But no matter how hard they all tried to be normal, their life was a dirty window that couldn’t be wiped clean. Everything, every moment, was coated by illness. As always, it fell to Kate to lead the way, to be the smiling, optimistic one. They were all okay as long as she remained strong and resilient. Then they could talk and laugh and carry on the pretense of ordinary life.

It was exhausting, all this propping up of their feelings, but what choice did she have? Sometimes when the burden was too great she upped her pain meds and curled up with Johnny on the couch and simply fell asleep. When she woke up, invariably she was ready to smile again.

Sunday mornings were especially overwhelming. Today, everyone was here—Mom, Dad, Sean and his girlfriend, Tully, Johnny, Marah and the twins. They took turns telling stories so that there was rarely a lull in the conversation.

Kate listened and nodded and smiled and pretended to eat, even though she was nauseous and in pain.

It was Tully who noticed. In the process of passing the quiche Mom had made, she looked up at Kate, said, “You look like shit.”

They all agreed.

Kate tried to make a joke, but her mouth was too dry to form words.

Johnny swept her out of her chair and carried her to her room.

When she was back in bed, medicated again, she stared up at her husband.

“How is she?” Tully said, coming into the room, standing beside Johnny.

Kate saw them there, together, shoulder to shoulder, and loved them so much it hurt. As always there was a pinch of jealousy, too, but that was as familiar to her as the beat of her heart.

“I was hoping to feel good enough to go shopping with you,” Kate said. “I wanted to help Marah pick out her prom dress. You’ll have to do it, Tully.” She tried to smile. “Nothing too revealing, okay? And watch out for the shoes. Marah thinks she can wear high heels, but I worry . . .” Kate frowned. “Are you two listening to me?”

Johnny smiled at Tully. “Did you say something?”

Tully put a hand to her chest in a Scarlett O’Hara protestation of innocence. “Me? You know how rarely I talk. People often say I’m too quiet.”

Kate maneuvered her bed up to a sit. “What’s with the comedy act? I’m trying to tell you something important.”

The doorbell rang. “Who could that be?” Tully said. “I’ll go check.”

Marah poked her head in the room. “They’re here. Is she ready?”

“Who is here? Am I ready for what?” No sooner had the words left Kate’s mouth than the parade into her room began. First came a man in coveralls, pushing a rolling rack full of floor-length gowns. Next, Marah and Tully and Mom crowded into the small space.

“Okay, Dad,” Marah said. “No boys allowed.”