21
Esther and Joy chose seats in the shade, looking across a manicured patch of lawn to a group of bottlebrushes, their scarlet brush-like flowers and gold tips glowed in the sun.
“Ahh.” Joy leaned back on the bench. “This is better than mopping floors. How’s treatment going?”
“No major problems so far, but I expect to lose my hair any day. That … that will be difficult.” How limited human language is. Difficult was too simple a word to describe her complex mess of feelings. She’d always been proud of her thick, glossy hair. Losing it would be like losing another part of herself.
Joy looked at her. “I’m praying for you.”
Some people just said the words. With Joy, Esther knew she meant every word. There was something about Joy that hinted at hidden depths. Was it the expression in her
