How Do I Love Thee

Eight

For the next month, Dana felt as if she were living her life in parallel universes. In one, she went to school, took piano classes, dated Bobby, remained an ordinary girl aiming toward graduation and attending college at the Julliard School. In the other, she spent long afternoons with Steve, holding on to him, afraid to let go of him, certain that if she did, he'd be swallowed up by the black hole where his star had once shone.

They met at the hospital after Steve's treatments, after her mini-concerts for the patients. They met on Sunday afternoons when she was supposed to be in the library studying. Sometimes she skipped school and they met where they could be alone—his favorite spot in the woods until the weather turned cold, then at her house when her parents were at work. They folded themselves into the comfort of each other's presence. Often she played the piano for him, always ending with Moonlight Sonata because it was his favorite. Sometimes they sat and watched fire dance in the fireplace, sometimes they talked, often they didn't. Neither spoke of the future. He loved her and she loved him. When they were together, nothing mattered. All they had was the here and now. It was enough because it had to be.

The radiation worked its wonders. Steve's tumor shrank, his headaches vanished, and his spirits rose. On Thanksgiving Day, he tossed a football with his father and Bobby in the backyard. Dana had come over to sample desserts because Bobby had begged her to. She felt awkward being around both brothers, but Steve was very careful to treat her casually, as if it were just another one of Bobby's friends.

"Maybe the doctors made a mistake," Dana heard Hank Harrod say. "It's happened before, you know. I saw a story on TV about a woman with cancer that vanished, just like that."

"Doctors make mistakes all the time," Bobby said, going back for a pass from his father. "You might just be cured, bro. "The ball spiraled downward, and Bobby kept backing up. Suddenly he tripped and dropped it.

"Geez, Bobby, can't you even hang on to a simple football?" his dad chided. "I swear, you haven't got a sports gene in your entire body."

Dana saw Bobby's expression fall and his shoulders slump. Steve have him a hand up. "I'm calling it quits," Steve said. "Let's go inside, get Mom to make some popcorn."

"In a minute, Bobby said.

Their father threw his arm around Steve's shoulder and tugged him toward the house. "Come on, son. The game's starting."

Steve said to Bobby, "Coming?"

"In a minute. You go on."

Dana waited until Steve and his father had gone inside. She took Bobby's hand. "Come home with me and watch a movie. Who cares about TV football games?"

"Not today, Dana." He stood staring at the back door of the house. "I know Dad wishes it was me who was sick instead of Steve."

  "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"And you know what? Sometimes I wish it was me too."