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out of buildings. It did not seem possible to me that my classroom work back in Conners would prepare me to become a student at any college in only four more years. And yet that was what I had decided to do—leave home and go to college. I began to rethink my commitment and wondered if Papa would mind having two daughters working at his bank should I drop out of the college-prep program.
    The entrance lobby of the hospital looked more like the formal room in an old mansion, with fancy carpets and hanging chandeliers. But once we turned the corner, everything changed and we were in sterile-looking hallways with walls painted mint green and smelling of antiseptics and pine cleaners.
    We checked my mother into a private room on the fifth floor, and once she was settled in her bed, we were allowed in to see her.
    “My surgeon, Dr. Willingham, will be in after supper,” Mama told us. “He’ll operate first thing in the morning.”
    I wanted to see this man, the one who had permission to cut off my mother’s breast, but I was fearful that I might kick and scratch him simply because he would dare to touch her.
    Mama took Papa’s hand. “You take the girls to supper and check into the hotel. I’ll be fine. Truth is, I’m a bit tired and believe I will sleep a little.”
    We kissed her goodbye and Papa drove us to a Howard Johnson motel not too far from the campus, where he had reserved two rooms. Papa was in one room and Adel and I in the other; we would share a double bed. We ate in the motel restaurant, but it was plain to see that none of us had an appetite. Eating out was a rare occurrence for us, and usually enjoyed, but tonight the mashed potatoes and meat loaf stuck in my throat.
    Back in the room, I watched Adel going through her nightly rituals while I sat cross-legged on the bed, hugging a pillow to my chest. We hadn’t spoken since we’d said good night to Papa, and I could not stand the sad silence any longer. “It’s not going to be cancer, is it, Adel?”
    She was brushing her long black hair and her gaze caught mine in the mirror. “That’s what the operation will tell us,” she said.
    “But don’t you have faith that it won’t be cancer?”
    “I don’t reckon that my faith will change it one way or the other. It either is, or it isn’t. God’s already decided that.”
    “Well, I don’t think it is. I think it’s just a false alarm.” I kept my tone confident because Adel’s lack of confidence scared me. And I sure didn’t want her to rile God with her lack of faith.
    She turned to face me. “Grandmother died from this, Darcy. Didn’t you know?”
    I stared at her, slack-jawed. “Grandmother had breast cancer?”
    “She never recovered from the operation. But she was old,” Adel added hastily. “Mama’s a whole lot younger.”
    I tried to remember those days before Grandmother’s funeral. I recalled her being hospitalized, but I hadn’t had a clue as to what was wrong with her. What I remembered most were my mother’s tears and the dark, ominous wreath that had hung on our front door after Grandmother had died. “Poor Grandmother,” I said.
    Adel slid into the bed, reached up and flipped the switch on the bedside lamp. Out of the darkness, she said, “Doctors think it runs in families. That it can be passed along.”
    If that was true, then Mama might have been cursed from before she was born.
    Adel and I lay there in the dark without touching, our backs to one another, each curled up in a ball. I felt tears fill my eyes, and I stuffed a fistful of the wadded sheet into my mouth so that I could cry quietly. It was a long time before I realized that Adel had done the same thing and that she was crying too.
    We were at the hospital by seven the next morning. The nurses had already given Mama a sedative, and she was groggy. “You sleep good, Joy?” Papa asked, kissing her forehead.
    “They kept . . . waking me up,” Mama said. Her speech sounded slurred. “Hi, girls. You . .