One Last Thing Before I Go

tables and the little red chairs with white flowers carved into the seatbacks.
    She stands back up and slings her guitar case over her shoulder, only then noticing him standing there. He has never been this close before. She has two faint craters in her forehead just above her left eye, and her eyes in general are bigger than he realized, and a deep green that he finds instantly appealing despite the appearance of dark, tired shadows beneath them. She looks a little sad to him, or maybe just hungover. He has no idea because, despite how long he has been coming here to see her, he doesn’t actually know the first thing about her.
    “I don’t know anything about you,” he blurts out.
    She nods, considering the information. “There are support groups,” she says.
    Sarcasm. Or maybe repartee? It’s hard to say.
    “I’m Silver,” he says, offering his hand. She takes it.
    “I know who you are.”
    “You do?”
    “You’re the guy who comes every week and stands like a spy behind those shelves while I sing.”
    He can feel himself blushing. “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s OK.”
    He feels the urgent need to say something clever. “I like the way you sing.”
    Now it’s her turn to blush. “They’re just kids’ songs.”
    “I know. Still.”
    “Well, thank you.”
    An empty silence descends upon them. How the hell is this supposed to work, anyway? People meet people every day. They talk, they go out, they kiss, they fuck, they fall in love, they make families, and all because they managed to push past any initial introversion and awkwardness to make contact. He wishes they were drunk.
    “I’m not good at this.”
    “At what?”
    “At talking to you.”
    “A lot of people aren’t good at talking to me. You should meet my parents.”
    “I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment.”
    She smiles wryly, then looks up into his eyes, really looks at him, trying to figure him out. “This is a strange conversation.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “No. It’s fine.”
    She is still looking right into his eyes. It’s disconcerting, actually. He realizes how rare that is, how few people in his life actually look right at him like that. He suspects this is more his fault than theirs. These last years have buried an aspect of his confidence, and he doesn’t know how to access it. But now Lily is looking at him, and there’s something both wise and damaged in her eyes, something bold in her shyness, something that feels warm and draws him in the same way her singing does. He senses a profound kindness in her, a softness he wants very badly to know and to protect
. Be a better man
. He could be a better man for her.
    Lily looks at him strangely. “You know you’re saying this out loud, right?” she says.
    He hears his voice retroactively, after she points it out.
    “I do now,” he says.
    * * *
    He and Casey walk home in the teeming rain, sharing a small drugstore umbrella. He throws his arm around her and her arm falls easily around his waist, and cars speed past them, kicking up hissing sprays of water from the flooding streets, and Casey is laughing as he replays the conversation for her, and she is beautiful and happy and his, and he wishes he could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

CHAPTER 48
    S ad Todd wears black goggles, orange earplugs, a red bathing suit, and blue flippers as he swims his laps. He does this every morning, fifty laps across the Versailles pool, before it gets busy and laps become impossible. Despite his colorful getup, he swims with a power and grace that belies his wallflower demeanor.
    Jack, Oliver, and Silver sit out by the pool wordlessly watching Sad Todd swim, the sun just emerging hot and bright from behind the building. They have the pool deck to themselves for the time being, and Sad Todd is like a pendulum, putting them into a trance.
    “So, I have cancer,” Oliver announces.
    Jack and Silver turn to face Oliver.
    “Fuck,” Jack says.
    “What kind?” Silver says.
    “The colon kind.”
    “They can cure that, can’t they?” Jack.
    “They’re guardedly optimistic.”
    “When did you find out?” Silver.
    “About six weeks ago.”
    “What?!” Jack.
    Oliver looks over at Silver and smiles. “You kind of stole my thunder.”
    “I’m sorry, man.”
    “You’ve had cancer for two months and you’re only telling us now?” Jack says, irate.
    “I’ve been having chemo treatments. I wanted to see how it played out.”
    “And how has it