Kitty and the Silver Bullet

Chapter 2

I didn't feel good.

I never felt great after a full moon night, but that not feeling good was like a hangover after a party. You suffered and didn't complain, because you'd had your fun and this was the price. Rather, the Wolf had her fun and left me to deal with the consequences.

But right now, I really didn't feel good. I felt sick, which was weird, because I hadn't been sick since becoming a werewolf. The same thing that made me a werewolf made me immune. Indestructible, almost. I curled up on my side, holding my stomach, which churned with cramps. No, it wasn't my stomach, it was lower than that. Deeper. Like menstrual cramps, but I'd never had them this bad. My insides felt like they were grinding themselves up.

"What's wrong?" Ben shifted behind me, where he'd been nestled asleep. He propped himself on an elbow and kissed my shoulder.

I must have let out a groan or something. "I don't feel good."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Cramps or something."

“They always this bad?"

"Ben, we've been living together for five months, you should know the answer to that." He glared, unamused. I shook my head. "No, never."

"What else could it be?" He was sitting up now, his hand on my arm, frowning worriedly at me.

"I don't know." That came out with a definite whine.

"Should you go to a hospital or something?"

"I never have to go to the hospital."

"Kitty, what if this is serious? You've been tired and sick for weeks."

"It's just cramps. What else could it be?"

"I have no idea what it could be—cancer? You accidentally swallowed a butcher knife last night? I don't know."

"Werewolves don't get cancer."

"Kitty." He bowed his head. "Never mind, do what you think is best."

"You think I should go to a doctor."

"Can you even sit up right now?"

I didn't want to think about sitting up, I hurt that much. Which meant maybe he was right.

"I don't have health insurance. Werewolves don't need health insurance." I reached for his hand; he took it, held it. He gave me that exasperated look he always did when I was being stubborn.

"One checkup won't break the bank."

"But what if something's really wrong?"

"You said it yourself—werewolves don't get sick."

“Then I don't have to go to the doctor."

We glared. He looked away first—deferring to the more experienced. A submissive wolf. He dug my clothes out of the hole we'd stashed them in and threw them at me.

"Let's get moving, then see how you feel."

"Ben?"

"Hm?"

I held his arm, pulled on it, drew him close. Kissed him, and was happy when he smiled. "Let's go."

Back at home, I returned my mother's weekly Sunday phone call. Every Sunday she called, like clockwork. She'd known I was out for the full moon, but she'd left a message anyway. "Call back when you can, let me know everything's okay." She tried to be supportive in her own way. She'd convinced herself that my being a werewolf was like joining a club that did some vaguely dangerous and thrilling activity, like rock climbing.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Kitty. How was your weekend?"

Oh, I turned into a wolf, killed something, woke up naked in the middle of the woods, went home, and brushed my teeth a half-dozen times to get the taste of blood out of my mouth. "It was okay. I haven't been feeling too great, I think something's stressing me out."

"Any idea what?"

"Maybe it's the book coming out. I'm worried how it's going to do."

"It'll be fine—I've read it, it's a really good book. People will love it."

"You're my mother, you're supposed to say that."

"Of course I am," she said happily.

And who could argue with that? "Ben thinks I should go to the doctor."

"It certainly couldn't hurt. It might make you feel better if they can tell you that nothing's wrong."

And if something was wrong? What was the local general practitioner going to know about lycanthropy anyway?

"Nothing's wrong," I insisted.

"Of course not," she said. "Nothing's ever wrong until it is." Her tone had become serious.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She paused, like she was trying to decide what to say. Then she sighed. "It means it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Mom, is something wrong?" The conversation had gone a bit weird.

"Oh, no, not really. I just think Ben's right is all."

I couldn't win. I was besieged. "Okay. I'll think about it."

She changed the subject. "When are we going to meet this Ben character of yours?"

She knew I was living with Ben; I couldn't keep him a secret. She'd expressed a great deal of worry that, out of the blue, I'd apparently shacked up with my lawyer. I didn't tell her he'd become a werewolf in the meantime.

"I don't know, Mom. Maybe Christmas?"

"Kitty. That's months off. That's most of the year off."

"You aren't even ecstatic that I'm bringing up the possibility of coming home for Christmas this year?"

"I'll admit, that would be nice."

"I'll talk it over with Ben. Maybe we can work something out for this summer."

She seemed to be happy with the compromise, because she changed the subject, moving on to the topic of family, Dad and my sister and her brood, like our typical calls. The whole thing was comforting. No matter what I did or what happened to me, Mom was always there with her phone calls.

After I'd hung up Ben said, "I'm still not ready to meet your family."

"You'll notice I didn't commit us to anything."

"I'm just saying."

I almost argued. I could have said all sorts of things, needled him, picked at that sore spot until it festered: why not, what's wrong with my family, you just don't want to admit that we're in a relationship, and so on. I started to say these things, just to see what his reaction would be.

But I let it go, because I wasn't ready for that argument any more than Ben was ready to meet my family.

I started bleeding that afternoon. I should have been relieved—my period, that's all it was. But it was late, there was too much, and something about it wasn't right. So I went to the doctor on Monday.

The nurse drew blood. The doctor wanted a urine sample. She wanted me to strip and sit on the examination table in a flimsy paper shirt. Then she poked, prodded, all the rest of it. In the five or so years since the last time I'd been in a doctor's office, I hadn't missed it, not once, not at all. The place had a weird smell. Everything was disinfected to within an inch of its life, but the antiseptic only covered up an underlying odor of illness telling me that sick people passed through here all day long.

I sat there for an hour, waiting. When the nurse poked her head in and said I could get dressed, I nearly sprang off the table.

"Is Dr. Luce coming back? Did she say anything?"

"She'll be with you in just a minute."

The door closed, and I dressed quickly. A knock came a moment later. It cracked open before I said anything, and Dr. Luce, a busy middle-aged woman, short, with graying hair and a fancy multicolored patterned lab coat, hustled in.

"Good, you're dressed. If you'd take a seat there?"

She took the chair at the desk, I sat in the one right next to it. My stomach was jumping with anxiety. She wasn't smiling. If nothing was wrong, she'd be smiling. She glanced at my hands, which were kneading the fabric of my jeans, then met my gaze.

"Kitty, did you know you were pregnant?"

I froze, mouth open. That wasn't what I thought she would say. In retrospect, I should have expected it. All the signs were there: the exhaustion, the nausea, which was how everyone said it started. But that didn't apply to me, apparently. For some reason I couldn't process the question. She waited patiently, but my mouth was too dry to speak. I had to swallow a couple of times.

"No. I mean—no. Were? Were pregnant?"

"You've had a miscarriage. I'm very sorry."

"Oh," was all I could manage.

She launched into the prognosis. "You're fine. You're going to be fine, I'll say that first off. I'm not surprised you didn't know, you were probably only three or four weeks along based on the hormone levels. You'll experience cramping for a few more days; I can give you a prescription for that. This is actually fairly common…" And so on. I wished Ben were here. I very much wished Ben were here to hold my hand.

"I recommend waiting several months before trying again."

"I wasn't trying this time," I blurted.

She pursed her lips. "Then I recommend taking extra care with protection for the next few months."

Protection, hah. Mornings after a full moon, with the Wolf still so close to the surface, filling me, curled up with Ben, protection wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind. In fact, that was probably when it had happened—last full moon. I was embarrassed to admit that I didn't know enough about my own cycle, my own plumbing, and the whole process to know if that was when it could have happened.

"Doctor, you saw my record. My…" Um, what should I call it? "My preexisting condition. What impact does that have on any of this?"

"Yes, the lycanthropy. I'm afraid I have no experience with that—it hasn't made its way to the literature yet. I don't even know where to go to find out. Do you have any contacts? Anyone you could ask?"

"Yeah, I think I do. Thanks."

I accepted all her advice and the prescription form in a daze. She kept asking if I had any questions, and I couldn't think of any. I should have had questions, lots of questions. But the whole world had gone fuzzy, like I was looking at it through a filter.

I made it to my car and found my cell phone.

After two rings I heard, "Hello, Dr. Shumacher."

Dr. Elizabeth Shumacher was the new head of the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology, the government research branch that really ought to start sending out bulletins to people like Dr. Luce. But really, how often did any doctor expect to see someone like me show up in their waiting room?

"Hi, Doctor, it's Kitty Norville."

"Oh! Hi, Kitty, how are you?" She sounded cheerful and genuinely happy to hear from me—unlike her predecessor, who had always acted like he was starring in a spy drama.

"Okay. I have a question: What do you know about lycanthropes and pregnancy?"

"Not a whole lot. The research hasn't gotten that far. Everything I have on file is anecdotal."

"What do the anecdotes say?"

"Well, everyone I've talked to, everything I've heard or read, says that female lycanthropes don't get pregnant."

"No, that can't—"

"Rather I should say they don't stay pregnant. They can conceive, but the embryo doesn't survive shape-shifting. They miscarry every time. My guess is a female lycanthrope may become pregnant many times and never realize it, since she'll never be more than a couple of weeks along before she has to shift. If the timing is right she might be as much as a month along. But I'm guessing that's rare."

Holy shit. I leaned back in the seat, holding my forehead, feeling ill all over again. Feverish, I wanted to throw up. I rolled down the window and let in clear air.

Dr. Shumacher kept talking in the manner of a scientist who's launched in on a topic she finds utterly fascinating, without much thought about her audience's reaction. "It makes sense, if you think about it. The mutation has to reproduce via infection because biological reproduction is impossible. This is probably true of vampirism as well. The same mechanism in vampirism that stops aging prevents the cellular growth required for biological reproduction. Formulating a theory along these lines is pretty high on my list…"

She must have known something was wrong when I stayed quiet for so long. She said, "Kitty—why are you asking this? Has something happened?"

"It's about a friend," I said blithely, transparently. She'd guess the truth. "I'm asking for a friend."

Why didn't I know this? Why had this never come up before? Why hadn't Meg—the alpha female of my old pack, who'd held my hand when I was new, then driven me out when I wasn't—told me any of this? Had she known?

Why didn't any of us talk to each other? Warn each other?

"You'll call me if you need anything, yes? You're my primary informant, you know," she said, concerned. I couldn't tell her. I didn't feel like talking about it.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll call. Thanks." I moved like a robot to put away the phone.

I held my stomach. Why had I never thought of this before? Why had I never considered? I hadn't wanted kids. I didn't want to be pregnant. This shouldn't matter. Then why did I feel gutted? I hadn't known, so it shouldn't mean anything. But it did, and the shock of that was one shock too many.

Ben came home from a courtroom appearance late that afternoon. He found me sitting in the kitchen, the lights out, working on my third beer. I hadn't filled Dr. Luce's prescription. Alcohol seemed to work just fine; I was starting to feel very, very relaxed.

He set his briefcase on the floor and pulled up the chair across from me. "What happened?"

I took a deep breath. I'd been rehearsing this carefully. My brain was hazy, though, and it came out weird. Obliquely. I spoke too slowly to make sure the words came out right. I must have sounded nuts.

"Have you ever had the experience of not knowing you wanted something until someone told you you couldn't have it?"

"I don't know. I've always kind of wanted a Porsche. Can I have one?" His attempt at a smile faded.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "This is different. This is…it's screwing with me and I don't know what to think."

"Kitty. Stop talking around it. Tell me what's wrong."

Mine. His. It had been both of ours. "The doctor said I had a miscarriage. I called Shumacher at the Center, and she told me lycanthropes always have miscarriages. That shape-shifting and pregnancy…it doesn't survive. I thought—I guess I assumed that if I wanted to have kids someday, it wouldn't be a problem. I just assumed. I never even asked. But I can't. And I didn't think I'd be this upset about it. I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense." I took a swig of beer and turned away to hide my face.

He didn't say anything. I couldn't guess what he was thinking. Wasn't sure I wanted to know. So I didn't look at him. I tried to block out the world, so I wouldn't have to process anything that wasn't in my own head.

Then he moved. Slipped out of his chair and knelt next to mine. Put his arms around me, held me against him, laid my head on his shoulder, and murmured, "Shh."

He knew I was crying before I felt it myself. He saw it coming, but I didn't know it until I was sobbing onto his shoulder and kneading the shirt across his back with stiff fingers.

After I'd cried myself out, we migrated to the sofa, where I lay curled up against him, snuggled in his arms.

"Did you know you were pregnant?"

"No. I should have known. Should I have known? You think I'd know something like that."

"I don't know anything about it."

"I'm kind of glad I didn't know. What if I'd known, gotten used to the idea, maybe even gotten excited, and then—" I shook my head. "Does that sound weird?"

"I don't know. What would sound normal?"

"This happens all the time, people go through this all the time. Why is it so…What about you? Do you want kids?" I twisted around so I could see him better.

He waited a long time before he said, "No."

"Then you're glad it turned out this way."

"Kitty, no, it's not like that." He blew out a frustrated sigh. "A year ago it never would have occurred to me that it was even a possibility. That I'd be living with someone and that the issue would even come up. I might have changed my mind. I don't know."

Neither did I. A common phrase, lately.

I snuggled closer. "I feel like someone's taken something away from me. It makes me angry."

We must have stayed there for hours. I was intensely grateful. I didn't know how I expected him to react I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd run screaming. But I needed to be close to him, and he stayed.

I'd started to fall asleep—it must have been close to midnight—when the doorbell rang. The freaking doorbell.

"Who the hell is it at this hour?" Ben said, grumpy.

"Vampire?" I muttered.

He gave me the smirking you can't be serious look. Neither one of us moved. We couldn't be expected to answer the door at midnight.

But the bell rang again, longer, like our visitor was leaning on the button.

Ben groaned. "It's an emergency. Has to be."

"Light's on. Can't pretend we're asleep."

Making a production out of it, he extricated himself from my grip and stood. "You stay, I'll check on it."

I didn't argue.

A full minute later I heard from the front door, "Kitty? It's for you."

I had no idea who it could be. I didn't know anyone in Pueblo besides Ben.

I trudged to the front door. Ben gripped the handle of the open door and looked back at me. And there, on the other side of the threshold, stood Rick. The vampire.

I needed to stop making flippant remarks like that.

"Oh my God. Rick."

"Hi, Kitty." His height was average and his features pale, vaguely aristocratic, like a figure from an old painting. That may also have been the way he carried himself—straight-backed, self-possessed. Nothing would ever make him lose his temper. His dark hair was brushed back from his face and just touched his shoulders. He wore dark slacks, a well-pressed shirt, smart shoes—and an overcoat, in summer.

Rick was an odd duck. He was affiliated with Arturo, the Master vampire of Denver, but he also maintained a degree of independence. I wasn't sure what he did for Arturo, or what he got out of the association. I wasn't exactly an expert on vampire internal politics. I did know he was at least a couple hundred years old, and he'd been in the region for much of that time. He had some great Old West stories. In the past, we'd done favors for each other, passing along useful information. Neither of us was as territorial as others of our kind.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story. May I come in?" He gestured at the threshold.

I had to invite him in. He looked at me, waiting, and I stared back, stupefied.

Ben inched closer to me and said to my ear, privately, "He smells dead."

"Yeah," I whispered back. "That's how vampires smell."

"It's weird." He glared sidelong at Rick.

The vampire waited quietly. I couldn't decide what to do.

"Do you trust him?" Ben said. Ben and Cormac had been vampire hunting together. We'd never really discussed how Ben felt about vampires, but I knew he didn't think well of them in general.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," Rick said.

Rick had never given me a reason to be suspicious of him. I thought of him as one of the good guys. He'd done me favors. Still, I couldn't help but feel like I was going to regret this.

"Come on in," I said with a sigh, and stepped aside. Rick stepped across the threshold, hands stuck in the pockets of his overcoat.

I sneaked a glimpse out at the curb. I wanted to see what kind of car a vampire would drive. Fully in character, I spotted a BMW convertible, silver and zippy. No way anyone in this neighborhood drove that car.

I gave a low whistle. "Nice."

"Thanks," Rick said.

Turning back inside, I closed the door. "I'd offer you something to drink, but, well—no way. No offense."

"That's all right. I had a drink before I came."

Ben shook his head, scowling. To me he said, "I hate vampires."

Rick wore an amused smile. "Kitty, it's been a while. How are you?"

"Now's not really a good time to ask that. I'm kind of drunk." And sick. Sick at heart. "Um, this is my friend, Ben. Ben, Rick."

"Ben O'Farrell, isn't it?" Rick said.

Ben's back tightened, his shoulders bunching like hackles rising. A response to danger. He looked hard at Rick. "Have we met?"

"No. But you have an entry in the same file Arturo keeps on that bounty hunter, Cormac. It doesn't say anything about you being a werewolf."

I thought for a minute Ben was going to jump him, the way every muscle in his body seemed to quiver. I resisted an urge to grab him and hold him back. But I had to admit, I was also creeped out that Arturo was keeping files on Cormac and God knew who else. Me, most definitely. Couldn't help but wonder what it looked like.

Trying to exude calm, I touched Ben's arm.

"You going to take that information back to him?" Ben asked.

"No," he said.

"Rick—how did you find me?"

"Matt gave me your address."

Matt, the engineer from KNOB, my old radio station. "Okay, now did he give it to you, or did you, let's see, how do I put this…persuade him to give it to you?"

"He, ah, might have taken a little persuading." He actually smiled at that.

I rolled my eyes. I was sure Matt was fine. Rick probably hadn't needed to do more than look him in the eyes and work a little of his vampire mojo on him. If I asked Matt, he wouldn't remember what had happened.

"Can we sit down somewhere?" Rick said.

We retreated to the living room. Ben and I sat on the sofa, and Rick found a chair to pull across from us. He sat, then leaned forward, elbows on knees. He seemed casual, almost friendly, at odds with the usual vampire sense of sophistication. Most vampires liked to be the coolest thing in the room. Rick usually didn't bother with the pretension. The BMW notwithstanding.

He hesitated, studying me and Ben both, sizing us up. I didn't look straight back at him. Didn't meet that hypnotic gaze.

"I need your help," he said.

I couldn't guess what he could possibly need from me that would drag him all the way out here from Denver. "What kind of help do you need that you couldn't just call?"

He said, "I'm going to move against Arturo. I'm looking for backing."

He surprised me into staring back at him. He wanted to stage a coup and take over Denver? I hadn't thought he had that kind of ambition in him. Hell, he'd told me he didn't have that kind of ambition. Something had changed, obviously.

"Why?"

From an inside pocket of his overcoat, he drew out a folded piece of paper—a newspaper article. After unfolding it, he offered it to me. It showed a front-page story about a series of attacks that had taken place at a downtown nightclub. No one had been killed, but at least three people had been taken to the hospital with severe bite wounds. The victims claimed vampires had attacked them—though the vampires must have been pretty sloppy if the people even remembered being attacked. According to the article, the authorities were skeptical, but in this day and age they were considering all options. The article also included a quote from the CDC assuring people that a simple bite from a vampire would not infect them with vampirism. That didn't stop people from freaking out.

The fact that Rick was showing me this suggested it really had been vampires.

"I'm afraid he's losing control."

Part of a city's Master's job was to keep things like this from happening. Keep the city's vampires under control. If they weren't controlled, people could die. When people died, the authorities got interested, and vampires didn't want that kind of attention if they expected to maintain their little empires.

"There's more," Rick continued. "If he's perceived as weak by outsiders, others could move in to take control. He's in danger of losing his authority. If he seeks help from outside, he's in danger of losing his autonomy entirely."

"Other Masters are moving in? Besides you?"

"It's complicated. But I don't want to see control of the region fall into the wrong hands."

"And your hands are the right ones?"

He presented those hands in a gesture of offering.

My gut feeling liked Rick. But I didn't know much more about him than that. Not enough to feel confident that his hands were the right ones. But I trusted him more than I trusted Arturo. Arturo hated my show and had tried to have me killed to get me to stop. Just on that basis I'd rather have Rick in charge.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"The Denver werewolves will side with Arturo. Arturo has Carl and Meg's allegiance." Carl and Meg, the alpha pair that headed the Denver pack. Not my favorite people in the world by a long shot. In fact, I'd be happy if I never heard their names again.

I did not like where this was going.

Rick said, "If you could take over the pack—"

"No," I said.

"You're strong enough. Especially with help." He glanced at Ben suggestively. Like he thought we would make a good alpha pair.

This was crazy.

"No. No way. I lost that fight. I'm in exile, and you know what? I like being in exile. I don't want to go back. They can keep the damn pack. I'm sorry, Rick, but you're going to have to find another way to get the werewolves on your side."

"The situation's changed since you left. Degenerated. How long have you been gone, six months?"

"Eight. Nine, maybe."

"Three more from your pack have died in that time. Carl and Meg killed them. You and T. J. stirred up the rest of the pack, and those two are barely maintaining control. It's unhealthy, Kitty. It's on the verge of anarchy. It needs help to make it safe for its members again."

I couldn't save the world. I couldn't solve everyone's problems. I was barely keeping my own life together.

"What makes you think I could do that?"

"Because you almost did it eight months ago. You've grown stronger since then. I can tell just by looking at you."

"No."

Ben took my hand, squeezed it. His turn to comfort me, now. He said, "Kitty's right, this isn't the best time to talk about this."

"I'm sorry, but I'm running out of time," he said. "The city is running out of time. Some vampires don't care about control."

I shook my head. "Rick, I can't save everyone. The thing is, I like being a rogue. I like being on my own. I like not having to worry about a pissy alpha looking over my shoulder all the time, or worrying what a dozen other werewolves are doing behind my back. I get to have my own life."

"Your own life—with your mate."

Pack of two. I kept forgetting. "That's right."

"What would it take to bring you back to Denver?" Rick said.

I glared. "Nothing will bring me back to Denver. I'm sorry."

"Well. Thanks for your honesty." He stood and shook out his coat.

I walked him to the door, with Ben lurking behind us, trying to be menacing and unobtrusive at the same time. It made him look surly.

To Rick I said, "It's awfully trusting of you, telling me what you're planning. There's a lot of people in Denver who'd like to know about it."

"If you were on good terms with any of them, I might be worried." He smiled a crooked smile. "You're trusting enough to invite me into your home. I'm returning the favor."

I wouldn't have thought twice about inviting a friend into my home. But Rick gave the action gravity. In his world, one couldn't take such invitations for granted. I wondered: Had he expected me to say no? Would he have turned around and driven away if I hadn't offered the invitation? Had he only told me his plans after I passed that test?

"When's it happening?" I asked, testing this new trust we'd apparently established.

He shrugged. "I'm still marshaling forces. Soon."

"How do I find out how it all turns out?"

"Come to Denver in a month or so. See if anyone tries to kill you." That smile again.

"I hate you people. I hate this crap."

"Then stay in Pueblo." With a sarcastic edge he added, "I'm positive no one will bother you here."

That was some kind of dig, I was sure.

He was halfway down the walk to his car when I leaned out the doorway. "Rick? Good luck."

He glanced at me over his shoulder, buried his hands in his pockets, and continued on.

Ben came up behind me, body to body, and put his hand on my hip. "I don't have to tell you that guy made me nervous, do I?"

"Yeah, well, let's hope you never meet the guy he's trying to replace."

"That's the guy with a file on Cormac."

"Denver's Master vamp."

"I didn't know Denver even rated a Master vampire. You've met him? What's he like?"

"Let's just say Rick has his work cut out for him."

I squirmed out of his embrace just enough to close the door, then pulled myself back into his arms. The beer hit me all at once, and I was about to fall asleep on my feet. I tugged at his shirt and hoped my voice wasn't too slurred. "Let's go to bed."

The getting drunk worked, because I fell asleep without thinking of babies, miscarriages, blood, vampire wars, or much of anything at all.

My cell phone, sitting on the bedstand, rang. I jerked awake, feeling like someone had hit a gong over my face. Then the headache struck. I groaned and burrowed under the pillow.

"Are you getting that?" Ben sounded annoyed.

"What time is it?"

"Early."

And the damn phone kept ringing. I grabbed it and checked caller ID. My parents' number showed on the display. It was Tuesday, not Sunday, Mom wouldn't be calling if it wasn't Sunday. Unless something was wrong.

I pressed the talk key. "Hello?"

"Kitty?" My father answered.

I sat up. Something was wrong. I loved my dad, and we got along great—at least since I'd moved out on my own. But he never called me. A sudden wave of gooseflesh covered my arms.

"Dad, hi."

Ben propped himself on his elbow, watching me, his brow creased with concern. He'd probably sensed something in my voice, and in the way my whole body went rigid.

"Can you come up here today? This morning?"

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Your mother's checking into the hospital."

"What?" My voice came out too high-pitched. "Why, what for?" Ben's hand moved to my leg, a comforting pressure.

"Did she tell you she went in for a mammogram last week?"

"No. Wait a minute—how long has she known about this?" She'd known something was wrong during our phone call on Sunday and didn't tell me. My eyes stung, suddenly, painfully.

Dad took a deep breath—a calming breath, preparing for exposition. It couldn't have been that bad, I told myself. If Dad could be calm, nothing could be that wrong.

"She went in because she found a lump," he said. "It could be nothing, it could be benign. They'll remove it and run the tests. She'll only stay there overnight. It's perfectly routine."

Was he trying to convince me, or himself?

Dad continued. "She didn't want me to tell you. She said she didn't want to be a bother just in case it turns out to be nothing. But I think it would mean a lot to her if you could be here."

If not for her, then for him. Maybe the weight of fear and uncertainty would be easier to bear if there were more of us to carry it.

"Yeah, sure I'll be there. What time? Where?" I took the phone to the next room in a search of pen and paper. Found it, scribbled down Dad's instructions. Repeated them all back. Mundane details kept the brain numb.

"Sorry about waking you," he said. "I wouldn't have called if I didn't think it was important."

"No, it's fine, I'm glad you called. Dad—how are you doing?"

"It's going to be fine. We'll go in and get this taken care of, and everything'll be fine." He spoke with an edge of desperation. He said the words as if he thought speech would make them fact.

"That didn't really answer my question."

After a pause, he said, "I'm holding up. Mom's the important one right now."

"Yeah. I'm coming up. I'm leaving right now."

"See you soon."

We hung up. I set down the phone and returned to the bedroom. I started pawing through the closet for clothes. My hands were shaking.

"Kitty?" Ben said, watching me from the bed.

"I have to go to Denver. I have to go right now."

"Just like that? Exile over?"

"Ben—it's my mother."

"I know, I heard."

I thought about taking a shower, to wake myself up. No, too long. Clothes—jeans, T-shirt. No, something nicer. Blouse. I dressed quickly. Put my hair up.

Ben dressed as well. He followed me to the front of the house, watched me scoop up my bag, rush around looking for shoes—then he took my car keys out of my hand.

"I'm driving," he said.

"You don't have to go."

"Kitty—you're a wreck. I'm driving."

I started crying. Ben held me. It only lasted a minute, then I pulled myself together. No time to panic. No time for despair.

In ten minutes we were heading north.