Carved in Her Bones

Then-Rhian

Sitting there in the sunroom with my family, it was as if time had folded in on itself. Eight years ago, Mom had sat us down in this very room when Joey was first diagnosed, only now we were older, and the stakes felt higher. Dad had aged what seemed like years in just the past week, and Mom's usual steeliness was slipping, her strong-woman act dissolving under the weight of it all. 

I could sense the worry hovering around her, thick and silent, even as she tried to keep it together. Joey, on the other hand, was doing what he always did—making light of his illness, pretending everything would be fine.Joey was sick again. This time, the cancer was back. Mom spoke in low tones, as if saying it any louder would make it too real. She turned to me, her eyes soft but determined. "Thandi, honey, you understand why you can't go back to boarding school next term, right?" She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but her voice trembled just enough. 

I knew what she meant—I'd be staying home this time, to be useful, to support Joey however I could. To give him anything he might need from me.I managed a small smile and said, "Of course, Mama.""Your dad is calling his friends, trying to get Joey into a clinical trial," she continued, filling the silence, her words barely holding together. I knew she was terrified. When things were bad, she'd talk as if she were voicing everyone's thoughts at once, as if that could make sense of things.

My mind drifted back to when Joey first got sick, back when we were both younger. I was born October 1st, 1999, almost exactly three years after him. Joey had been my first teacher, in a way—he taught me to ride a bike when I was five because Mom thought I'd hurt my fingers. I was in Mrs. Haug's piano class by then, and my mom had this dream of me playing for the Dublin Orchestra someday. Joey always let me tag along with his friends because I struggled to make my own.

But then, when I was ten, everything changed. Joey got sick, and suddenly piano lessons and friends were replaced by hospital visits. Mrs. Kim, my tutor, started coming to the hospital to teach me while Joey was getting treatment. I underwent procedure after procedure—blood tests, marrow tests—all because I was "helping Joey," as Mama put it. Sometimes helping him hurt, but I pushed through, even when no one was there to tell me it was okay.When Joey finally got better, life felt different. I could go outside again, eat junk food, and I could finally go back to school. But Joey had changed. He grew quiet, didn't want me tagging along with his friends. The night he got home, he came into my room and sat next to my bed with a bag of candy—my favorite, which I hadn't been allowed to eat while he was in the hospital. "I'm sorry, Thandi," he'd said, as if his sickness had somehow taken my childhood from me. 

Sometimes, he'd just sit there quietly, looking at me with that same guilty look, telling me how sorry he was.Back in the sunroom, Mom was going on about diets and routines, laying down the rules about how I'd need to be careful now that Joey needed me again. Joey caught my gaze, giving me that same look from all those years ago, and I nodded, reassuring him silently that I'd be here, whatever happened. We'd know about the trial by Monday, and today was only Saturday.

I went to the piano afterward, seeking something steady, something familiar to help quiet my mind. Mrs. Haug had once said that Chopin's *Ballade No. 1 in G minor* was good for times of sadness, so I played that, letting the familiar notes ground me. Then I drifted into Debussy's *Clair de Lune*, just because I loved it.Joey entered my room without knocking, settling onto the floor beside the piano like he used to. "I'm sorry, Thandi," he murmured, almost to himself. I gave him a small smile. "I'll play your favorite," I offered, trying to lift his spirits. "I love you, Jojo."He let out a small laugh at the nickname he pretended to hate, and I started playing Liszt's *Un Sospiro*, his favorite. 

As my fingers moved over the keys, I silently prayed that he'd survive this, that he'd live a long, healthy life. And I hoped, too, that I'd never resent being here for him, leaving behind my friends and my life at school.