What We Carry

Elena stood on her friend's porch at dusk, the pregnant silence between them louder than three years of radio silence. The orange glow of sunset through the maple trees painted Claire's face in amber light, catching the gray in her hair that hadn't been there when they last spoke.

"You came," Claire said, not quite a question.

"You asked."

Inside, a calico cat wound itself around Elena's ankles, purring like a small engine. Claire had always collected strays—human and animal alike.

"This is Bear," Claire said, pointing to the aging golden retriever curled in the corner of the sofa. The dog lifted his head, thumped his tail twice, and let it fall back down. "He's old now. Like us."

Elena's throat tightened. The last time she'd been in this house, they'd screamed at each other until Claire's husband—now gone, the divorce final six months—had retreated to the bedroom with their newborn. Elena had left with her own marriage hanging by a thread, convinced she'd never return.

"The cancer's back," Claire said quietly, pouring tea that neither would drink. "Stage four this time."

Elena set her cup down. "Why didn't you—"

"Tell you? We weren't speaking, Elena. You made your choice."

"I was angry. I never stopped—" Elena's voice broke. "I never stopped being your friend."

Claire's eyes, the same deep brown as Elena remembered, filled with tears. "I know. I think I knew all along. That's why I called."

Bear the dog lifted his head again and let out a soft whine, as if he understood what was at stake. The cat jumped onto Elena's lap, kneading her claws through the fabric of her dress.

"I can't do this alone," Claire whispered, something she'd never admitted in all the years Elena had known her.

Outside, the last of the orange light faded into purple darkness. Elena reached across the table and covered Claire's hand with her own.

"You won't have to."