I glance at her once we’re outside in the fresh air. The sun feels almost startling in its gentleness; how perfect the day is. But the stiffness doesn’t leave Abigail’s shoulders.

We walk down the same streets we walked down yesterday. The men in Domino Park are out again, and someone has a radio on. Two kids on skateboards course by us.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Sam says.

She looks at him.

“I’m glad we got to do this, Sam.”

He frowns. She’s not answering his question.

“It feels kind of rushed though, doesn’t it?” he says.

Abigail says nothing.

“I mean, even if I do have school…I don’t see why we can’t have another couple of days,” he says. “Do you think Lorna will visit us next, or will we come visit her—like in the summer?”

Abigail shakes her head.

“Maybe. I don’t know. We have a lot to talk about, Sam.”

Sam’s frown deepens, and he glances at me quickly before looking away.

Abigail actually asked Mom this morning—not altogether graciously, but still—if she wanted to come with us, but Mom shook her head. She said she and Lorna had said what they needed to say to each other. I think she didn’t want to intrude.

Soon we’re back outside the squat brown apartment building. Abigail just stands for a moment, not ringing the bell.

“Abigail,” I say gently, and she nods and takes a breath.

It only takes a few seconds for Lorna to buzz us in. Sam’s first to the stairs; I walk behind with my sister.

“It’s not a last goodbye,” I murmur to her. We don’t yet know how Lorna’s body will respond to chemo or radiation therapy. And nothing’s going to happen overnight. There will be time for real goodbyes.

But Abigail glances at me. It’s what this goodbye stands for: the other, final goodbye, which may be in a year or two or may be as soon as a few months from now. And how the next time she sees Lorna, Lorna may be in very different shape.

Upstairs, Lorna welcomes us with an easy smile. She doesn’t seem to be feeling the heaviness of the moment the way my sister is—the way I am, too, if I’m honest—but maybe that’s what dying does to some people. Maybe Lorna is one of those rare people who’s mastered the art of letting go.

“We, um, can’t stay very long.” Abigail swallows. “Dennis wants us to hit the road early.”

“Of course,” Lorna nods. She puts a light hand on Abigail’s arm, then looks at Sam.