Not a dramatic blow. Not something that knocked me down. It settled instead behind my ribs, in the place where thirty-five years of ordinary life had lived.
I turned away.
On the shelf nearest me sat the receipts we had already found from our canceled ocean trip. Randall’s neat handwriting covered an envelope beside them. Dates. Confirmation numbers. Notes about cabin types. He had always planned travel like a military campaign, down to which side of the plane would have the better view.
I touched the envelope.
“What’s this?” I asked.
Wade said nothing.
That made me look at him.
“What is it?”
He rubbed both hands over his face. “That is the other thing.”
Jonah gave a tired, bitter laugh. “Of course there’s another thing.”
Wade crossed the unit and took the envelope from beneath my hand. He did not open it immediately. “Randall canceled the original cruise after your diagnosis.”
