Sharon looked skeptical. “Really? But that tomb you found—and the incredible markings on the walls. What was all of that doing in there? It must have meant something.”
“Just a tomb. Probably a very old, tribal burial chamber of some kind.”
“And the picture you took of that man—”
“A vagrant, that’s all,” Dylan lied, hating every syllable that passed her lips. “The pictures made everything seem more important than it was. But there is no story, not even one suitable for a rag like Coleman Hogg’s paper. In fact, he let me go.”
“What? He didn’t!”
Dylan shrugged. “Yeah, he did. And it’s fine, really. I’ll find something else.”
“Well, that’s his loss. You were too good for that place, anyway. If it’s any consolation, I thought you did a great job on that story. Mr. Fasso thought so too. In fact, he mentioned he had contacts with some big news outlets in the city. He could probably find you something if I asked him to look into it.”
Oh, shit. A job interview was the last thing she needed to worry about. Not when the rest of what she’d just heard had put a knot of dread in her throat. “Mom—you didn’t tell him about that story, did you?”
“You’re darn right I did. I showed off your pictures too. I’m sorry, but I can’t help bragging about you. You’re my little star.”
“Who did you…Ah, God, Mom, please tell me you didn’t talk about it with a lot of people…did you?”
Sharon patted her hand. “Don’t be so shy. You’re very talented, Dylan, and you should be working on bigger, more hard-hitting stories. Mr. Fasso agrees with me. Gordon and I talked all about you on the river cruise a couple of nights ago.”
Dylan’s stomach was clenched over the thought of more people being privy to what she’d seen in that cave, but she couldn’t help noticing the little glint of joy in her mother’s eyes when she mentioned the man who founded the runaway shelter. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with Mr. Fasso now, are you?”
Sharon giggled, a sound so youthful and impish that Dylan forgot for a moment that she was sitting beside her mom in a hospital room in the cancer ward. “He’s very handsome, Dylan. And utterly charming. I’d always thought him to be so aloof, almost chilly, but he’s actually a very intriguing man.”
Dylan smiled. “You like him.”
“I do,” her mother confessed. “Just my luck I should find a real gentleman—who knows, maybe my true prince?—when it’s too late for me to fall in love.”
Dylan shook her head, hating to hear that kind of talk from her. “It’s never too late, Mom. You’re still young. You have a lot of living left to do.”
Shadows crossed her mother’s eyes as she looked up at Dylan from her recline on the bed. “You’ve always made me so very proud. You know that, don’t you, baby?”
Dylan nodded, throat constricted. “Yeah, I know. I could always count on you, Mom. You were the only one in my life that I could count on. Still are. Two musketeers, right?”
Sharon smiled at the mention of their long-running reference to themselves, but there were tears glistening in her eyes. “I want you to be all right, Dylan. With this, I mean. With my leaving you soon…with the fact that I’m going to die.”
“Mom—”
“Hear me out, please. I worry about you, sweetheart. I don’t want you to be alone.”
Dylan wiped at a hot tear that ran down the side of her face. “You shouldn’t be thinking about me now. Just focus on you, on getting better. You need to think positively. The biopsy might not—”
“Dylan. Stop, and listen to me.” Her mother sat up, a stubborn look that Dylan recognized very well coming over her pretty but fatigued features. “The cancer is back, worse than before. I know it. I feel it. And I’ve come to terms with it. I need to know that you will be able to come to terms with this too.”
Dylan looked down at their clasped hands, hers masked in yellow latex, her mother’s nearly translucent, the bones and tendons stark beneath the cool, too-pale skin.
“How long have you been looking after me, baby? And I don’t mean just since I’ve been sick. From the time you were a little girl, you were always worrying about me and trying your best to take care of me.”
Dylan shook her head. “We look out for each other. That’s how it’s always been—”
Gentle fingers came up under her chin, lifting her gaze. “You’re my child. I’ve lived for you, and for your brothers too, but you were always my constant. You shouldn’t have had to live for me, Dylan. You shouldn’t have had to be the adult in this relationship. You should have someone to take care of you.”