head-dresses blowing in the wind. “I, uh, felt something, earlier. I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you. It’s right …” He reached out and touched two fingers—so lightly that Carmen suspected he actually was hovering a single electron orbit’s distance away from her surface—to the outer curve of her left breast. “Here.”
She sat perfectly still. Danny withdrew his hand and revolved slowly so he was facing her, cross-legged on the bed. He took both her hands, the concerned gesture of a husband or old friend. Carmen was certain he did it to keep her from touching herself in the same spot.
“You felt something like … what?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It was smaller than a golf ball, bigger than a marble, I guess. Kind of rough and”—he took a breath—“very hard. From everything I’ve read, it’s probably something you need to get checked out.”
“You’ve read about this?” Even she could hear how sarcastic and frightened her tone was.
“People call the library for information. You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s the first thing they do after talking to a doctor.”
Terror was licking at her now, icy against her temples and neck. “Lucky me. I can just bypass that medical part, seeing as how I have the librarian’s ear.” She pulled her right hand free and Dannylet her but kept gripping the other. Gently, as if afraid of hurting herself, she traced the outside of her left breast, starting at the top, around one o’clock, thinking of all the self-exams she hadn’t done, pressing the pads of her fingers into the skin more deeply as she went along.
There was nothing there! He was wrong. He must have been imagining it; could it be he wanted her to be sick, wanted her out of the way now that she was free of her marriage and could become a bother? A stalker. Showing up at his house late at night, slashing Mega’s spandex clothes with a steak knife, boiling rabbits on his …
Carmen’s fingers ran into the knot just at the point where she had become too confident and started digging down in earnest. Why anyone would call this a lump, she couldn’t understand. The word implied a softness, like the lumps of flour in gravy that could be easily batted apart with a wooden spoon. This thing was more like something you’d encounter in the bark of a tree, heavy and coarse, with an odd, spiraling tail that seemed to trail down into the space under her arm.
“Oh,” she heard herself cry, just before Danny moved in and closed his arms around her.
“It could be nothing,” he said into her ear. “In most cases, that’s what happens. You go in, they take a biopsy, and it’s perfectly benign.” He had the loamy smell of unshowered sex and Carmen knew she should warn him: He must not go home to his wife this way. Instead, she let him hold her until a few minutes before four o’clock when they both scrambled for the rest of their clothes.
“You’ll make an appointment tomorrow?” Danny asked as he pulled his pants on and started fastening his belt with its complicated silver buckle in the shape of a wolf, his Cherokee clan. She was silent, and he stopped what he was doing. “Carmen?”
She looked up at him from where she was sitting on the unmade bed, holding her long dress socks in one hand, not moving. Danny sighed and sat next to her, lacing his hands together. She shifted hergaze to them, the very fingers that had detected her (she refused even to think the word
lump
) comet made of stone.
What if she’d never come here with him?
Carmen played the game. What if she’d loved her husband better and grieved him right, staying home to rearrange his clothes in the closet and weep? What if, back when she’d sat in a room with Jobe and heard the doctor say non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, she had never felt even the slightest twinge of reprieve? Any one of those things might have changed what was happening right now. Perhaps thoughts have weight—enough to push
She sat perfectly still. Danny withdrew his hand and revolved slowly so he was facing her, cross-legged on the bed. He took both her hands, the concerned gesture of a husband or old friend. Carmen was certain he did it to keep her from touching herself in the same spot.
“You felt something like … what?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It was smaller than a golf ball, bigger than a marble, I guess. Kind of rough and”—he took a breath—“very hard. From everything I’ve read, it’s probably something you need to get checked out.”
“You’ve read about this?” Even she could hear how sarcastic and frightened her tone was.
“People call the library for information. You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s the first thing they do after talking to a doctor.”
Terror was licking at her now, icy against her temples and neck. “Lucky me. I can just bypass that medical part, seeing as how I have the librarian’s ear.” She pulled her right hand free and Dannylet her but kept gripping the other. Gently, as if afraid of hurting herself, she traced the outside of her left breast, starting at the top, around one o’clock, thinking of all the self-exams she hadn’t done, pressing the pads of her fingers into the skin more deeply as she went along.
There was nothing there! He was wrong. He must have been imagining it; could it be he wanted her to be sick, wanted her out of the way now that she was free of her marriage and could become a bother? A stalker. Showing up at his house late at night, slashing Mega’s spandex clothes with a steak knife, boiling rabbits on his …
Carmen’s fingers ran into the knot just at the point where she had become too confident and started digging down in earnest. Why anyone would call this a lump, she couldn’t understand. The word implied a softness, like the lumps of flour in gravy that could be easily batted apart with a wooden spoon. This thing was more like something you’d encounter in the bark of a tree, heavy and coarse, with an odd, spiraling tail that seemed to trail down into the space under her arm.
“Oh,” she heard herself cry, just before Danny moved in and closed his arms around her.
“It could be nothing,” he said into her ear. “In most cases, that’s what happens. You go in, they take a biopsy, and it’s perfectly benign.” He had the loamy smell of unshowered sex and Carmen knew she should warn him: He must not go home to his wife this way. Instead, she let him hold her until a few minutes before four o’clock when they both scrambled for the rest of their clothes.
“You’ll make an appointment tomorrow?” Danny asked as he pulled his pants on and started fastening his belt with its complicated silver buckle in the shape of a wolf, his Cherokee clan. She was silent, and he stopped what he was doing. “Carmen?”
She looked up at him from where she was sitting on the unmade bed, holding her long dress socks in one hand, not moving. Danny sighed and sat next to her, lacing his hands together. She shifted hergaze to them, the very fingers that had detected her (she refused even to think the word
lump
) comet made of stone.
What if she’d never come here with him?
Carmen played the game. What if she’d loved her husband better and grieved him right, staying home to rearrange his clothes in the closet and weep? What if, back when she’d sat in a room with Jobe and heard the doctor say non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, she had never felt even the slightest twinge of reprieve? Any one of those things might have changed what was happening right now. Perhaps thoughts have weight—enough to push
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