19
Dany
I hear crying. It’s muffled, but it’s definitely crying. The house is inky dark and otherwise quiet. It must be the middle of the night.
After Jack and I got back to the house on Rose Street, I slept. And slept. I slept through the next day, waking up for quick bathroom breaks and glasses of water. And then I slept some more.
List doing takes a lot out of me. Or it’s the chemo. Take your pick.
I look at my clock, its 12:05 in the morning. I hear another sob. It’s coming from downstairs.
“This doesn’t sound good,” I say. Sometimes I talk in the dark. It’s a hold-over from when I was a kid and afraid of nights alone in my mausoleum-white bedroom. I swing my legs off the bed and touch my bare feet to the cold wood floor.
Brrr.
I wonder if I should wake Jack? No, I’ll go see wh
