Tess tossed the takeout container in the garbage and checked her watch. Neal wouldn’t be over until his 7 p.m. class finished. That left two hours. She’d already walked Henry, fed him, practiced his tricks, and refused to give him a bite of her eggroll. Marisol said she’d make a great mother. Tess avoided babies, had avoided them for years, eight to be exact. Most of her friends were single or married professionals without children. The occasional pregnant friend fell away once the announcement came. There were always baby gifts, chosen by Neal or Neal’s sister: outfits, sleep contraptions, bedding...the cost didn’t matter. Seeing them, touching them, memorizing them did.

Tess glanced at Henry, who lay asleep on his orthopedic bed, a real step up from the threadbare mat he had at the shelter. She picked up a catalog and flipped through the pages. Her mother’s birthday was just a month away. Maybe she’d like one of those new slow cookers with the nonstick insert. Or a coffee maker with a grinder attached. Olivia Carrick loved her coffee.

Oh, who was she kidding? What her mother really wanted was a visit from her daughter. It had been eight years since Tess had packed up and left Magdalena, and while Olivia didn’t come right out and ask, Tess had enough psychology under her belt to recognize hope when she heard it. The long pauses, the hitched breaths, the casual remarks, all centered on a return to Magdalena. Tess chose to ignore the subtleties and instead sent an annual plane ticket for her mother to join her on various excursions: The Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore, Napa Valley. She was debating their next trip when the phone rang.

It was Mimi Pendergrass. Tess hadn’t spoken with the President of The Bleeding Hearts Society since JJ’s funeral, but the woman picked up like they’d spoken yesterday. “Tess, this is Mimi,” she said in a serious voice. “I just had to call you. It’s about your mama, sweetheart. She’s gonna be downright furious I called but somebody had to. She’s real sick. You need to come home.”

“What am I going to do, Neal? She can’t stay there. I’ve got to bring her back here to see a specialist. Remember that oncologist Fred Devine saw? Fred had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma too and now look at him? He’s playing golf and taking cruises.” Tess paced the living room, circled into the kitchen, up the stairs and back down again. Henry followed, tail wagging, tongue thrust out, as though this was just the kind of game he’d been waiting to play. Tess worked her way back to the living room, flopped on the couch.

“I’m not sure your mother will agree to come.”

“Of course she won’t agree. She hates leaving that place and won’t want to quit teaching either.” She scrubbed her hands over her face, willing the last two hours to disappear. Worry, fear, and dread consumed her, but there was hurt in there, too. “When exactly do you think my mother was going to tell me she’d been diagnosed with cancer?” The term numbed her mouth. It was foreign. And frightening.