“Where’d you go, Sweet Pea?” she asked. “You’re not back at the hospital, are you?”
Colin shook his head. “No, Ma. I’m just thinking.”
“Ah.” Lena guided his chin up so that he looked right at her. “I don’t know what you expected, hon.”
“No, I know.” A chill ran down Colin’s spine. “I just…I don’t know.”
“Still hoping. I get it.” She stroked his face. The feeling might’ve been different—thin hand, cold hand, instead of sturdy and warm—but it was the same hand. “It’s done, sweetie. Nothing’s going to change.”
And here was what he’d been keeping from Dexter. Hadn’t wanted to tell him. Because telling him would make it even more real. Cement it into reality. Make it completely permanent. His Ma was sick. Real sick. On borrowed time now sick.
Somewhere inside, Colin already knew that. Tha
