“I couldn’t say it on the phone,” she whispered. “I tried. I just kept thinking, look what your son did, and I couldn’t finish the sentence.”
Coach Daniels bent down.
“Diane,” I said, moving closer to my friend.
“I’ve been so jealous of him, Rachel. I sit there, I can’t do anything, and he just walks in, and she’s lively again.”
I pulled her into my arms right there in the doorway. She sobbed into my shoulder, and I held on tighter.
“We’re not rivals,” I said. “We’re in this together.”
***
Six weeks later, Lily’s scans came back, and a miracle had happened: the treatment was working!
“We’re not rivals.”
***
Diane and I sat on my porch that evening, drinking tea and watching the sun go down.
Aaron’s hair was growing back in soft, dark patches. So was Lily’s.
I used to think I was raising a good boy. That day in the hospital, I realized my son had quietly grown into a good young man, and he’d pulled the rest of us up with him.
