Then the questions came.
“When did they find it? What did they remove? Are you okay? When do you go back?”
“Stop. Cynthia, just stop.”
I stopped.
I heard nothing except the bathroom fan.
Conor rubbed his forehead.
“This is why I didn’t tell you.”
“Because I ask questions?”
“Because you turn fear into a plan before anyone’s allowed to feel it.”
That hurt because it wasn’t completely wrong.
But neither was what he’d done.
“This is why I didn’t tell you.”
“How long have you known?”
He looked away.
“Conor.”
“A couple of months.”
I stared at him.
“Months?”
“A couple of months.”
“I was going to tell you when I knew more.”
“And until then, you decided I wasn’t part of it.”
His face tightened.
I remembered Nathan’s strange pause on the phone.
“Did Nathan know?”
Conor didn’t answer quickly enough.
“I was going to tell you when I knew more.”
