23

THREE DAYS since she’d broken off her engagement . . . and today hadn’t been too bad.

Jillian’s mother had agreed to take her to her chemo appointment, accepting her explanation that Geoff needed to work. Which was true. She’d skipped the Sunday football get-together, saying she was tired.

Not a lie. And staying home meant she didn’t have to lie to her family about why Geoff wasn’t there —or tell the truth. She’d tell them about the breakup soon.

She knew some of the staff by name now, and they knew that she’d talk about the Broncos game. And then they left her alone while the medicinal “cocktail” did its job. She’d even convinced her mother to go run some errands, telling her that she’d most likely doze off during the treatment.

But now her apartment was too quiet. She’d never realized how waiting for someone filled both time and space. With anticipation —almost as if the waiting for someone was an invisible presence, sitting with her in the stillness so that she wasn’t alone or lonely until Geoff showed up, with his smile and his laughter. His love.

Maybe it was time to get a cat. Or a dog. So that when she came home at night, something was waiting for her, needing attention and love.

She could spend the evening browsing rescue sites instead of reruns on TV. But first, hydration. If Geoff were here, he’d remind her to drink lots of water.

There was no sense in feeling sorry for herself. This was her choice. The right choice. For both of them.

Pounding on the front door stopped Jillian midway between her living room and kitchen. Could that be Geoff? No. Pounding on doors wasn’t his style.

Sure enough, Harper, not her ex-fiancé, stared at her when she opened the door.

“Um, hello?” Jillian leaned against the doorjamb. “I thought we agreed no Girls’ Nights when I had chemotherapy.”

“Oh, believe me, I am not here for a Girls’ Night.” Harper handed Jillian a smoothie, brushing past her. “I don’t know whether to hug you and let you cry on my shoulder or knock you upside your sweet little head.”

“What?” Jillian pivoted, trying to keep up with the one-sided conversation.

“Do you want to explain to me why you called off your wedding?”

“You talked to Geoff.”

“Yes. I talked to Geoff. He came by the bank today and told me you broke off your engagement. He looked so awful at first I thought . . . well, I’m just going to say it: I thought you’d died.”

Ouch. Her friend wasn’t pulling any punches. Jillian sipped on the smoothie. Triple berry. Her favorite. Just like Harper —she was mad at her and still taking care of her. Jillian hadn’t seen her best friend this conflicted since Trent walked out. That night she’d alternated between throwing all his clothes into big black trash bags and picking up different framed photos from around their house, reminiscing about favorite memories.

Harper rounded on her again, hands lifted. “Why did you do it, Jill?”

Before she could answer, Jillian stopped. Narrowed her eyes. Focused on her friend.

“Where’s your wedding ring?”

Harper tucked her hands behind her back like a little girl caught playing with her mother’s nail polish. “That is not the topic of conversation for tonight.”

“It is now. Why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?”

“Because I was stupid enough to call Trent and ask him if he wanted to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas —he could take his pick —together.”

“What happened?”

“Some woman answered the phone.” A weak laugh followed her statement. “Silly me. Why would he want to see me during the holidays, when he’s going skiing with Lana?”

“Oh, Harper —”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. But it was the first time she answered his phone. A reality check, you know?” Her friend swallowed. Shook her head. “Happy Thanksgiving and merry Christmas to me. And happy New Year’s, too.”

Jillian wasn’t the only one grieving the loss of a relationship. She’d been so caught up in her own heartbreak, she hadn’t been paying attention to her best friend’s. When was the last time she’d asked how Harper was doing, instead of letting their conversation center on her? Her cancer?

No more. Things needed to change.

Harper put her hands on her hips. “I didn’t come here to talk about me and Trent. I’m worried about you and Geoff.”

“I know you are. But you can’t do anything to fix this.”

“That man loves you something crazy —”

“And I love him.” It was the truth. She might as well admit it.

She’d found one of his jackets after he’d left last Friday —who knows how long ago he’d left it at her apartment. Since then, she’d hugged the coat against her body every night as she fell asleep, inhaling the scent of his cologne. Did Harper do that with Trent’s shirts?

“Then why?”

“Because . . . cancer messed up our relationship.” She’d had the same conversation with herself over and over again. Maybe saying it out loud to Harper would help. “I don’t know why he loves me anymore. Does he love me or does he love me because I have cancer?”

As her friend’s eyes filled with tears, Jillian wrapped her in a hug, careful to hold the smoothie away from Harper’s back. “I promise not to dump this on you.”

That earned her a small laugh.

“I’m so sorry about what Trent did —”

“Tonight is not about me.”

“But I want to talk about you. Life’s not just about me, you know. We’re both going through tough times.”

Harper hugged her. Hard. “But it’s not the same —”

“Friendship isn’t a comparison game so that whoever is having the hardest time gets to monopolize the conversation.” Jillian adopted a stern tone. “And this is a Girls’ Night —plural —so it’s not all about me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Jillian held on to her friend for a few seconds longer. If only her relationships with her sisters were more like her relationship with Harper. She never felt lost in the life shuffle with her best friend. Never felt assigned to a certain position —the middle —and left there.

Jillian stepped away. “Do you think we can have an abbreviated Girls’ Night?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I’ll drink my smoothie —thank you for this, by the way —and you can break into the stash of chocolate you left here. We can skip the rom-com and go for a mystery or something with really good car chases —”

“And if you nod off, I’ll tuck you in bed before I leave.”

Jillian looped their arms together. “You’re a good friend, Harper Adams.”

“So are you, Jillian Thatcher.”

They’d avoided a showdown. Declared a truce. She’d be drinking a smoothie while Harper indulged in chocolate. But the best of friendships went through all sorts of phases and survived.

And the next Girls’ Night, she’d ask how Harper was doing first.

I dropped my pen on top of the lined sheet of paper, resisting the urge to crumple it and toss it in the trash can. I prided myself on being such a good list maker. Make the list. Accomplish the task. Efficient. Effective.

Well, I’d made my list. Labeled it Christmas Shopping. Written down everyone’s names: Mom, Dad, Jillian and Geoff, Johanna and Beckett —although I wasn’t certain my sister would accept anything from me after our last showdown —Kimberlee, Bianca.

I’d even added Sydney’s name with a small question mark beside it. I’d only been back to the gym once since the first time I’d attended a volleyball practice. I was still undecided if I would show up for another practice or not.

So why was her name on my gift list?

Not that it mattered. A list of names with no gifts written next to them, no check marks denoting “mission accomplished” —well, that was just another thing that wasn’t going to be crossed off my bigger to-do list.

So many lists. So little accomplished.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

Kimberlee looked up from her desk. “Do what?”

“Christmas shop for my family.”

“You’ve never done it before?”

“Very funny.” I swiveled my chair around to face her. “Of course I’ve done it before. I just haven’t cared about what I bought them in years. This year I care, so the gifts have to mean something.”

I hadn’t realized I’d care more about things when I told the truth. Care more about people. My family . . . well, most of my family. After the last confrontation with Johanna, the only question was, who was down for the count and who had retreated to the neutral corner?

Maybe I should buy her boxing gloves. Or a mouth guard.

It had been just over three weeks since I’d shown up for football Sunday. And while there was open space between my family and me instead of No Trespassing lines drawn by fear and deception, we all seemed unsure of how to proceed. What, if anything, would change? Maybe there would be a new sense of closeness in a few weeks at Thanksgiving, instead of the facade of a happy family holiday against the backdrop of nonstop football games.

In some ways, my confession was like walking into a long-ignored room. Pulling back the curtains and opening the windows so light could dispel the darkness. But how would we fill the space?

“You’ve been messing with that list for the past twenty minutes.” Kimberlee came and stood beside my desk, picking up the paper. “What do you have so far?”

“People’s names.”

“It’s a start. Oh, look! There I am.” She retrieved the pen. “I can definitely help you with that. You know how much I love rings.”

“You, my friend, have a ring addiction —” I stopped midjoke.

The faint scent of ammonia lingered in the air. What was going on? That only happened when a panic attack lurked around the corner. I was over those. I’d confessed, and my family hadn’t disowned me. What more was there to do? Penance?

No. Zach might think I had to decide what I believed about God. But that wasn’t the question that had haunted me for the past ten years. All I needed to do —according to Pepper —was tell the truth.

The ping of a text message distracted me. Geoff.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“My sister’s fiancé texted, asking if I was at work. He wants to talk.” I texted back yes. “He’s waiting outside the office.”

“What is it with men showing up at the office wanting to talk with you?”

“Geoff is engaged to my sister! He probably wants to do something to surprise her for Christmas.”

“Well, I’m going home. Call me later if you want help with your gift list.” Kimberlee gathered up her purse. “Go ahead and talk. Ask him if they’ve figured out a date for their bridal shower. The calendar is starting to fill up for next year.”

Geoff waited on the other side of the glass doors labeled with the word Festivities in white cursive. He was an impromptu kind of guy, but it didn’t seem like he was happy to be here. No. He looked more tired than I did after a run of sleepless nights, thanks to Pepper showing up in my dreams.

I needed to unlock the doors. To let him in the office. But what if he wasn’t here to talk about some fun surprise for my sister? What if he was going to tell me something about Jillian? What if . . . what if I needed to brace myself for the loss of another sister when I was just coming to terms with Pepper’s death?

No matter how tired he was, no matter what his reason for being here, Geoff was also a hugger, wrapping his arms around me almost before he got through the doors.

“Hey, Geoff.”

“Payton.” Geoff stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

I motioned toward the back room. “Just working. Nothing that can’t wait. Can I get you some coffee?”

“That’d be great. So this is your office, huh?”

“Yes. Not much to brag about. And believe me, the front office is much more organized than where Kimberlee and I sit.” I opened the door, waving him toward the table in the middle of the room. “It works as our base of operations and the break room. We did manage to find a separate location for storage, but the truth is, we’ve outgrown this space.”

“Looking to move?”

“It’s up for discussion after the holidays.”

The idle chatter faded as I handed Geoff a mug of coffee. “Go ahead and sit down. My coffee will only take a moment. So what’s on your mind? Planning some sort of fun Christmas present for Jillian?”

“No.” Geoff stared into the depths of his mug.

The way Geoff sounded, I braced myself for bad news, even as I avoided it. “Have you two talked about dates for the bridal shower —?”

Geoff locked eyes with me. “There’s not going to be a bridal shower.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because Jillian called off the wedding.”

I couldn’t have heard him right. “That’s an awful joke. Jillian would never —”

“Do you really think I would joke about this, Payton?” Geoff slammed the mug down. “I was at her apartment four nights ago. She told me that she doesn’t want to marry me.”

I set my coffee cup down on the counter, shaking my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. She loves you. I’ve never seen Jillian as happy as she is with you.”

“I don’t understand it either.” Geoff sat with his elbows on the table, his hands clasped. “I mean, at first I didn’t. But I’ve thought about it and I keep coming back to something Jillian said . . . about not being the same, even if she beats the cancer diagnosis. Do you think maybe she believes I can’t love her because of her mastectomy and because she’ll lose her hair and because . . . because . . . ?”

Was I supposed to say the words he couldn’t say?

“Because she might die?”

“I know I joke around a lot, Payton. And I admit work’s been busy . . . and maybe . . . maybe I like how it distracted me a bit from what was happening with Jillian.” Geoff’s eyes filled with tears. “But I understand how serious this all is . . . how life-and-death serious it is. I lie awake at night because I’m afraid Jillian might die. But the thought of losing her instead of growing old with her makes me want to marry her sooner —not walk away from her.”

Why would Jillian not want to marry someone like Geoff Hennessey?

“What are you going to do now?” I sat down beside him, wishing I could fix things for him. For my sister.

“I was hoping you’d talk to her.”

I couldn’t have heard him right. “Me?”

“Yes. She won’t answer my calls or texts.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as if to prove it to me. “I thought about showing up at her apartment, but then I realized she’d probably listen to you sooner than she’d listen to me. Would you talk to her, Payton? Please? Tell her that I love her? That I still want to marry her?”

What? I wasn’t the one to step up and intercede for Geoff. I reveal a decade-old secret and suddenly I’m the family relationship guru? That’s not how things worked. Confession didn’t magically heal relationships or change people or span the distance created by years of silence and misunderstanding.

All he needed to do was ask Johanna.

“I think you’re the one to do that, Geoff. Not me.” I wrapped my hands around the ceramic coffee mug to still their trembling.

My hands were shaking. And now the odor of ammonia was even stronger. Was I on the verge of another panic attack? Wasn’t doing the right thing —confessing the truth —some sort of guarantee that my life would get easier? That the pressure would ease up?

Geoff covered one of my hands with his. “Would you just think about going to see her? Check on how she’s doing?”

Why was I surprised that someone else wanted something from me?

Just go to the awards ceremony, Payton.

Just tell the truth to the family, Payton.

Just check on Jillian, Payton.

I could only imagine how this would turn out. My sister would figure out in no time that Geoff had sent me. But did I have a choice?

“Yes. I’ll go check on her.” I held my hand up to shake his as if sealing a business deal. “And I’ll see if I can manage to get her to talk about you and the wedding and what’s going on —”

Geoff stood and pulled me into another rib-crunching hug. “Thank you, Payton. Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”

I’d never been to Jillian’s office. I’d never called my sister and asked, “Do you want to meet for lunch?” or “How about drinks after work today?”

I could blame it on the geographical distance between her work and mine —North Denver to Colorado Springs. Or I could be honest —a still-new thing for me —and blame it on the emotional distance between us.

A series of six framed watercolor hearts lined the wall behind her desk. Was the artwork standard issue from the bank? Not likely. Which meant my sister liked watercolors. And hearts. Why? Several award certificates hung over the bookshelf sitting to the left of her desk. No reason to be surprised by them or the fact that Jillian had never mentioned them —at least, not to me.

Jillian came around from behind her desk, her smile forced. “Payton, this is a surprise. Applying for a loan?”

Her attempt at humor did little to defuse the tension in the room. “I was hoping I could convince you to have lunch with me —if you’re not too busy.”

“You want to take me to lunch?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Actually, it is, since we’ve never been those kinds of sisters.” Jillian returned to her chair, placing her cherrywood desk between us. “Is this because you want to have lunch with me —or because Geoff told you that I broke off our engagement?”

My sister might as well have said, “Loan declined,” shown me out of her office, and slammed the door in my face. But Jillian was too kind for that sort of brute-squad tactic. No, that was more Johanna’s style. But even her innate kindness didn’t keep Jillian from being candid.

For just a moment, time reversed, and it seemed as if I’d wandered into the forbidden territory of my older sisters’ bedroom instead of showing up at the bank where Jillian worked. The age difference between us had loomed so large when I was younger —eight years and six years. Johanna and Jillian, busy with school and their friends, had no time for Pepper and me. But Pepper and I had each other. That was enough. At least for most of our lives we were enough for each other.

I shook off the shadow of the memory. I was here to stop Jillian from walking away from her future, not to get snared in the past. There was no easing into this over lunch with chitchat and pleasantries. I could confess the ruse and retreat or stand my ground and plead Geoff’s case.

“Fine. Geoff came by yesterday and asked me to check on you. But it is lunchtime, so why don’t we —?”

“Save your breath, Payton.” My sister clasped her hands on top of her desk as if she were discussing a loan application. “If you’re hoping to try and convince me to still marry Geoff, that’s not going to happen.”

“He loves you, Jillian. He doesn’t care that you have cancer.”

“Of course he’s going to say that.”

“You don’t believe him.”

“I believe him —and I think he believes it, too. But will he feel that way a month from now? A year from now? Call me old-fashioned, but I believe marriage is a forever commitment.”

“And Geoff doesn’t?”

“Cancer changes . . . things.” As she talked, Jillian shuffled the papers on her desk, not meeting my eyes.

It took me a moment to realize she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. She’d loved that ring.

“Isn’t it beautiful? It’s the perfect ring. The jeweler didn’t even have to resize it.” The entire time she spoke, Jillian moved her hand this way and that, never taking her eyes off the ring. And the entire time she talked, Geoff never took his eyes off her.

This was no time to retreat. I’d promised Geoff. I just needed to figure out how to talk sense to my normally levelheaded sister.

“I know you love Geoff —”

“I’m not the woman he proposed to, Payton.” Jillian leaned back in her chair. “And I’m not talking about being perfect. I have no pretenses about that. But it’s one thing for Geoff to propose to a woman who is forty pounds overweight and has no aspirations of being a runway model. He didn’t sign up to marry someone with cancer.”

So many questions ran through my head, but all I said was “Is this about you losing your hair?”

Jillian’s brief laugh had the echo of a sob in it. “I wish it was. My hair will grow back. It may be curlier or a different color, but I’m told I will have hair again. But my breast? That’s gone. And I may lose the other one by the time this is all over. I don’t know. That’s the problem. I can’t see the future. If I could, I would have never said yes when Geoff proposed to me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. We’re not married —just engaged. There’s no ‘for better, for worse, in sickness and in health’ vow holding him to me. He’s got an out —and I’m making sure he takes it.”

For all her bravado, I recognized myself in Jillian —the person I was after Pepper died. My sister was hurting. Scared. Unsure of what was ahead and how to face her future.

She was committing emotional suicide. Destroying her hopes and dreams with her bare hands because the thought of losing them was too painful to bear in light of all she’d lost already.

Jillian sat there, her already-thinning hair brushed into place. What she needed was a mask to disguise the emotions flitting across her face. Fear. Grief. Anger.

Years ago, I’d needed someone to rescue me from myself. Was that what Johanna thought she was doing after Pepper had died —stopping me from making a horrible mistake? The questions snarled in my head, tangling together with memories of nights spent alone, separated from what was left of my family.

I couldn’t think about that now.

How could I reach my sister? Stop her before she inflicted any more damage to her dreams?

I could only hope Geoff would forgive me for what I was about to say.

“Fine. Don’t marry Geoff.”

If possible, Jillian’s face got even whiter. “What?”

“I said, don’t marry Geoff.” I leaned forward. “But you need to decide if you’re going to fight for your life.”

“What are you talking about? I’m doing everything the doctors have told me to do —”

I snorted. “Doing what the doctors tell you to do is the bare minimum. It’s like warming up for a marathon. Do you even think your life is worth fighting for?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“It’s the most important question of your life, Jillian. One you need to answer.”

And now I sounded more like a shrink than a party planner. I didn’t even know where that question came from, but Jillian’s response proved her actions were fueled by more than just “Geoff deserves more than this.” And the fact that she still kept a photo of the two of them on her desk was a not-so-subtle clue that Jillian wasn’t moving on.

“I really don’t want to argue with you. Geoff loves you —” I picked up the silver photo frame, taking a moment to enjoy the image of the two of them laughing together before placing it front and center on her desk —“and this little photographic Freudian slip tells me that you still love him, too.”

“Payton —”

“After Pepper died, I pushed the family away for years. I was wrong to do it because I needed all of you. Don’t make the same mistake and push away the man you love because you’re afraid. And right now, it looks like Geoff loves you more than you love yourself.”

“Is that all you want to say?”

“Yes.”

Jillian stood. Walked around her desk and opened the door leading out of her office. “Well then, thank you for the invitation to lunch, but I’m only working half days right now, so I have a lot of work to do. I’ll have to take a rain check.”

Was this how Zach Gaines felt after the first time he tried to talk to me? As if he’d wasted both his words and his time?

But he hadn’t. He just didn’t know that at the time. All I could do was hope something I said made a difference in Jillian’s life. And if I’d been accustomed to praying —if I knew who to pray to —I’d do that.

Maybe the next time I talked to Zach, I could ask him to pray for Jillian.

Was I even planning on some sort of next time with Zach?

Snowflakes tumbled from the sky around my car. Pure white flakes falling to the dingy asphalt, forever changed. Tainted.

I sat in my car, the engine running, the wipers clearing the windshield of the blanket of snow. Outside, the process happened over and over again. Sparkles of white falling to earth. Sullied over and over again.

Now there’s a question I would like to ask Zach. How did forgiveness work? The divine interacting with the less-than of mankind? How did the supposed goodness of God not get overpowered by the world’s darkness?