No Time to Cry by Lurlene McDaniel Page B

the excavation on the new building Monday morning. Then it was announced that refreshments were being served in the hospital lobby.
    People swarmed around Dawn as she made her way into the hospital. Reporters shoved microphones near her face and asked for more comments. Once inside the lobby, she grabbed a cup of punch, but before she could take a sip, the Chandlers came up to her.
    “Thank you for remembering our little girl,” Mr. Chandler said.
    “She was my best friend. I’ll never forget her,” Dawn replied.
    Mrs. Chandler opened her purse. “I found this in a drawer and had a copy made for you.” She handed Dawn a photograph. It was a snapshot that Mr. Chandler had taken of Sandy and Dawn at camp. The two of them had their arms around each other and were mugging for the camera. Their balding heads were covered with scarves, and Sandy held Mr. Ruggers under her arm.
    Dawn stared at the picture, trying to fight the tears that were springing to her eyes. How young she and Sandy looked at thirteen! And how very happy—in spite of having cancer. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll treasure this always.” She slipped it into the purse that was hanging from her shoulder.
    Rhonda rushed over, all smiles. “Your speech was so amazing! I mean it, Dawn. I had a huge lump in my throat the whole time.” Rhonda’s gaze darted to one side. “Oops. Cute-guy alert to our left. I’d better go check this out.”
    Dawn shook her head as she watched Rhonda scurry away. Her parents and Rob and Katie came up and hugged her. “When are we going bridesmaid’s dress shopping?” Dawn asked Katie.
    “Is that all you can think of at a time like this?” Katie asked, grinning.
    Dawn smiled back. “Yep! Let’s go next weekend! Promise?”
    Rob slugged her arm playfully. “I’m proud of you, Squirt. How’d you get to be such a good speechmaker?”
    “It’s in my blood,” she joked, and they all groaned.
    Finally, the crowd thinned, the reporters and cameramen left, and the dignitaries vanished into expensive cars. Dawn leaned against a wall, sapped by the crazy tangle of emotions that had been pouring through her.
    “Tired?” a voice asked.
    She turned and faced Jake. She’d forgotten he was there.
    “Yes, but it’s a good tired.”
    He took her empty punch cup and placed it on a table. “Come on. I’ll take you home.” She glanced around for her parents.
    “I asked your mom and dad if I could drive you,” Jake explained. “They said it would be all right.”
    “That was nice of you.”
    “Hey, I’m a nice guy.” He grinned. “Besides, I’m not about to let some hot-shot college guy ace me out.”
    “Brent? He’s just a friend. I didn’t know you cared.”
    “I care, all right,” Jake said. He took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you in the hospital. That was no way to treat a friend.”
    “I guess I needed it,” she said, feeling her mouth go dry. “Pity parties aren’t my usual style.”
    “Well, after hearing your speech today, I’m able to see some things through your eyes. I can’t imagine watching my friends die the way you have. And I can’t imagine how you deal with knowing it could happen to you, too.”
    Dawn shrugged. “I really try not to dwell on that part, Jake. No matter how down I feel, I try to concentrate on living, not dying.”
    “Well, even though I’m sorry for the way I said it, I’m not entirely sorry for what I said. You do make me feel like an outsider sometimes, like I don’t belong in the cancer part of your life.”
    Dawn experienced a pang of guilt. Is that what she had been doing to him? “I never meant to make you feel like an outcast because you’re healthy. It’s just so hard trying to live in two worlds.”
    “When we were in seventh grade and the teacher told the class that you had leukemia, I felt really rotten. It scared me. I felt sorry for you, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”
    “That’s part of the problem,” Dawn said.