Chapter 4: The Cardigan

Saturday morning Esme found the other side of the bed cold.

She didn't look for him.

She showered, put on jeans and a clean sweater, and went downstairs with the first low wave of nausea sitting behind her breastbone.

Ezra had said Sunday.

Ezra had been optimistic.

The kitchen smelled of toast.

Clarissa sat at the island in a silk robe with her feet tucked up under her, reading something small and white.

It was a laminated card the size of a library pass.

Esme's green cardigan lay over the back of the next stool, where she had dropped it yesterday.

Her stomach went cold.

"Oncology Infusion," Clarissa read aloud, in her lovely low voice. "St. Brendan's, Bay 14. Dr. Kimball. Every second Friday."

She turned the card over.

"The back says 'Call for fever above 100.4.' That's not what you give a woman with a headache."

"Put it down."

"Matt's in the shower. He sings in there, did you know? Off key."

Clarissa smiled.

"I found it in your pocket. I was only looking for a tissue."

"You were looking for something."

"Weren't we both?"

Esme crossed the room and held out her hand.

Clarissa laid the card in it, with a fingertip, the way you hand back a dropped glove.

"What stage?"

"None of your business."

"Late, I'd say. You're gray under the concealer."

Clarissa touched her own collarbone, on the right side.

"And there's a bandage under your collar. I thought you'd be brave and boring."

She tilted her head.

"Hiding it from your own husband is much more interesting."

"I'm not hiding it from him for you."

"Of course not."

She said it kindly.

That was what made Esme's hand shake, the kindness.

"Let me tell you what I'd do," Clarissa said, "if I were you and I wanted to be loved to the end."

Keep reading free with an account. Start His First Love, My Last Goodbye from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.