His voice cracked slightly.
“We’re managing.”
The way he said managing told me they barely were.
I looked at Ethan.
“How much did you get for the computer?”
“Eight hundred.”
“And you gave it
to Lily?”
“No.”
“To whom?”
Ethan’s face changed.
That was when I realized the computer wasn’t what had frightened him.
There was more.
“Ethan.”
He whispered:
“I started a fundraiser.”
I stared.
“A what?”
“Online.”
My heart began racing.
“What did you say?”
He wouldn’t answer.
David handed me his phone.
A fundraising page was open.
At the top was a photograph of Lily.
Smiling.
Before she lost her hair.
Beside her stood Ethan.
Both maybe twelve.
The title read:
HELP LILY GET TO TREATMENT
I felt sick.
“How long
has this been online?”
“Six weeks,” Ethan whispered.
I scrolled.
There were updates.
Written by Ethan.
Not dramatic.
Not manipulative.
Simple.
Lily has treatment Tuesday. Her family has to drive far and miss work. I want them to have one less thing to worry about.
