Page 77 of Roaring Fork Rockstar

We’d both agreed that separate bedrooms made sense while we were here. Neither of us had discussed what would happen once we were back in Crested Butte. One day at a time had become our unspoken mantra.

Morning came quickly,and with it, the flurry of activity that accompanied our discharge. I arrived at Luna’s room by seven, finding my father teaching her how to play Go Fish with a deck of cards he’d bought at the gift shop.

“Mommy!” She brightened when she saw me. “I’m winning!”

“That’s because yourabuelolets you cheat,” I said, kissing the top of her head.

The hair loss had started a week after her first treatment. She’d been surprisingly resilient about it, especially after Holt brought her a selection of colorful bandanas.

Dr. Robbins arrived with a tablet in hand, reviewing Luna’s care instructions one final time. We stood near the doorway, looking over at my daughter.

“She did remarkably well with the first round,” she began. “Better than we expected, though the next two weeks will tell us more about how her body is responding.”

“What’s next?” I asked.

“Dr. Patel in Gunnison will coordinate with me. We recommend Luna stay at the hospital there for the five days of her next round, so we can monitor how she tolerates the second cycle. After that, if all goes well, the time she’ll have to stay will grow increasingly shorter.”

“Do I get to ride in a helicopter again?” Luna asked.

“Not this time, Unicorn Girl,” Holt said as he entered the room with coffee for all the adults. “We’re driving home.”

Luna considered this. “Can we stop for ice cream?”

“If your mom says it’s okay.” Holt glanced at me with raised eyebrows.

“We’ll see,” I replied, my standard answer when I was too tired to make decisions.

My father chuckled. “That’s what my mother always said to me when I asked for something. It usually meant yes.”

Dr. Robbins handed me a thick folder. “Everything is in here—medication schedules, signs to watch for, dietary recommendations, activity guidelines. Dr. Patel has all this information too, but I wanted you to have your own copy.”

I thumbed through the folder, overwhelmed by the volume of information. “Thank you.”

“And we should have the bone marrow compatibility results in another couple of weeks or so,” she added. “From you, your father, and Holt.”

The three of us had been tested the following day. A transplant wasn’t guaranteed, but having the results would prepare us for any decision that might come later.

“Any word from Luna’s father?” Dr. Robbins asked quietly, stepping farther away from where Luna was chattering with my dad about the stuffed animal hospital they planned to set up at home.

I shook my head, the familiar knot forming in my stomach. “Not yet.”

Holt had spoken with Ben, who’d talked to Remi. The details of that conversation had been mostly kept from me, at my request. I knew it would be hurtful, and I was already carrying enough pain. What Holt had shared was that the band would be taking a break from the tour the same day Luna was scheduled to start her next round of chemo. With them returning to the States, there was hope Remi might agree to be tested then.

I wasn’t holding my breath.

The drive to Crested Butte took four hours, including a stop for the promised ice cream. Luna dozed for most of the trip. As soon as we turned off Cottonwood Pass and I saw the butte in the distance, I felt my shoulders relax.Home.

“I’m making chilaquiles tomorrow,”my father said, touching Luna’s cheek as we turned onto Elk Avenue—Crested Butte’s version of Main Street. “With the extra queso fresco you like.”

Luna clapped her hands. “With avocado too?”

“Is there any other way?”

She shook her head.

When our house came into view, I gasped. Someone had hung a hand-painted banner across the porch, its crooked letters spelling “Welcome Home Luna.” Wind-whipped balloons were tied to the railing, and the walkway stood freshly shoveled.

“Wow,” I murmured, taking in the sight.

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