Page 21 of Let the Light Shine Through

I skim my hand along the band of her sculpted stomach exposed by the bunched t-shirt, making her breathing—and mine—quicken.

Sliding down, I get an inch above her belly button before she stops me, rasping out, “Do you have a condom? Rowdy stole mine and my cookies.”

Cookies…

Cookie jar.

I drop my forehead, sighing. Shit.

“I’ll be right back.”

Replacing the baggy fabric, I jog back downstairs, eyeing the empty living room on my way to the kitchen. Luckily, I manage to find the cookie jar without needing a light and lift the lid to reveal a fully stocked supply of condoms. As far as I know, it’s never actually had cookies inside, hence my spontaneous midnight quest for something sweet.

Gia asked for a treat while naked in a bath. It was either walk to the store, any store, or learn to bake on the spot. I chose the quicker option.

I take one condom out before thinking better of it and reaching back in for two more.

Back up the stairwell in record time, I step through the door while holding my breath, then immediately release it—quietly.

At this point, I shouldn’t be shocked by anything Gia does, yet finding her fast asleep where I left her somehow surprises me.

Reluctant to rearrange her and risk waking her up, I decide to adapt to the unconventional position by lying next to her with our heads at the foot of the bed. I keep my hands to myself for all of four seconds before scooping her head gently and placing it on my shoulder with my arm wrapped snugly around her back.

Gia nestles in deeper, fully tucked into my side, and I kiss the top of her head to keep the smile on my face from spreading any bigger.

I knew she’d like my cuddling.

Gia

My arm brushes my mother’s nearly unrecognizable shrinking frame, leaving me to wonder how much longer until she disappears altogether. How does someone just stop existing? I’d wished I’d never have to find out, but here I am, watching the excruciating process in person.

An ominous shadow falls over the backyard.

“Ooh, look. A Falcon.”

With a thin, shaky finger, she points out the brown bird of prey circling above the dozens of birdfeeders decorating our backyard. My mom’s hospital-style bed is stationed directly in front of the bank of casement windows in our living room, giving her an unobstructed view of the feeders my dad built for her, along with the birds hitting them up for food.

“Should I go scare him off?” I ask, and a huff of air leaves her mouth, causing my head to rotate to hers. Seeing she’s not in pain—well, more pain—I relax a little.

“Not yet.”

We watch him soar for a while longer before she says, “Your father’s a Peregrine Falcon, did you know that?”

I shake my head. “How so?”

“Well, the incredible speed for one thing.”

I laugh, nodding. My dad’s always rushing from one task to the next, rarely slowing down to enjoy things—the exact opposite of my mom.

“But also, the wisdom, vision, and protection they signify.”

My nod slows as my nose begins to burn. That sounds like Dad. His intelligence and foresight are why our family-run pizza shop is what it is today, but as our family deteriorates, I worry Al’s Pizzeria will, too. Because if it does, then there goes our only source of income.

I don’t know how he’s able to go into work right now. I haven’t left the house in weeks because I’m terrified. I’m terrified I’ll lose her if I do. I’m terrified to sleep for the same reason. That’s why if I do get any sleep, I get it down here, next to my mom, just in case.

But my dad, he has to sleep because he has to work, otherwise my mom wouldn’t have a shot at survival at all. The cancer didn’t respond to the first round of treatments. Or the second. We still had to pay for them though. We still have to pay for them. Probably will for years to come. Never mind the fact that we’re beyond actual treatments now. Now we’re just…waiting. For a miracle.

Or for an ending—to the suffering, not the bills. Those don’t go away just because the person they’re for does.