I beg off school the day Grandma Carolyn is scheduled for surgery. And it's a good thing I do, because neither Granddad nor my dad have enough sense to ask the doctors and nurses any questions.

"So, how is she?" I ask the first nurse in over sized scrubs who comes around the corner.

"She's in recovery right now. We'll let you go back and see her in a little while. Meanwhile, ya'll should run and grab something to eat."

Granddad nods and motions for us to follow him out of the waiting room.

As we wait on the elevator, my dad suddenly pushes the button for the third floor. When it opens, he leads us to the large glass window where we watch eight squirmy little babies lined up in clear plastic tubs.

"You were about that size the first time I laid eyes on you," Dad says quietly as he points to the biggest baby in the nursery. The kid looks like a monster truck in the middle of a bunch of Volkswagens. He is all red faced and there is an awkward beanie sitting on top of his huge head.

"Hope I was cuter than that," I mutter.

Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. "You sure took my breath away."

Something that's been weighing heavily on my mind is suddenly out of my mouth before I have the sense to pull it back.

"I dented the side of your truck," I blab.

He doesn't take his hand off my shoulder, just leans in close enough to whisper in my ear. "No, shit, Rory."

My granddad is walking in front of us as we head back to the elevators. His shoulders are slumped and his eyes are fixed on something far away. He looks lost in his own thoughts and since I'm pretty sure he isn't listening to us I ask Dad another question that has been bothering me.

"How'd you find me Saturday night?"

"I followed you."

"Wait, you left before I did."

Dad smirks. "Every trick you ever pull, I promise you, I have done it. I told you before, Rory, you're a piss poor liar."

It's true. I know it and he knows it.

"Well, I'm done with it, anyhow. It's too hard to keep up with. If people don't like the real Rory French, then screw 'em."

"You're a pretty smart kid. Anybody ever tell you that?"

"Not lately, no."

He laughs and ruffles my hair. As humiliating as it is to have him do that in public, it is really good to see him laughing again.

We get back on the elevator and ride down to the cafeteria. Dad buys our lunches and I slide into the booth next to Granddad. My dad slides into the seat across from us and lifts his cup of coffee. His hands shake, and when he sees that both granddad and I notice, he gives Granddad a knowing look.

"She's going to be okay," I finally say. "They'll get this shit and she'll be alright."

Granddad smiles. I try to see the monster my dad described. I try but I can't, or maybe I just don't want to. I guess I'm afraid if I see Granddad like that, I'll start to see my dad as a victim.

Dad taps the table, a devilish grin on his face. "What do you want to bet, she wakes up and starts telling us some gossip she heard right before she went under."

Granddad smiles but it's weak.

"She'll be fine, Granddad." I say.

He nods. "You're right, Rory. She survived the two of us," he says, and looks at my dad. "I can't imagine something like this taking her out."




She's awake when we get back. Her speech is all slurred and she has a devil of a time keeping her eyes open, but she's still Grandma Carolyn.

"Rory, how come you aren't in school?" she asks.

"I wanted to be here."

"Has the doctor been in yet?" she asks. "Did they get it all?"

"Shush, Carolyn. Stop talking. He'll get here in a few minutes. You know what they say, no news is good news."

She offers a slight smile as we wait for the doctor. She is so pale. There isn't much difference in the color of the sheet and her face.

A new nurse comes in and checks her pulse and the IV bag that's hanging on a hook beside her bed. "Dr. Lawrence is gonna come talk to you in just a few minutes. You need any ice chips, Mrs. French?"

"No, I'm alright," she says. "Did they get it all?"

The nurse pats my grandma's hand and smiles. "He seemed pretty pleased with how things went, Mrs. French."

I wonder how much of what the nurse told her was true. Did they get it or are there still some rogue cancer cells floating around inside of her? Hiding, like the Taliban, waiting to resurface and wreak havoc when nobody's looking.

This past weekend, my biggest fear was being caught by my dad. Right now that barely registers on the scale. Losing my grandma is at the very tip top of the scale.

And I am scared.

I look over at my dad, who is pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. His hands are stuck deep in his pockets. Just by looking at him, I can tell he's scared, too.

"How do you feel, Mrs. French?" A tall man with furry gray and black streaked mustache says as he comes into the room.

"I'm okay," she says, then tries to pull herself up, only to fall back against the bed weakly.

"Lie back," he says. "I've got some good news."

We all look up, hopeful and ready to take a good long breath.

"We are only going to have to take your right breast."

Nobody moves. Not one word is uttered by anyone for over one full minute. Then Grandma Carolyn sighs and speaks.

"But Dr. Lawrence, that's my favorite one."

She seems so serious and maybe she is. But one by one we all start to laugh.