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chair. “I’ll see you at the hospital later tonight,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder.
    Peg nodded quickly, wiped the last of her tears away with the heel of her hand, and rose from the chair. And without so much as a glance at Dr. Goldstein, she turned and left the office.

Twelve
    Peg stood on the back porch staring at the screen door. She knew she had been standing there too long. She knew she had to open the back door soon or Linda would open it for her, having seen her pull into the driveway several minutes ago. But she wasn’t ready. Not yet. She had to make certain she was okay. She couldn’t risk coming apart in front of Jennie.
    I have to be calm , she told herself, her hand on the screen door handle. I have to be relaxed. Have to look like everything’s all right. I have to be strong for Jennie. Can’t let her know how scared I am.
    How am I going to do that?
    Never mind how. You have to.
    She pulled the screen door open, and the screech of its spring announced her entry. She stepped into the pantry hall, letting the screen door slam behind her, and came around the corner into the kitchen. Linda was sitting at the kitchen table watching the children eat their dinners, Jennie across from her in her booster seat and John next to her in his high chair. Jennie had finished her chicken and most of her mashed potatoes and was busily chasing peas around her plate with a spoon. John was slumped diagonally in the highchair, eyes half closed, as he sleepily sucked at his almost empty bottle.
    “Hi, Mommy,” Jennie called out happily, upraised spoon in hand, when she saw Peg.
    “Hi, sweetheart,” Peg replied as she walked to the kitchen counter to put down her pocketbook and keys.
    “How’d you make out?” Linda asked.
    “Not well,” Peg answered, trying to decide how much she could say in Jennie’s presence. “I have to go to the hospital tonight.”
    “Tonight? Why tonight? What’s the rush?”
    Peg turned away from the counter. She started to walk towards the table, but she stopped after the second step, suddenly realizing her knees were shaking so badly they threatened to collapse under her. She put her hand on the counter to steady herself.
    “I have leukemia,” she answered, slowly and deliberately, her voice quivering in spite of her best efforts to sound in control. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm herself and then exhaled slowly. “So I have to go upstairs and pack. Right after I call John.”
    “God, Peg, I am so sorry,” Linda said, staring at her in disbelief.
    “Me too.”
    The two women remained silent and motionless for several seconds, looking across the kitchen at one another, across the gulf that exists between the sick and the healthy, tears in their eyes, not knowing what to say or do next.
    Suddenly a three-year-old voice broke the silence. “What’s wrong, Mommy?” Jennie asked, frightened at seeing her mother crying. “Are you sick, Mommy?”
    In an instant Peg was at the kitchen table, lifting her daughter out of the booster seat for hugs and kisses. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart,” she said with complete assurance as she kissed Jennie on the cheek, the nose, the forehead, the cheek again. “Nothing serious, anyway. I just have to go to the hospital for a few days so the doctor can fix me up.”
    She looked into those huge eyes only inches away and felt her heart breaking. Breaking because she knew she was lying, and because the little girl in her arms would believe every word she said.
    “Then I’ll come home and be good as new.”
    “Then why are you crying, Mommy?” Jennie asked, as yet unconvinced.
    “Well, I guess I’m crying because I’m not as brave as I should be, sweetheart. That’s all. But there’s no reason for you to be afraid. Mommies cry sometimes too, you know.”
    “Can I have ice cream for dessert?” Jennie asked, her fear erased by these last words and her attention now on other matters.
    “Of course you can,