27 July.

I was asleep. The door opened and light streamed in. He spoke quickly, urgently.

"Wanna go for a drive? Just for a few hours, we'll leave at eleven." The door shut.

I was awake. He was my dad. We hadn't done anything like this in awhile. I would go. It would be enjoyable, fine. Not the same though. Nothing was quite the same since I had been caught in the lie. 

Trust takes years to build. Seconds to shatter. It's strange that way. 

We got in the car. We both held our iPods nervously. I hoped to play mine, but I knew better. He probably had something in mind. 

"I have something I think you'll like." 

I slip my music back into the pocket. "Okay Dad, cool."

It was silent. Even the small talk was silent. 

"How's work?"

"Good. I'll be serving by September."

"That's exciting."

Silent.

Silent.

Not an empty silence though. Not a normal silence. Not a dysfunctional silence. Just a silence that fits us, always has. Maybe just a little more since the lie. 

CLAREMONT next three exits. Here we are. A record store awaits. I've been here before. Familiarity is nice. 

We spend an hour there flipping through hundreds of people's musical expression. The vinyls smell like vinyls. The sound of the plastic reminds me of my childhood. There's a comfort about being here. 

"Let's get lunch. Maybe there." He points. Taco Factory sits across the street. So innocent looking. Just a little establishment. Not designed to harbor people's worries.

There's a bell on the door. It rings as we walk in. We order. A number three and a number four. 

"What do you want to drink babe?" Babe. A warm feeling. A smile inside. He hasn't called me that in years. I almost forgot about that.

We sit and eat. More small talk, although a calmness has descended. 

"I have some sad news and I'm not too sure how to go about telling mom." The calm disintegrates.

My breath catches in my chest. What could it be? He gives me no time to wonder.

"Aunt Sue has breast cancer." 

So that's why we came here. That's why we're in Claremont having lunch. He had to break the news. 

For a split second I'm not there. My mind flashes back to diagnosis after diagnosis. Battles won. Battles lost. I hate cancer. I despise it. And here it is again. Back to test my family one more time. 

We talk about it briefly. Emotionless, analytical. Nothing has sunk in. We won't allow it to. Your mind is dangerous. Don't think, just do. That's the only way to fight the mental battle against the disease. 

We leave. He walks ahead of me, quickly. We drive home, this time completely in silence. Both lost in the music and the same thought. 

Five women. Four bodies had turned upon themselves.  That only left one body unscathed. My mom's. 

We don't say it but the fear is there. Tangible. Heavy. We don't speak. We still don't speak. 

Silent.

Silent.