As Close as Sisters Read Online Free PDF Page A

appropriate black dress.
    I took a deep breath and relaxed in my chair. The sun wouldn’t set for more than an hour, but it was well behind us now and the sky was darkening.
    After what seemed like a very long time, Aurora said, “I’d take it from you if I could.” Again she was quiet. Then, “Your cancer.”
    My eyes felt scratchy behind the lids. I’m not a crier. What tears I had, I tell people, I’ve already cried. As if we’re born with a certain number of tears in our eyes, like eggs in our ovaries. Maybe I was just afraid that if I started crying now, I’d never stop. I didn’t want to live out the rest of my days, however many there were, crying.
    “I’d die for you,” Aurora said. “I’d do it. I wish I could do it,” she added softly.
    “I know.”
    My mother said the same thing when I told her that I was terminal. She cried buckets. She said it wasn’t fair that she was old and useless and I was still young, with children to raise. But there was something different about Aurora’s tone when she told me that. It was as if . . . she was more than willing to die, that she . . . I don’t know . . . she really wanted to. Which made no sense. She had a perfect life: famous, rich . . . and then there was Fortunato and his wang.
    I realized my thoughts weren’t making sense. It was probably the wine. I was feeling tipsy. The combination of the wine and the meds. I was most definitely not supposed to have three glasses.
    I looked at Aurora. She seemed so sad.
    This was one of the most difficult things for me about having cancer. I felt as if I were making so many people sad. Hurting so many people. Me, I got to die. They—those I love—have to stay. They have to carry my death with them for many years to come.
    “I . . . haven’t told anyone this,” I heard myself say. “But . . . I’m taking part in a drug trial.”
    She shifted her attention to me again.
    “At UPenn.” I set my glass down. “They’re hoping the drug will slow the growth of the tumors. Maybe even reduce their size.”
    Aurora unfolded her long legs and stood, holding a finger up, telling me to hold that thought.
    She was back in two minutes with another bottle of wine and the corkscrew. “So the doctors have had good luck with this drug?”
    I shook my head. “It’s a drug trial, meaning the doctors are basically taking a wild stab in the dark and need some human guinea pigs.” I stopped and started again. “Not exactly. The whole process for creating a drug and getting it approved by the FDA is very complicated and takes years. There’s been some evidence—in lab rats probably—that this drug I’m taking might have an effect on this type of cancer growth.”
    “So it might work?” she asked.
    “Someday. For someone. I know it’s too late for me, but I agreed to be a part of the study because I like the idea of possibly helping someone else, someday.”
    “Why haven’t you told anyone?” she asked as she stripped the foil from around the cork.
    “I can’t.”
    She waited.
    “Nothing else has worked, Aurora. This isn’t going to work. It’s a drug trial, not a cure.” I shook my head. “I can’t tell you how many second opinions I’ve gotten. How many oncologists I’ve seen. I can’t do that to my parents, to my girls. I can’t do it to Lilly and Janine. I can’t give them hope, not when there is none.”
    Aurora held the wine bottle between her bare thighs and used a simple plastic corkscrew—the kind you picked up at the counter in the liquor store and carried in your purse. She pulled on the cork, and it came free with a delicious pop . “But you can crush my hope?”
    “I’m sorry.” I glanced at my hands resting in my lap. “It’s just that you’re the strong one. The brave one. I guess . . . I needed to tell someone, and I know you . . . you won’t act crazy and start planning my fiftieth birthday or anything.”
    She raised the bottle to offer me another glass.
    I covered my glass