That night, however, was probably the worst night of my life. Everyone had left by midnight, wanting to be at the race start by seven the next morning. Matthew and I were too amped on sugar to sleep so we stayed to clean up. We were washing the dishes when we heard Dylan yip from the hallway. We found him pacing outside the bathroom. When he saw us, he put his shoulder against the closed door and tried to shove it open. We could hear Johanna being sick. Matthew rapped on the door. “Hey—how ya doin’ in there?” She didn’t answer. We stood looking at each other. Dylan whined. Finally, Johanna opened the door. She looked gray. Her hands were shaking. “I trained so hard,” she said. “I pushed to get ready for the race tomorrow, but … Don’t … don’t call my mother; I don’t want to make a fuss. I had chemo a few days ago, I knew the timing was wrong, but I hoped … Can you … would you stay awhile?”
