As she did, she pressed close to me. I caught the scent of her perfume. It was such a little thing. She had a dozen perfumes. I never take notice, but...this was different. She had never worn this scent before. I knew because I instantly recognized it. My mother had died when I was five. A car accident took her life on a cold winter's night. As she'd kissed me goodbye that night, she had been wearing Chanel No .5.It was a scent memory. A powerful and unmistakable recognition. I did not know Kate. I thought about that fragile little girl in the emergency room who had climbed up on my lap, under attack by one of mankind's most dreaded enemies. Just the mention of the word 'CANCER' was enough to make grown men quiver and feel sick. John had stood up for her when she was too weak to do it on her own. The odds against success on such a venture would have made most men give up before they started. He certainly wasn't under any obligation to do anything about it. Once he diagnosed and pointed. More

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