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encouragement as the end drew near. But looking at Josh was like looking at himself—like looking at a torn page from his most favorite book, and he refused to believe it could be ripped away and burned with little to no regard. After all, this particular page, and book, meant everything to him.
    “You don’t smoke anymore. You haven’t smoked in years...just...God.” Dane’s head dropped as he stared down at his lap, feeling destroyed by the implications of Josh’s admission. Barely, he held a slippery grip on his reserve and composure.
    “I know, and... imagine my own surprise. It started about four months ago.” Their eyes met, saying unspoken things to one another, so much more than their mouths ever would. “I was...feeling tired. Margie insisted I go to the doctor. I figured,” he shrugged, “it was just the stress from work, you know, the new position. Then, I started coughing a lot, coughing up blood, and I knew I had to see someone. It... doesn’t look good, Dane. I needed to see you, to tell you face to face. You’re my best friend. This isn’t something I could email ya or tell you over the phone.”
    “But four months, man? You’ve known all this time.” Dane tempered himself, the screaming in his head becoming so loud, he had to tell it to shut-up. It would be so easy to go off, to point a finger at Josh and let him have it for his blatant disregard, but it wouldn’t change anything, so why even bother?
    “No, I was in treatment, not believing what was happening to me. It took me awhile to even fully accept the diagnosis. I wanted to tell you, ‘Hey man! I beat cancer.’” He laughed, a sad, sorry laugh that left his mouth sounding like a sickly little white ghost then disappeared into thin air. “But I know now that won’t happen. I am here against doctor’s orders. I haven’t quit my job, either.” He sighed. “I tried to fight but...”
    “Please, don’t.” Dane put his hand up. “We can’t afford to think that way, to just give up. With God all things are possible, Josh. The body and mind, when working in agreement, can do some phenomenal things, but if you ever want to see those possibilities, you must keep fighting!” Dane caught the glances from people nearby as his voice rose. He didn’t care; his heart had accepted the words, and now he just wanted to fix the problem, make it right. He was the rock...he had to make it all go away, make it all right. Reaching across the pub table, he tightly grasped Josh’s wrist.
    “Dane, I need you to—”
    “We will pray right here, right now, we will ask for—”
    “Dane, damn it!” Josh snatched his hand away angrily, his voice, though weakened, ragged with irritation and hoarse undertones. “Don’t you think I’ve been praying?!”
    He hastily turned away and stared at the people milling about, eating, enjoying themselves…carefree. The laughter and chatter seemed to mock the somber mood hanging over them, and the invisible murderer called grief went unnoticed as it slinked about, under the radar, delivering packages of pulsating pain.
    That pain was beginning to eat him alive, right there front and center, starting with his bleeding heart. Josh’s eyes welled with moisture and tears cascaded down his sunken cheeks. He was angry with God—Dane was familiar with the look. So many that stood before him during mass had the same mask on. One of disappointment and unbelievable resentment that drove them to the depths of hatred for the Heavenly Father, for leaving them in a world that was destroying them, among people who simply didn’t give a damn.
    “I’m going to pray for you, because I know God can heal you,” Dane said calmly as their food arrived. He nodded at the waiter, clasped his hands and turned back to his friend, who was now slumped in his chair, his arms loosely by his side, as if his tenacity and will to live had melted right then and there like a prayer candle burned down to its pitiful blackened