me over her shoulder, just before stopping in front of a wooden door.
“Take your time getting settled. There are a few more volunteers yet to arrive. You being here means so much to us.”
I can’t help but smile at her kindness. “Thank you.”
June may be one of the only people who can understand what I’m going through because, sadly for her, she sees it every day.
She doesn’t linger.
I clutch the cool door handle, but a voice behind me stops me from entering. “Hi! I’m Zoe. Fellow volunteer.”
Turning, I see a woman of similar age to me standing mere feet away. Her dark hair is short, only a few inches in length. It seems to emphasize the clarity of her blue eyes. She extends her slender hand, which I shake. Her warmth thaws my chill.
“Hi, I’m Lola.”
“Nice to meet you.” Without pause, she takes the suitcase from my hand and wanders into my room, dragging it behind her.
I follow suit, and the first thing that captures my attention is the two wide windows directly in front of me. They are fitted with sheets of Tiffany glass. The stunning stained image is spread across both windows. The scene is of a pink weeping willow. The petals litter the side panel and extend along the top; the vibrant colors highlighted as the sun breaks through.
Once I tear my eyes away from the magnificence, I admire the room’s generous size. A stunning sky-blue duvet covers the bed, and matching throw pillows rest quaintly against one another.
The plush carpet feels soft beneath my feet as I turn in a small circle, absorbing the quiet.
“You weren’t expecting this?” Zoe asks, leaving my suitcase at the foot of the bed as she flops onto the mattress, stomach first. I stifle a giggle behind my hand.
“I don’t know what I was expecting,” I confess honestly. “I thought it was going to be a little more… rustic.” I didn’t look at any photos online because I didn’t care what my housing looked like. That’s not the reason I decided to come.
Zoe sits up, her intelligent eyes focusing on me. “So…why are you here?” I wheeze in a strangled breath, surprised by her flippant attitude. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, swallowing loudly.
“Ah, c’mon, life is short…we both know that. There’s no point in being coy. This is my third year here, and in my experience, we all come here for a reason. Mine is my little sister passed away from cancer three years ago.”
The spectacular walls, ones I once admired, are now closing in on me as I’m finding it harder to breathe. I bend at the waist and wrap my arms around my middle, wishing I’d paid more attention to Dr. Carter when he detailed ways for me to deal with stress.
“Lola, all those drugs you’re on…they’re to help you.”
“Help me how?” I was so angry. I still am. Why did this happen? What did I do to deserve such a punishment? What did she do to deserve such injustice?
“If you don’t take them, you’ll—”
No.
Why is life so cruel?
I slam my hands over my ears, needing to block out the voices in my head. But the more desperate I become to escape my future, the louder things become.
“…they’re trial drugs for a high-grade glioblastoma, also known as grade four astrocytoma, which is growing on the right side of your brain.” Tears prick my eyes because no matter how fast I run, I can never outrun fate.
“Lola, are you all right?” Zoe’s voice portrays concern, but her sympathy only makes me feel worse.
Hidden beneath the pretty pastels, the comforting calmness, and the soothing works of Bach is the epicenter of what this place is. The superficial ruse can’t mask the truth. Strawberry Fields is a sanctuary, a summer camp where terminally ill children come to forget and just be kids.
And the reason I’m here—I’m here to volunteer because those children are me.
My name is Lola Van Allen. There’s no easy way to say it, but…I’m dying.
“Lola, can you hear me?” Zoe’s words fade in and out of focus, but I’m familiar with the muted voices. It started when I was twenty-one.
I did what every socialite my age did—I shopped, partied. I didn’t have a care in the world. But when I began hearing voices no one else heard, I thought I was going crazy. And when the voices came with debilitating headaches, I went to the best doctors in New York because I knew something