Page 41 of Until the Last Star Fades

Riley’s gaze focused on Maggie’s hand wrapped around hers, warm and reassuring. Growing up, Riley always felt safe and content holding her mom’s hand, but today she wanted to repay the debt accrued over her short lifetime, to take away the fear, the uncertainty—for both of them. If only she could hold it together. Don’t cry! Stay strong. A creeping heaviness invaded her chest and climbed up her throat, constricting the release of breaths and threatening to unleash the flood of sobs churning below the surface.

Maggie swept Riley’s hair off her forehead, looking into her eyes. “Piper’s lovely, so caring and supportive. I don’t worry so much, knowing you have a good friend like her.”

What? Riley gulped for air. “Mom, stop talking like you’re…” She couldn’t say it; saying it would make it real. Dammit! Don’t cry, Riley, you’ll upset Mom. Be strong. Don’t cry! She bowed her head, her bottom lip surrendering, trembling out of control.

Maggie squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to know the truth, Mom.” Shrugging free of her parka, Riley’s eyelashes fluttered, trying desperately to stifle a further swell of tears. “Don’t protect me—I need to know.”

“Okay.” Maggie took a deep breath, buying time. “The ovarian cancer has grown from Stage 3 to Stage 4…actually 4B because it’s now inside my liver, but my oncologist says it hasn’t spread to my lungs or bones. Only the liver’s involved, which is good! It could be far worse. She’s changing my chemo drugs and hopefully that will stop its progress.”

Looking up, meeting her mom’s eyes, the ache grew in Riley’s throat. How did we get here? “Is it terminal?”

“No, she said it’s advanced.”

“But…isn’t that the same thing?”

Maggie shook her head. “The oncologist explained that advanced and terminal are two different things. Advanced means the cancer can’t be cured—”

“But if it isn’t curable, how is that not terminal?” The words didn’t make sense. They teased and twisted, a cruel riddle in Riley’s mind…

The cancer can’t be cured.

Mom can’t be cured.

Riley burst into breath-stealing sobs.

“Oh, honey.” Maggie wrapped her arm around her daughter and pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table. Riley accepted it without hesitation. “I know it’s confusing, but listen, it’s not terminal. Advanced means the cancer won’t go away, but I can live with it—lots of women do. I’ll have more chemo, maybe enroll in a clinical trial for a new drug, and if the tumor gets smaller, surgery could be an option.”

“But it could get larger.” Wiping her nose, Riley’s voice cracked behind the tissue. “Or spread more.”

“It could, but here’s how I’m looking at it. I have three scenarios: one, it could grow and spread; two, it stays the same; or three, it shrinks. Two out of three ain’t bad! And I’m going to fight for those odds.”

“But it could get worse at any moment. It’s…lying in wait.”

“You know I’ve never been a fan of inspirational quotes, but in this case, they’re actually right. ‘Tomorrow is never promised to anyone.’ Soak up every moment, be generous with your love, and be thankful for those who love us back—rules we should all follow, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Riley rolled her damp tissue into a ball and paused for a moment, stuttering breaths playing catch-up, delaying what she wanted to ask next. “So…when is cancer terminal?”

“When there’s nothing more the doctors can do. When drugs and surgery can’t halt the cancer, they resort to palliative care—pain relief, basically. They keep the patient as comfortable as possible until…it’s time.” Maggie’s voice broke.

She’s scared. She’s trying so hard to hide it. Riley hugged her mom, but Maggie’s sharp collarbone jabbed her throat. Her mother’s tender softness, a comfort since childhood, was long gone, a souvenir of her many chemo treatments. I can’t lose her…I just can’t.

Tears slid down Maggie’s cheeks, but she swept them away as quickly as they fell. She swallowed and took a deep breath, a quivery smile taking over her face, not that Riley could see it. A loving hand caressed her daughter’s hair. “Hey, listen to me. Lots of people live for years with incurable cancer. We have to remain positive, keep moving forward. The new treatment might stop the cancer from getting bigger—it might even shrink it.”

“Might shrink it? No, no, it WILL shrink it. It has to.” Riley pulled back. “Third time lucky.”

“Third time lucky.” Maggie softly smiled. “And the doctor can give me painkillers for any discomfort.”

“But you’re already on painkillers…”

“They’ll just increase the dosage.”

“But what if we can’t pay for it? The insurance copays…”

“Don’t worry about that right now. First things first. I’ll get better, then I’ll deal with the debt once I’m back at work.” A slight sigh escaped Maggie’s lips.

She looks so tired. How will she get through this? Riley cleared her throat. “Mom—”