“I couldn’t come with you,” he said, his lips near my hair, near my ear. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Forgive me.” I kissed him a dozen times. A thousand times. I nodded. “I know. I know it all. I know about Tom.” “The leukemia is back,” he said. “That’s it in a nutshell. I had tests done before I met you, and the results came back in Paris. Not good. None of it is good.”
