Page 88 of Holding Hope

“Fine, given the circumstances,” I said, and immediately regretted how cold it sounded. But neither of them flinched.

“Would you like some coffee, or something to eat?” she asked.

“No, thank you; I’m actually looking for⁠—”

“Please, Avalon.” Her tone sharpened just enough to make it clear this wasn’t a suggestion. She gestured to the chair beside her. “Sit.”

Colton didn’t speak, didn’t even look away from the window. He was a statue carved out of worry.

I sat, smoothing my palms over my thighs, bracing myself. “Where’s Clarke? Is she⁠—”

“She’s fine,” Mrs. King said gently, taking my hand. “My oldest daughter likes to process things by herself. She needs a little extra space sometimes, but she’ll be okay.” Her expression shifted—soft, but purposeful. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Melody.”

My stomach tightened. Melody. God. After last night, the word alone felt like a bruise.

“She wants to see you.”

The sentence hit me harder than I expected— a sudden, quiet blow to the ribs. Melody wanted to see me. Not Clarke. Not her parents.

Me.

Something in my chest stuttered, a strange mix of fear and tenderness and disbelief. I wasn’t used to being wanted—not in a way that mattered. Not in a way that felt like responsibility.

I blinked, slowly retracting my hand. “She wants to see me?” My voice sounded small, even to me.

Mrs. King nodded. “She’s taken a liking to you—my daughter. And when she likes someone…” She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Go see her.”

There was no hesitation left in me after that. I slipped down the hall toward Melody’s room, memories of our movie nights flickering through my mind—popcorn, cheesy rom-coms, her teasing commentary about my dad’s films. Those moments had always carried a quiet ache, the unspoken understanding that each one might be our last.

I knocked lightly. “Hey, Melly.”

She turned from the window, her face brightening for a heartbeat before the effort drained it again.

“Ava!” she beamed—then coughed, the sound sharp enough to make me wince. I rushed to her side, taking her cold hand in mine.

“Melly, you’re freezing,” I murmured, tucking more blankets around her.

She shrugged. “It’s one of the downsides of being terminally ill, but I don’t want to talk about me dying⁠—”

“Hey,” I cut in. “Don’t use that kind of language. I have a doctor coming. Soon you’ll be right as rain.”

I pushed her thinning hair back, trying not to stare at the bald patches. She looked so small. Too small.

“Avalon,” she whispered, gripping my hand tighter. “I’ve been dying for as long as I can remember. My parents have talked to every specialist. I’m dying. Please accept that. It’ll make it easier.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Not all of them—my friend put the best oncologist in the country on a plane; she should be here⁠—”

“Please stop.” Her voice snapped, firm despite how weak she was. “Nothing is going to cure me. It would take a miracle.”

She dipped her head. “Mama thinks I can’t hear when I close my eyes, but I heard her and Daddy whisper.”

“You’re not going to⁠—”

“Yes, I am.” She smiled, small but certain. “And I’m okay with that because I know my family will be taken care of. Mama and Daddy have each other, Colton has Delia, and Clarke has you.”

I blinked. “Me? No, Clarke has Delia. I’m just…hanging around.”

Melody laughed then coughed again. “No, silly. Delia will be too busy being married to my brother. And Clarke…she’ll be left all alone.”