Kathryn
22
Stunned. Stunted. Each breath a stab to her heart, to her lungs. Kathryn held Heather and they cried. A mass. Heather, her skin still too hot to the touch, trembled in Kathryn’s arms.
“Might. You might have cancer,” Kathryn said. “We don’t know if the mass is even a tumor, or if it’s malignant.” The last word came out in a whisper.
Heather sobbed and snuffled.
“I hate my brain. My brain gave me cancer,” she said.
Heather balled up her fists and struck herself over the head. Again and again. Alarm jumped and raced in Kathryn’s temples. She reached for Heather and pulled at her wrists.
“Stop! You’re distraught,” Kathryn said. She released Heather and fluttered her own hands, walking in a circle. “I’m distraught.”
Heather’s nostrils flared and her eyes widened so much, Kath
