Her usual playful messages were absent. There was silence.“Me, worried?” I say with poorly disguised cheer. “They don’t know if it’s spread ...et. It’s in a lymph node or something in my neck. They’ll only know after they operate. My husband’s so worried about me. He’s not good at this illness stuff. He’s falling apart. I’m trying to hold it together for him.”“What can I do?”I was aware my offer was an empty one. I could be a thousand miles away. Or she could be next door for all I knew. . Was she so preoccupied that she didn’t notice him? Did he see her? Did she want him to see her? He had left a tan t-shirt and pants for her to wear. On closer inspection, these pants were similar to Matt’s uniform pants, but in a desert colour. She pulled the tan t-shirt over her head and onto her body. It was tight, and the shirt left no question that she wasn’t wearing a bra, outlining and accentuating every curve straight down to her hips. This was not his shirt. Did it belong to the other. More

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