When Michael became sick, she had decided to tell me immediately.
But Michael asked her to wait.
He was afraid of spending the final months of his lsife watching our family fall apart.
And Susan agreed.s
Once again, they had made the decision for me.
I stood up and opened the hotel room door.
Susan understood.
She stood as well.
When she reached the door, she turned toward me.
“Yesterday I said it would be our last picture as friends because I knew that after today, you would never call me your friend again.”
I looked at her.
Thirty-seven years of memories passed through my mind.
Two little girls in a schoolyard.
Our first school dance.
My wedding.
The birth of my children.
My mother’s funeral.
Michael’s last night in the hospital.
And Susan was present in every one of those memories.
But now every memory seemed to have two different versions.
