She blinked, taken aback. It was a far cry from calling her stupid.

  "That's a nice way to say it," she said finally, a slow smile spreading across her face. She unwrapped the phone cord from around her finger, then entrapped it again. "I appreciate your support. The fact is I'm a control nut who freaked out when she couldn't control the passage of time. My boys grew up and I couldn't stop it. I felt useless and I took it all out on you. I wasn't a good wife to you after Mother died, Mike, and I'm sorry for that."

  The telephone line hummed a one-note tune without words. Maggie held her breath, her mouth dry, though she wasn't quite certain why.

  Finally, Mike said, "I need to go now."

  Maggie's heart sank below her stomach. "Oh. Okay."

  "Um, thanks for calling."

  "Thanks for listening."

  "Yeah. Well. 'Bye."

  " 'Bye."

  Maggie climbed to her feet, but didn't hang up the phone. Neither did he. "Mike?"

  Click.

  She sighed heavily and hung up the phone. It rang almost immediately and she grabbed it, her heart pounding. "Hello?"

  "Mrs. Prescott? This is Prestige Salon. You are late for your two o'clock and Maurice asked me to call and see if you still wanted color this afternoon."

  "My roots." Maggie groaned. "I'm so sorry. Tell Maurice I'll be down in ten minutes."

  She made it in eight and blew into the salon streaming heartfelt apologies. She patronized Prestige Salon because they made it a point to run on time, and she felt terrible about causing her hairdresser to run late. "Skip the cut if you need to make up time, sugar, and just do the color. I'm so sorry."

  He rubbed the bridge of her nose with his thumb. "Don't fret, love. You'll get wrinkles. You've never before been late to an appointment, and I was worried."

  "It's been a rough day."

  "Sit in my chair and relax. I'll give you a quick neck and shoulder massage before we get started."

  After his magic fingers loosened the knots in her neck, he went to work on her roots. Maurice had half her head wrapped in foils Maggie's cell phone rang. Her breath caught. Mike?

  "Hello?"

  "Maggie? It's Holly."

  The call caught her totally by surprise and for a moment, she couldn't respond. Then the bitterness, the loneliness, of the past weeks welled up inside her and emerged in her words. "Well, if it's not Miss Pretend-to-Be-a-Friend."

  "Save it for later. Justin just called. He's making afternoon rounds at Harris and he told me. Maggie, Grace has been admitted to the hospital."

  * * *

  Holly's hands trembled as she worked the buttons on her shirt. She'd been changing out of her work clothes when Justin called and she'd placed the call to Maggie while standing in only a pink bra and panties.

  The sound of Maggie's hello had been welcome to her ears, and she'd felt an immediate sense of relief. But instead of comfort and support, Holly heard snotty remarks from her former friend. The fact she'd been dressed in underwear at the time somehow made it worse. Embarrassed, she retreated into snotty thoughts of her own.

  Fashion-plate Prescott had probably answered the phone wearing her little black dress and diamond earrings while drinking a martini before her date took her to the symphony. Never mind that Maggie didn't drink and the Fort Worth Symphony wasn't performing tonight.

  "Of course, if she wants to go to the symphony, all she needs to do is whip out her checkbook. She can rent out Bass Performance Hall and hire the musicians for a night."

  Holly fumed about Maggie while she pulled on socks and tied her sneakers. Her mutters continued while she grabbed up her keys and dashed for the door.

  Deep inside, Holly sensed she focused on Maggie as a coping mechanism. She'd heard the defensiveness in the woman's voice, and despite all her faults, Maggie wasn't ordinarily catty. But if thinking tacky thoughts about Maggie Prescott helped to get her through the next few minutes and hours, then she'd just be tacky. Holly didn't care about being fair at the moment. She needed something, anything, to help her to avoid worrying about Grace. Otherwise, it might not be safe for her to drive.

  She backed her car out of her driveway and gunned the gas past Mr. Crankpot's house. As she braked at the stop sign at the corner and waited for traffic to ease, her gaze fell upon a row of beaded irises in the yard across the street. The blooms were all gone, the leaves wilting toward brown. Tears welled in Holly’s eyes.

  Grace is going to die.

  All Holly's doubts, her insecurities, her fears came rushing toward her like a West Texas dust storm. Grace would die. Ben and her children and her grandchildren would be devastated.

  Grace admitted to the hospital. Why? Holly's fingers drummed the steering wheel. What event had put her there? The possibilities were endless. Had she a reaction to her meds? Had her cancer spread from her bones? Had she broken a bone, a hip? Had her pain become unmanageable?

  "Oh, Grace." Holly reached beneath her seat for the tissues she kept stored there. She tossed the box into the passenger seat beside her, grabbed one, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  Had Grace gone to the hospital to die? That's what Holly's mom had done. She'd lain in her bed and suffered and screamed. Holly had heard the screams in her nightmares for years afterward. She still heard them.

  "I don't want Grace to die." The spoken words were pure prayer. "Especially not like that."

  It wasn't fair. Grace didn't deserve this. She was too good a woman. Stubborn, but good. She should live to a ripe old age. She should see her grandchildren grown and happy. She should complete her Life List. She should—

  Holly braked hard at a red light. "Jeeze Louise. Her anniversary."

  The big day was only two weeks away. Two weeks. Oh, no. Poor Grace. Poor Ben. Their golden anniversary. Why did this have to happen now? Not three weeks from now? Hadn't she heard dozens of stories about terminal patients who outlived their doctors' prognosis because they wanted to reach a certain anniversary or attend a special event? What happened here? How could Grace falter two weeks—two weeks!—before the Big Event?

  "Is this our fault?" Holly's shoe slipped off the accelerator. Had she and Maggie completely ruined the Pink Sisterhood wish for Grace, taken all the pleasure out of it and caused her to falter in her goal to live past the big day?

  Tears slipped down Holly's face. She'd never forgive herself.

  These thoughts and others just as bleak continued to roll through Holly's head as she took the hospital exit off the freeway. The red brick building rose twelve stories against the pale blue sky and she frowned at the sight of it, debating where to park. Would it be faster to try the emergency room first or should she head straight for the patient information desk in the lobby?

  Dang it, she should have quizzed Justin more when he called. Since he'd been in his hurried, harried doctor mode, he'd told her only that he'd run into Ben in the hallway. Grace had been admitted and Justin thought Holly would want to know. His news had shocked her, sent her reeling. The dozens of questions now tumbling around her brain hadn't occurred until after he'd hung up.

  It occurred to her that Justin might have hurried off the phone on purpose. Maybe he hadn't wanted to be the one to reveal how bad Grace's condition really was.

  Holly's stomach was in knots as she parked her car and hurried through the hospital's front doors. She stopped at the patient information desk. "Mrs. Grace Hardeman, please? I'm told she's been admitted, but I don't know where to look—"

  "Room 563. Use the central elevators and turn left."

  "Thanks." Holly dashed for the bank of elevators and punched the up button hard. As the doors opened and the elevator began to ascend, it occurred to her that Grace might not want to see her. Maybe she hated Holly now. Or if Grace was willing to forgive and forget, Ben might feel differently.

  With that thought lying heavy on her heart, she exited the elevator and followed the signs leading to Room 563. Outside her destination, she wiped sweaty hands on her pants, then knocked.

  "Come in," Grace called.

  At least she was still alive. Holly pushed open the heavy door, walked inside, then stopped in her tracks and gasped. Every visible inch of Grace's skin was red and inflamed. What in the world happened to her?

  "Why, Holly. This is a surprise."

  "Justin called me. Grace. Oh, Grace." Holly stepped toward the bed and began to babble. "I'm so sorry about everything. I feel so bad about everything. I wish I could fix everything."

  Grace's brows arched. "And everything would be...?"

  Holly fumbled for a reply. "I just... I don't... I want to be your friend, Grace. I just want to be your friend."

  Her answering smile lifted a shadow from Holly's heart. "I've missed you, honey. I'm sorry we quarreled."

  "Oh, me too." Holly blinked back tears, but couldn't keep the horror from her voice when she asked, "Grace. Your skin. Are you in terrible pain?"

  Her friend grimaced. "Oh, it's awful. I don't ever recall being this uncomfortable, not even during chemo when I was nauseated all the time. Logic tells me that was worse, but time dulls the memory. Whereas this nonsense today is impossible to ignore." She thumbed a button on the rail and the bed shifted her into a sitting position. "Look at this."

  She flipped back the sheet, revealing her legs. Holly covered her mouth with her hand. The hospital gown hit her mid-thigh. From there to the tip of her toes, Grace's skin was one bright reddish-pink rash.

  Oh my God. Is this what skin cancer looks like?

  "This shouldn't be happening. This is so awful. Where's Ben? Where are your children? Why are you going through this alone?"

  Grace grimaced as she shifted uncomfortably in her bed. "Ben's gone down to the cafeteria for coffee with your Justin. We haven't told the children. I especially don't want my granddaughter to know about this. Not until it's over."

  "Until it's over?" Holly slumped into the guest chair. She could hold back her tears no longer. "Until it's over? Grace, how can you say that!"

  She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

  "Holly, what is it?"

  "I don't want you to die! I love you and I'm ashamed because even as I worry about how Ben will manage, worry about your children and grandchildren and their grief, I'm also thinking about me. You're dying and I'm worrying about myself. How's that for being selfish?"

  She wiped her eyes, determined to be stronger for Grace. "I thought I was finally learning to deal with all of this. After our trip to St. Louis, I made a decision, Grace. A big one. I wanted to call you and talk to you about it, but after our quarrel... well... I decided to wait until I got the results. Now I wish I'd called. I wish... oh, Grace."

  "What results, honey?"

  "I had the test, Grace. I have an appointment tomorrow with the genetics counselor to review the results. I'm okay with it. At least, I thought I was okay with it. I've even been looking at bridal magazines. The mother of one of my students is a florist and I actually asked her about bridal bouquets. But now... seeing you here... like this... I don't see how—"

  "Holly, wait. You don't under—"

  "I should have known I was borrowing trouble. I'm not getting married. Nothing has changed." She fumbled in her purse for a tissue and blew her nose. “I can’t get married."

  Hearing a sound from the doorway, she looked up.

  Ben entered the room holding a steaming cup of coffee in each hand.

  Behind him stood Justin. Frustration flashed across his face before his expression abruptly went cold. Blank. Without saying a word, he turned where he stood and left.

  Ben tossed Holly a chastising look as he handed his wife a cup of coffee. Shaking his head, he followed Justin out the door.

  Silence descended in their wake. Holly eyed the kidney-shaped plastic barf bowl and wondered if she'd need to use it. Her stomach churned like a Texas tornado.

  Grace sipped half her coffee before she spoke. "You really chap my hide, Holly Weeks. Which, I might mention, only compounds the current problem."

  "What do you mean?"

  "So much is itching me. Where do I start?" She sighed heavily. "You should be ashamed. It offends me to hear you talk that way. Do you know what I would give to have my health like you do? Do you know how much I wish I had your energy, your possibilities, your future? How dare you waste it. How dare you!"

  Grace sat up straight. "Do you think you are the only one who is afraid? I'm the one with metastatic breast cancer. I'm the one who, barring a miracle, will most likely die of this disease. I have every right to be afraid and sometimes I am. Sometimes I'm terrified. But I've never, ever, allowed that fear to make me a victim. Shame on you for letting it win."

  "But—"

  "Hush. I'm not done with you. I know your mother's death was wrenching to the young girl you were. I know it's difficult to live with the knowledge that you might carry a bad gene. But my stars, girl, you must get a grip on yourself. Life is short, whether we live to be twenty-five or ninety-five. You owe it to those who love you to live every minute of it. You owe it to your mother's memory. How many items are on your Life List?"

  The unexpected question blanked Holly's mind. "Uh, thirty-two."

  "Then you need to make it thirty-three. You need one more line that says 'I will die knowing I have lived.' And right before you take your final breath, I expect you to pick up that little gold pen of yours and check the damn thing off!"

  While Holly fumbled for a response to Grace's cursing, a wild-eyed, wilder-haired figure burst into the room. "I got here as fast as I could," Maggie gasped.

  Jeeze Louise. And Holly had thought Maggie looked strange that day in the Wal-Mart parking lot. This was the first time Holly had seen highlight foils worn in public. Maggie had on jeans and a yellow polka dot blouse, and she carried a brown accordion file and a cute, Kate Spade yellow polka dot bag.

  Holly smiled for the first time in over an hour. For a pretty woman, Maggie Prescott displayed very little vanity. Bossiness, however, remained in plentiful supply.

  "I've made a list of specialists, Grace." She nodded toward the file. "They're ranked in order of reputation. I have phone numbers and contact names, but I haven't talked to a soul. This is entirely your decision. I'm here to help you if you'd like, but I won't do a thing unless you okay it first. I also have names for those to speak with regarding insurance concerns. Oh, and I've included names of hotels near the medical centers and the different discount programs they offer for patient families."

  She handed the file to Grace and in doing so, took her first good look at Grace's skin. "Good gracious, sugar. Look at you. Where in the world have you been gardening? The poison ivy nursery?"

  Grace held out her arms and grimaced. "Isn't it awful? My sweet granddaughter whipped up a new fragrance in lotion for me and it turns out I'm horribly allergic to it. I used it for the first time after my bath this morning and broke out in hives from head to toe."

  "Hives?" Holly squeaked. "This is hives?"

  "You poor thing," Maggie said.

  "It's not some vile form of skin cancer?"

  Grace leveled her a chastising look. "You never even asked, Holly. You simply assumed."

  "They put you in the hospital for hives? Because of skin lotion?"

  "I recently began a new medication and this reaction concerns my doctors, even though I'm personally certain the lotion caused the trouble." She gestured toward the IV bag hanging beside her bed. "They're giving me an antidote of sorts that requires careful administration. Something to do with my immune system. That's why they're keeping me. I'm happy to be here, though, because the itching has almost stopped. It was driving me crazy."

  Maggie shot Holly a glare. "I was led to believe you'd... um... suffered a setback."

  "Yes, well. Who was it that said 'Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated'?"

  "Mark Twain." Holly scuffed the toe of her sneaker against the tile floor. "Maggie, take those ridiculous foils off your head."

  "Foils? Oh. Oops." Maggie winced as she whipped off the frosting cap and finger-combed her hair. "I probably should wash this out. I was in a hurry to leave."

  Grace thumbed through the file Maggie had given her, reading aloud the tab. " 'Grace's Cancer File'?"

  "I like to keep organized." Maggie's smile was sheepish. "Thank goodness you don't need all that information. I'll take the file home with me if you'd like. You might not want it cluttering up your house."

  "There must be a hundred pages in here."

  "Closer to two hundred, I think." Maggie pulled the room's second guest chair up close to the bed. Taking her seat, she leaned forward, speaking earnestly. "Grace, I know this looks like a lot. I want you to know I didn't look into this because I think you're fixing to... to... expire. I'm just a believer in the adage that information is power and I want you to have access to everything you need to make the best decisions possible for the treatment of your disease."

  "Maggie, this is the nicest gesture of friendship I have ever received."

  As Maggie visibly relaxed, Grace's gaze fell to her lap. Holly saw her swallow hard. Then, looking up, she addressed them both. "I apologize for what happened in St. Louis. I overreacted. I know your hearts were in the right place, and I acted the ungracious, ungrateful witch."

  "No, Grace," Holly protested. "We shouldn't have gone behind your back that way."

  "Perhaps, but it was lovely that you did. Earlier, Holly, I scolded you for allowing yourself to be ruled by fear. Well, I need to practice what I preach. You see, I'm so afraid of being afraid. Sounds silly, doesn't it? But it's the truth. When I first learned my disease had metastasized I was crippled by fear. Hearing that diagnosis the second time..." Her voice trailed off; she shut her eyes and shuddered.

  Maggie reached out and took her hand.

  "I wasted my days waiting to die," Grace continued. "It was an ugly way to live and it took counseling and convincing by my health care providers that death was more than a few days away. But the fear is always lurking in the shadows. As silly as it sounds, the fear frightens me more than the cancer. That's what I was reacting to in St. Louis. When I think others believe I am dying, that old monster starts emerging from the darkness."