s possible to get it out. They’re going to tell me about all the options, the pros and cons, their recommendations, all the details. We’re going to more than one hospital. Out of state, too.”

“Are you scared?”

She sighed. “So scared,” she whispered.

“I’ll be with you the whole way,” he said.

“I hate for you to go through all of it.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re pretty important to me.”

“I could end up bald, you know,” she said.

He almost laughed. As if bald was the worst case. “You won’t be bald forever. If you lose your hair, it’ll grow back. If you go bald, I’ll shave my head.”

“How are you so wonderful?”

“I’m not the wonderful one,” he said. “You’re the one going through it. You’re not going through it alone, that’s all. You have me but you have lots of friends. And, Maia, I’m really proud of you. You’re so brave.”

“Doesn’t it just figure?” she said. “I find a guy I love and it turns out I have a brain tumor. Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, what some girls will do for attention,” he said, pulling her close. “This is going to get behind us, then we’re going to have some fun, like we deserve.”

“My mom cries at night,” she said. “I can hear her.”

“She’s scared, too,” he said.

“There are no more birth control pills, Finn.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t think about it. Like I said—later.”

“Are you scared?” she asked him.

“No,” he lied. “We’re going to get through it with a positive attitude. We’re going to believe this is just a test of how strong we are.”

“I don’t feel that strong. I don’t want to die,” she said softly, then she began to cry and he held her for a long time.

He was only eight when his mother died. Looking back on it, it seemed death had taken her quickly but he knew it had actually been slow. His grandparents came to stay with them; his father slept in a chair at the hospital every night. His grandparents took turns spending hours during the day with her. Once she was diagnosed, Finn and Sean couldn’t visit her much. She died in the middle of the night from a heart attack. His dad had been with her but Finn didn’t get to say goodbye. It would always hurt but his dad had done everything to make sure he and Sean were okay.

“Lean on me,” he said. “I’ll try my best to be your strength.”

“I cry a lot,” she said.

“That’s okay,” he said. No need to tell her what he did deep in the night when no one was looking. He wondered if his dad could hear him cry like a baby.

Sunday afternoons at the Crossing tended to be a little on the busy side while campers were settling up, packing, closing up the campsites, filling their coolers for the last time to take on the trek home. By four or so, most of those who were leaving had gone and things were usually calm and quiet. Those campers who were staying on past the weekend were settled at their campsites, cook fires and campfires stoked.

Sully flipped the sign on the door to Closed and pulled his chicken off the grill. He carried it across the yard to the house. In the kitchen, Helen was putting the final touches on a salad. “Perfect timing,” she said. “I just have to pull out the potatoes and we’re ready to go.”

“Are we eating in or out?” he asked.

“We’re going to dish up in here and carry our plates outside. I put everything we need on the table out there.”

“Did you wipe it off?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Sullivan,” she said. “Did you think I’d feed you at a dirty table?”

“Not likely. I was going to wipe it off if you hadn’t done it yet.”