It felt like eons, waiting for him to come home. I stood under the dock, letting the wind blow my perfectly straightened hair away from my face. I felt so fragile, like I couldn't be talked to without breaking down. It had been six months since he had left me. Right here, we stood, last year, making silly faces at each other and having long talks that would go on for hours. Everyone tried to tell me that I was crazy, thinking he'd come back. I remember every night, my mom would kiss me and tell me to stay strong. It was easy for her to say, wasn't it. The worst thing about this whole situation was the pity and the kind of things people had said after they found about him. I remember the night his mother called our house, and her voice softened when she knew I was the one who picked up the phone. She had burst into tears, and I had melted into concern.
"Honey, he has cancer. He'll be fine. I know it. You've just got to hope for him." The words echoed in my head. I didn't let myself believe that my best friend and the true love of my life had cancer. I still won't believe it. He doesn't have cancer. He just took a trip, to the place he had wanted to live all his life, The Keys, in Florida. Cancer would not get between us. Nothing would get between us.