I grab my bag and head for the door. I need to get to the hospital. Mom needs to hear the news.
My feelings about Vince will have to wait.
Mom cries when I tell her.
Not delicate movie tears that roll gracefully down cheeks, but real, raw, messy sobs that shake her fragile body and leave her gasping for breath.
“How?” she manages between sobs. “Who would do this?”
I perch on the edge of her bed, holding her hand, choosing my words carefully. “An anonymous donor. Someone with more money than they know what to do with, apparently.”
“But why us? Why me?”
That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Why indeed?
“Maybe they know someone who had cancer,” I suggest, avoiding her eyes. “Maybe they’re just a good person.”
Mom scoffs at that, dabbing at her tears with a tissue. “Nobody giv
