Michael’s chair creaked nervously under him. “I’ve been sick for a long time.”
Years of raucous partying every night had concealed his symptoms under the mask of binge-drinking. Headaches were par for the course when living with an unending hangover. His doctor had given him a month–six weeks at the max. His life had become an unending series of medications and sympathy cards. He was dying, but he didn’t have to die of brain cancer.
A waft of lavender and rose drifted from the brunette locks flowing around Emma’s face. Her soft, uncalloused hands gripped his fingers with a life-line of hope. “You needn’t worry anymore, Michael. Your sickness has gone and will not return to you here.”
Michael’s hands began to sweat. “That’s not possible.”
Emma straightened and held up a huge yellow apple and a matching banana. “These fruits do not enjoy the same climate. The apple tree bears fruit to harvest in the fall, yet it is summer and I picked this for you today. The banana grows in hot, humid climates with rain year round, and I harvested this bunch today. Is it impossible for these two fruits to grow in the same place? For most, yes it is, for us—nothing is impossible.”