Finding Cassidy Read Online Free PDF Page B

front of her face and shook her head. “Not now,” she whispered, her chin wobbling with emotion. “Give me a little time here, okay?”
    “Sure.” My own tears floated just below the surface. Another minute with Mom and they’d gush all over the place. I grabbed my knapsack and bolted for my room.
    Tabitha had taken her usual spot in the middle of my bed’s pillow pile. I shoved her aside and flopped onto my back. Seconds later she pounced onto my belly, stretched into a white Sphinx-like position and began her throaty purr. I ran my hand through her thick, white fur, played absently with the collar around her neck and cried.
    Dad, the calm centre, the rock of our family, had Huntington’s chorea. He was going to die, and wewould be lost, lost, lost without him. This was bad on a scale I couldn’t begin to understand.
    A gust of wind rattled my bedroom window; boughs of the Douglas fir scraped the glass. Tabitha turned her head toward the sound but didn’t seem overly concerned. She continued to purr. Her tiny body vibrated with the movement; she was warm and comforting against my stomach.
    If Dad had it, I could have it too.
    My eyes fell on the photo on my nightstand. Prissy, Yvonne, Jasmine and I falling all over each other and being silly at Witty’s Lagoon last summer. Brynna had taken the shot. We’d had so much fun that day. We had fun every day. We shopped, we tanned, we ate out. We shopped some more.
    How would they react to my news?
    I studied their faces, looking for a clue. Nothing. Even though we’d been friends for over three years, they really didn’t know my parents.
    Not the way Quinn did.
    Quinn wanted me to call her. I could. She’d be sympathetic—I knew that. But Quinn had crossed a line with me. She’d never apologized or taken responsibility for her actions, and if I opened the door to our friendship, she’d think everything was back to normal.
    It wasn’t.
    Nothing would ever be normal again.
    I heard voices coming from the kitchen. Dad’s deep bass, followed by Mom’s laugh. Plucking Tabitha off my stomach, I put her back in the position of honour among my pillows. She gave me a malevolent stare. “Keep the bed warm,” I told her.
    “You’re just in time to set the table,” Mom said when I appeared in the doorway. I was relieved to see her mixing rigatoni and meat sauce in the large green pasta bowl, to see Dad cutting garlic bread at the counter. Everything looked so normal that for a minute I pretended it was. But then Dad carried the bread to the table and I saw his hand shake and everything piled in on me again.
    He had Huntingon’s chorea. He really had it.
    We sat down and dished out food. Salad, pasta, bread. Rain beat against the patio doors. Mom made a comment about the storm. Dad answered her.
    Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I said, “Mom told me about the test.”
    Dad’s fork stopped halfway to his lips. “I’m lucky. The doctor says I’m only in the early to intermediate stage.” He shoved his pasta into his mouth.
    Early to intermediate. I tried to remember what I’d read, but all I could think of was that Huntington’swas going to kill him. And it might kill me, too. Listlessly I pushed a noodle around my plate.
    “I have some incapacity, but I’m still fully functional,” he added.
    For now, I thought bleakly. But how long till he couldn’t work…till dementia…till hospitalization…till he was gone?
    “And the fact that it’s come on later than normal may be a good sign too,” he added.
    A good sign. Fully functional. This was Dad the politician spinning the news. It’s genetic. Put a good spin on that.
    “We’re going to fight this, Cassidy.” Mom’s eyes blazed; she waved her fork in the air. “We’ll consult with specialists. Apparently there’s an institute in California doing amazing work. And scientists in New Zealand are pursuing neural stem cell research that looks positive, too.”
    “That’s right.” Dad began