We faced each other in matching Pink Hope shoes. Five years, five anti-cancer walks.
We weren’t here to walk.
“I asked you out here because Doc said I have to get my things in order,” Leann rasped, haltingly.
She asked to meet early, alone. “What would you like me to do, Lee?”
Instinctively, I reached to comfort her. She blocked my embrace.
“Take care of Mom. The kids. And – um.” I heard resignation. Regret.
“About visitors. I hate tears.”
“Okay. If they can’t keep it together,” my hope exhaled.
“That’s all.”
The shoes sit on my shelf.
We weren’t here to walk.
“I asked you out here because Doc said I have to get my things in order,” Leann rasped, haltingly.
She asked to meet early, alone. “What would you like me to do, Lee?”
Instinctively, I reached to comfort her. She blocked my embrace.
“Take care of Mom. The kids. And – um.” I heard resignation. Regret.
“About visitors. I hate tears.”
“Okay. If they can’t keep it together,” my hope exhaled.
“That’s all.”
The shoes sit on my shelf.
