I wonder if you might have told your mother we were writing, or maybe she found out and that’s why you’ve stopped writing. Just a guess! I know I said I would answer any questions you had and I meant that, but maybe I did not take into account the kinds of questions you have. I’m sorry I could not give you a fuller answer to the story of your mother and me. I will try.

Antonio

A day or a week, or maybe a year later, it was getting hard to tell, Mom said gently, next to my ear, that Fiona and Vicky were there to see me. I shook my head no. Are you sure? I was sure. I tried to explain that I had nothing more to say, and no room inside me to listen. I saw tears standing in my mother’s eyes. I think she understood. I had to put Fiona and Vicky in a place where hypothetically I could still laugh with them and argue with them and be best friends forever, but the time had come to turn my attention elsewhere.

Another day, Jack said: “Everything’s ready.”

His broad face close to mine, shiny bangs he flicked out of his eyes with a scissoring gesture. Crew cuts felt like moss. He used to let me touch his. Maybe deep down we knew what would happen, way back then. “What’s ready?”

“For the march. Next week, remember? We’ve got the portable toilets lined up. We’ve got the marshals trained. Fences, everything.” Jack’s smile squinted his eyes, giving him a look of good-humored know-how. I loved that about his face. “Your animation will go on before the speeches. Miss Sedge is totally cool. I can’t wait . . .” He was happier than I’d seen him in a long time. “I just wish . . .” he began, bending down to pet Cloud, and instead of finishing his sentence he took off his shoes and came over and climbed onto the bed. I welcomed him in, though my instinct was to shrink away. He was nestling against me, pressing his leg protectively over mine, when without a second’s warning even to turn my head, I threw up.

Jack leapt to his feet and was laughing and plucking Kleenex from the box in handfuls when my mother came in. I started crying harder than I cried when Dr. O gave us the news. I didn’t care who saw. Enough is enough. He would get used to it and he would get over it. While my mother changed the sheets, Jack went out to take off his stinking shirt, and I never let him back in.

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