Hooked

order.”
    “Which is a subtle way of saying ‘go home, Beth, and take your hatchlings with you.’” Her sister scowled, studying her for a moment. “Fine. We’ll go. I brought you some of my fabuloso chili and Mexican cornbread so you won’t have to worry about cooking. And a quart of milk. The stuff in your fridge was rank.”
    Half an hour later, Steph stood naked and wet in her marble-lined bathroom, staring at a steamy mirror filled with mist-muted shapes. She used a corner of her towel to wipe away the condensation on the lower half of the vanity mirror…just enough to reveal her chest.
    One and a half breasts. On the right was a full, rounded breast that had once turned heads all over South Beach. And on the left was a smaller, slightly droopy number with a long red scar running across the top. She cupped both breasts in her hands, lifting, cradling.
    They were just exterior body parts. Milk glands she’d never used. Two short surgeries—outpatient, even. Just a few inches gone. Nip, tuck. The radiation had made her tired and given her a classic sunburn, but otherwise was remarkably bearable. It had all gone better than she had expected, and she was left with a lot more than some women. She wasn’t damaged . By her firstanniversary, she’d be back to biking and swimming, hiking…fully recovered…even wearing a bathing suit.
    She was still herself, still had things to do and people to love. She had the whole second half of her life ahead, since she’d probably live to ninety. The image of her hands cradling her breasts began to swim.
    Ninety. What good was ninety when you were alone? Because love and intimacy and sex were pretty much out of the question now. No man worth having would settle for half a relationship, half an uncertain future… half a woman .
    The unbidden memory of Finn Hartley’s big hand on hers that morning returned and triggered emotions she’d fought all day to suppress. Close behind came the memory of the way his big body used to lie against hers in the cool of the morning. The way he used to look at her with such appreciation…the way his eyes practically glowed as he touched her breasts.
    Her breath caught in her throat. She struggled to free it, and with a half-swallowed cry she crumpled to the floor.
    * * *
    Two weeks later, at the close of her regular appointment with her oncologist, Steph paused in the middle of buttoning her blouse.
    “I’ve been thinking about a breast cancer group of some kind.”
    “You have?” Dr. Bellarino looked up from the computer screen, over the rims of her reading glasses. “I thought you didn’t want to do anything like that.”
    “Well, maybe I just needed some time. I think it might be helpful.” Steph tucked in her blouse. “I was out in Arizona recently and heard about a group that does fly-fishing with breast cancer survivors.” She chuckled. “A weird combination, huh?”
    “Not when you think about it.” Dr. Bellarino removed her glasses. “Fly-fishing involves gentle casting motions, being in the outdoors, soothing natural surroundings. There’s something very healing about being out in nature. Plus, any time you get breast cancer survivors together, talking and sharing, you can make good things happen.” She thoughtfully smoothed her hair, which was pulled back into a sleek chignon. “There are all kinds of groups here in the Atlanta area. In fact, we may even have some brochures for that fly-fishing group. I’ll check on the way out.”
    That was how Steph came to be driving down Highway 400 in the middle of the afternoon with a Casting for Recovery brochure in her hand. The women in the pictures weren’t leggy athletes or trim, clear-skinned models; they were middle-aged women packing a few extra pounds and wearing khaki vests and hats trimmed with fuzzy fishing lures. It was their faces that captured her—their beaming smiles and bright eyes. And there was a whole lot of hugging going on.
    Was that what she needed? Strangers hugging her?
    Puleeze . Steph already had hugs aplenty. Kid hugs and sister hugs and brother-in-law hugs and good friend hugs. The collage of hug memories that flitted through her mind suddenly included big, strong arms… She could feel herself being pressed against a hard chest, and melting into the sun-drenched warmth of a male body. A certain male body.
    Shaking the image away, she found herself near the Lennox Square Mall and impulsively turned off the freeway. A mile down Lennox