Gwen was late the next evening. Sheila expected to see her restored friend by six, and was hard-wondering by 6:20. She told herself she was sure Gwen would come. She thumbed the button on the patient-administered analgesia machine, giving herself a bolus of morphine as her internal pain signaled the need. Gwen wasn’t rubbernecking, she thought as she tried to shift her position on the hospital bed. Sheila was certain that theirs was a real renewal. But she couldn’t imagine what was delaying her friend.

It was nearly seven when the door opened inward and Gwen appeared behind it. She looked pale. She walked halfway to the bed, stopped, met Sheila’s eyes, and uttered, “I won the lottery.”

Sheila could tell she wasn’t referring to a Scratcher.

“No, no: it’s not like I’m going to have hundreds of thousands a year for decades. I don’t think I have to worry about the press beating a path to my door.” Gwen came the rest of the way into the room and sat down. “But I just won $100,000.”

“Oh, Gwennie. That’s wonderful!” Sheila’s response was automatic and genuine. “I didn’t even know you played. What will you do with it?”

“There won’t be that much ‘it,’ after I pay the taxes. Can I?” Gwen indicated her desire for water by inclining her head and moving her left hand toward Sheila’s glass. Sheila nodded and murmured “help yourself,” as Gwen continued. “I’m not going to quit my job. I have some interesting projects going now; I don’t even think I’ll take time off. It could be most of a condo…”

“Or use some of it for a down payment, and invest the rest? I’m going to move, you know. They had to wreck my condo a little to get me out. Between that and other things, I don’t want to go back there. I’m putting it on the market.”

Gwen had been wondering. “What do you think about us going in on a place? Together we could get a house. Maybe a pool. Alone we’re pretty much limited.”

“I think it’s a great idea. I hate the condo scene; it isn’t private enough. And I like the idea of spending time with you again.”

At that the door opened, pushed this time by Sheila’s mother. She breezed into the room talking about her day at work, and it wasn’t until she was at Sheila’s bedside that she noticed Gwen occupying the chair. She spent a second and a half recognizing.

“Is that Gwen?” she then asked. “How are you, dear? You look wonderful. You haven’t aged a bit since I saw you last, but I don’t expect you’ll age poorly.” She fluttered about Sheila making nurse-like noises while Gwen hosted sour thoughts. At 26, Gwen wasn’t worried about aging, poorly or otherwise, and knew the comment was a cheap dig at her size.

If Gwen hated anyone, it was Sheila’s mother. She blamed her for damaging Sheila, and she blamed her for the breakup of their friendship. If Sheila’s mother hadn’t thought losing weight so important, she wouldn’t have sent Sheila to the doctor who put her on that barbaric liquid diet where of course she lost, but where she never stood a chance against regaining. It was that weight loss that created the distance between Sheila and Gwen, which came at such a crucial and determinative time. And she didn’t have proof of it, but she thought it was the weight loss that set the stage for the growth of the cyst. Now here she was again, cooing and planning to take Sheila back into her home and onto her agenda.

“I have to go now,” Gwen said as she stood. She saw the look of dismay on Sheila’s face and added, “Tomorrow’s a holiday for county employees. I’ll come by in the early afternoon.”

Sheila looked for a moment as if she’d protest, but the friends’ eyes met over the processed curls of Sheila’s attendant mother, and they mutely agreed. Gwen left.