James

It wasn’t uncommon for Chelsea and me to play phone tag for a week at a time, still, she hadn’t read or responded to my texts in a couple of days. When I called today, I half expected to get her voicemail, but she picked up on the last ring. And immediately, I knew something wasn’t right.

“Chelsea, what’s wrong?”

There was a long pause, and her deep inhale wasn’t a sign of good things to come. Even though I didn’t want to pry, if something had happened to her mother, I should be there for her the way she always was for me. I couldn’t replace her mom—I could, however, keep her from feeling alone.

“My mom has pneumonia. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls. I’ve been in Tampa. I’m still here—well, at the hotel. Dottie stayed with her.”

“Pneumonia’s treatable, though, right?”

“For lots of people, yes. For someone with late-stage Huntingtons, it’s more likely a death sentence.”