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Nicole was. She made broiled salmon with polenta and acorn squash soup. Dessert was a lemon meringue pie from the Marie Callender’s in Arcadia.
    Somewhat surprising was that my father, who drank as infrequently as I did, opened a bottle of Chardonnay. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him that happy or loose.
    Later, after my father had gone to bed, Nicole knocked on my bedroom door. “It’s me,” she said softly.
    I opened. Nicole was wearing sweat pants and a Victoria’s Secret PINK T-shirt. She looked cute.
    “Come in,” I said.
    She walked inside, running her hand down my arm as she stepped past me. “Your dad’s home is nice,” she said. “It’s very . . .”
    “Seventies?”
    She grinned. “I was going to say cozy.” She walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. “Which home did McKale live in?”
    “That one,” I said, pointing. “The little ranch-style house.”
    “You married the girl next door.” She spotted the prom pictures on my dresser and walked over to them. She lifted one and burst out laughing. “Is this you ?”
    “In my defense, my dad cut my hair back then.”
    “No, you look great.” She looked at the picture, then back at me. “You were adorable as a teenager.” She smiled at me. “You still are.”
    “Thanks.”
    “And this is McKale?”
    “That’s McKale.”
    “She’s beautiful.” She looked at each of the pictures, stopping at the one odd one. “Who’s this?”
    “I think her name was Jennifer. Or Jodie. Or Justine. Actually, I have no idea what her name was. That was a girls’-preference dance at another school.”
    “I take it she didn’t get the memo that you were taken?”
    “Apparently not. First and last date.”
    “How did McKale take it, you going out with someone else?”
    “She handled it with her usual passive aggressiveness. She said it didn’t bother her, then went out on a date the next weekend with some football jock. I think she just wanted to remind me that she had options.”
    “We girls are like that.” She stepped away from the bookshelf. “How is it being back here with your father?”
    “It’s been difficult. He’s made it pretty clear that he wants me to stay.”
    “Yeah, he told me that while we were shopping. He asked if I’d help talk you into abandoning your walk.”
    I looked at her and frowned. “He really said that?”
    She nodded.
    “I’m finishing my walk.”
    “I know. I tried to explain to him how important it is to you.” She took my hand. “Don’t be angry with him. He’s just worried about you. Remember how upset he was when he found out you’d been mugged? And now you have a tumor. You may be over thirty, but he’s still yourfather. And you’re the only family he has.” She took my hand. “He just cares.”
    I thought about what she’d said, then breathed out slowly. “I know.”
    “Other than that, how have you been feeling?”
    “It’s getting worse,” I said. “The doctor said it would.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s okay. It will be over soon.”
    Something about the way I said this affected her. Her eyes welled up.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    She wiped her eyes, then looked into mine. “Sorry. I didn’t like how that sounded.”
    I put my arms around her and she fell into me. I held her for several minutes. Then she leaned back. “I better let you get your rest.”
    “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”
    “There’s no way I was going to let you go through this alone. Besides, I kind of like you.”
    I smiled. “The feeling’s mutual.”
    “Night,” she said. “Sweet dreams.”

    That night I dreamt I was kissing McKale. When I pulled back, it was really Falene.

CHAPTER
Eight
Looking at someone’s brain is a little like looking at the outside of a movie theater.
Alan Christoffersen’s diary

The morning of the nineteenth my father drove us to the hospital several hours before my scheduled surgery time, so