I could hear Dad's voice from clear down the hall. He talked to Aunt Patty in hushed tones, hoping that I wouldn't hear, but how could I not eavesdrop? She's my mother. 

"The doctor isn't optimistic about her prognosis. He's referred us to a specialist up north, but it's just a formality. I don't know what I'm going to tell her, Patty. How can I ...?"

My aunt reached forward and hugged Dad, embraced him like a little boy. I'd never seen Dad cry, but he sat there hunched over with tears rolling down both cheeks. My father. The man who survived war and taught me everything I knew about football, collapsed into a ball on our couch. I knew what it meant, didn't need to hear the rest to know. She was dying. The weeks of pills, and days sleeping in bed weren't going to end. It was going to get worse. Much, much worse. I was going to lose my mom, and my father, the man who could take care of anything, couldn't stop it. Couldn't make it go away.

It was too much to bear. I flew down the stairs without thinking where I'd go. I just needed to leave, to escape the words being whispered in my living room. Dad jumped up as I neared the door, but he was too late. I slammed it behind me and ran. Mom's face flashed through my mind, and I could see the days at the beach, the days last summer when she was still able to run with me. It made me run harder, faster, trying to escape their words. There was no way she was going to leave. Could she?

The lights in the neighbor's yard shone bright on the road, illuminated the way out in front of me, but it wouldn't take me where I needed. I needed to go where I could keep my mom. So, I turned into the field, past the horses, and back to the wheat near the back of their acreage. Stevie and I used to wind our way through the stalks together when we were little, hiding out in the rows and rows of golden stalks till our Moms called us in. She couldn't leave if I was out there. She was the one who always called me back. She'd have to come and get me. She'd just have to.