Midnight

“It’s about Mom.”

Still watching the monitor, Jack said, “What about her?  Did she burn another pot roast on Sunday?”

“Yeah.  And she’s got a brain tumor.”

Jack whipped his head toward Jonah.  “A what?”

“A brain tumor.  They can’t operate on it.  Dad says she’s got a few months.”

“To live?”

“Yeah.”

Jack sat back in the booth; he looked as if someone had just hit him in the stomach with an empty beer pitcher.  “Holy shit!  How long have you known?”

“Since Sunday.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You know how they are.”

Jack snorted, before his face fell again.  “But only a few months…really?”

Jonah nodded.

“She still has all of her hair, though!”

“They’re not going to do chemo.  It won’t help, so Mom doesn’t want it.”

“What about Dad?”

“He said it’s up to her.”

“Oh, great.  He’s leaving critical life-or-death decisions to the biggest ditz on the planet,” Jack said, and grabbed his coat.  “I’m going over there.  Someone has to talk some sense into her, and it seems like I’m the only one in this family willing to do it.  I’ll see you later.”