“I didn’t want you to come home, see yourself, and panic before I could explain.”
Mom lifted the photograph slightly.
“This is why.”
Dad nodded.
“The second he said they found a mass, I thought about your mother.”
Mom’s voice became quiet.
“So did I.”
“I knew you would.”
“And you thought hiding every mirror would stop me?”
“No.”
Dad swallowed.
“I thought it might give you a little time.”
He looked toward her bandages.
“You’re bruised. You’re swollen. You’re sore. I didn’t want you seeing yourself and immediately thinking you were going through what she did.”
Mom kept staring at him.
Then she turned toward Linda.
“When did he tell you?”
“This morning.”
“So you knew before I did.”
Linda lowered her voice.
“Cindy, he was scared.”
Mom looked back at Dad.
“You called my sister.”
