GENRE: Women's Fiction
Lang knew better than to smile about her unnecessary love letters. She didn't want to tempt fate, trash-talk God. Still, she felt a tiny bit smug knowing she'd covered all her bases, that the letters she'd written him after her diagnosis were tucked away, unopened.
I shouldn't feel glad at all after the news.
But I do. I’m grateful for the warning. That it wasn’t sudden. That I have a chance to prepare us.
I hate to miss the next part, the one that was supposed to be so golden. Eggs Benedict late on a Tuesday morning. Napping after lunch like cats in the afternoon sun.
I wish eaten béarnaise sauce on everything. Condensed milk, too. And learned the constellations.
I sit here, reeling from the doctor’s words. Only four more seasons on earth, at best?
You have that long as well, to get used to the idea.
Lang leaned heavily on the shovel and tried to slow her breath.
A florescent red Cardinal perched jauntily on the feeder, dapper and energetic. She scanned the garden for his mate, and found the dull, drab-feathered female scuttling in the leaves. Lang and Jack Ellis if they were birds.
Lang put all her weight on the shovel, balancing carefully as the earth gave way and the shovel easily slid in the damp November ground. She hadn't smelled the earth in over a year. She closed her eyes and breathed in the rich, damp scent of dirt.