Read Chapter 8: — THE RULES OF WAITING

The biopsy confirmed an aggressive lymphoma.

Treatment began in November.

Margaret lost her hair before she lost her sense of humour.

"I always wondered whether I had the skull for short hair," she said, inspecting the thinning patches in a mirror. "Apparently the answer is no."

Clara bought her three hats and a silk scarf.

Daniel became useful in the only way he knew how: by learning.

He read about chemotherapy protocols, antiemetics, infection risk, neutropenia, imaging response and the strange emotional mathematics of oncology, where a good day could be defined by eating half a bowl of soup.

He also learned what not to do.

He stopped bringing Clara papers unless she asked.

He stopped translating every laboratory value into a prediction.

He sat in waiting rooms.

Marcus visited too, though less often. He brought fruit, magazines and once an expensive blanket that Margaret immediately recognised as beyond a student's budget.

"You're trying too hard," she told him kindly.

Marcus flushed.

"I just thought you'd be cold."

"I am cold. The blanket is lovely. But kindness doesn't need to arrive wearing a price tag."

Daniel saw the remark land.

Afterward Marcus said, "She likes you more."

"This isn't a competition."

"Everything is a competition to the person losing."

Daniel stopped walking.

"Then stop making Clara's mother part of one."

Marcus's face hardened.

For several seconds neither spoke.

Then Marcus looked away.

"You're right."

It was the first apology in a friendship that would eventually need many more.