4

JILLIAN LEANED AWAY from the table as the waitress set a plate in front of her. Strawberry-vanilla stuffed French toast. Yum. Her blood sugar would skyrocket and the scale would groan, but her agenda for today’s family breakfast warranted good old-fashioned comfort food.

Just because she had to be a grown-up today didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the kind of breakfast she’d indulged in as a kid.

The table became a veritable advertisement for IHOP as the waitress served the rest of the family. Geoff, who loved breakfast more than any other meal, had chosen the sampler. Her parents split a pancake and egg combo. Payton requested more coffee and would probably pick at her bowl of oatmeal with almonds and walnuts or let Nash eat it when he finished his scramble. And Johanna, ever vigilant about her calories, had opted for a veggie omelet and fruit.

If her yet-unspoken announcement hadn’t been lurking in the back of her mind, Jillian could have gotten lost in comparing this morning to childhood weekend visits to IHOP to celebrate report cards. Or a sports victory. Or just because their parents thought breakfast at a restaurant sounded fun.

As she reached for her glass of orange juice, her engagement ring, set off by her French manicure, caught her eye —a sure sign she wasn’t just the middle Thatcher daughter anymore. In less than a year, she’d be Jillian Hennessey, a married woman. If choosing to say, “I do” to forever with someone didn’t mean you were grown up, facing a cancer diagnosis did.

Of course, cancer had nothing to do with age. Children battled cancer every day.

“Jill.” The sound of Geoff’s voice brought Jillian’s focus back to the present. “Honey, your mom asked if we wanted to talk about the wedding.”

“Oh, sorry. My thoughts wandered for a moment.”

“I imagine between work and planning a wedding, you’ve got a lot on your mind.” Her mother transferred some of the scrambled eggs from the plate in front of her father to a smaller plate, adding a slice of crisp bacon.

“Yes.” Beneath the table, Geoff clasped her hand in his, intertwining their fingers and caressing her skin with his thumb. She was tempted to scoot closer to him and rest her head on his shoulder. Savor his closeness.

How was it that when she was with him, she didn’t think about her weight? It wasn’t that she felt beautiful. No. She didn’t know if she’d ever feel beautiful. But Geoff loved her. That she did know. When he looked at her, he didn’t compare her to other women. He never looked at other women when they were together. She was enough for him.

The only other man who had accepted her so completely was her dad.

“One day, Jilly . . . One day a guy is going to look at you and say, ‘You are exactly what I want in a woman.’ And you’ll believe him.”

Every time her father had told her that when she was growing up, she’d thought he said it because, well, a dad had to say those kinds of things to his daughter. But when she met Geoff, she was finally able to tell her dad that he’d been right all those years.

With Geoff next to her, she could face her family and say what she needed to say. Telling him about her cancer ahead of this family get-together meant at least one person would remain calm when she revealed her secret. Why wait until after breakfast to share her news?

“I’ll admit juggling work and the wedding is interesting.” Jillian paused. Sweat slicked her palms, but she refused to let go of Geoff’s hand. Her pulse beat at the base of her throat and her words seemed to tumble over one another. “And then something else came up that has added a bit more pressure.”

Now she had everyone’s attention. She’d practiced what she wanted to say, talking it through with Geoff —once he’d recovered from the shock of her news himself. Once he’d understood why she hadn’t told him sooner about her diagnosis. He’d had no hesitation in taking time away from work for Sunday breakfast. She’d even rehearsed the words in her head as they drove to the restaurant.

Quick, like swallowing bad-tasting medicine. That was best.

“I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer.”

Her father stilled, his brow furrowing. Her mother’s mouth formed a silent O, even as her eyes filled much too fast with tears. Payton’s spoon clinked against her mug, shattering the sudden silence that shrouded their table, as Nash put his arm around her. Johanna seemed to assess everyone else, her face a mask against her emotions.

Johanna spoke first. “When did you find this out, Jillian?”

“I got the initial diagnosis the night of my engagement party.”

“What?” Her mother’s gasp was laden with tears. “And you didn’t tell us?”

“There was nothing to say, Mom. I met with Dr. Sartwell that Monday and got more information —”

“What do you know?” Again, Johanna spoke.

“My doctor is optimistic we’ve caught this early.”

“When do you have your next appointment?”

“I’ve already seen the breast surgeon Dr. Sartwell recommended.”

“Jillian!” Her mother’s fork clattered against her plate. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“I wanted to have something specific to tell you.”

Geoff drew her closer as if the physical action would remind her that she wasn’t facing her family alone. “If it makes you feel any better, Mrs. Thatcher, Jillian didn’t tell me anything until after she’d had her preliminary visit with the breast surgeon five days ago.”

Had she ever heard Geoff sound so serious?

“Like Geoff said, I met with Dr. Williamson last Wednesday. Dr. Sartwell said she’s one of the top surgeons in town.” Jillian forced herself to slow down. “We discussed what needs to happen next. I’m scheduled to have an MRI this Tuesday morning —”

“You mean . . . the day after tomorrow?” Her mother’s voice quavered.

“Yes. And then I’ll wait for results. Like I said, Dr. Sartwell is optimistic.” Jillian infused her voice with confidence. Maybe if she kept repeating the word optimistic, her family would finally hear it. “The lesion was only the size of a grape —a small grape.”

“When will you have the complete results?” Johanna had abandoned her breakfast and taken on the role of interrogator.

“I’ll see Dr. Williamson the following Monday.” In some ways, Johanna was making this easier. All Jillian had to do was answer her sister’s questions. “Mom . . . Dad . . . I’m going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” Her mother’s tortured whisper scraped Jillian’s nerves raw. “I can’t . . . I can’t lose another daughter.”

Across the table, Payton’s face whitened, but she remained silent.

Her father wrapped his arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Jillian said the doctor has given her a good prognosis, Heather —”

“I know that’s what she said, but we don’t know . . .”

Maybe her decision to share this with her family without more positive information had been wrong. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have waited —”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jillian.” Johanna negated Jillian’s apology. “Of course you had to tell us. We’re your family. Did you do any research on this Dr. Williamson?”

“No. I trust Dr. Sartwell’s recommendation.”

“Really? Don’t you know anything about taking charge of your health care?”

“It’s her choice, Johanna.” At last, Payton spoke up, but only to take on Johanna. Of course.

“I’m just saying she should have gotten a second opinion —”

Payton’s response was quick and sharp. “Let it be, will you? Please?”

Nash leaned over and whispered something into Payton’s ear, causing her to wrap her hands around her mug of coffee and look away.

Jillian stared down at her plate of food, the whipped cream collapsing and puddling into the syrup covering her French toast. How was she supposed to fix this? Johanna and Payton were on the verge of another quarrel, and typical or not, she wasn’t up for it. Her mother was about to fall apart at the thought of her dying like Pepper. And her father was once again going to have to reassure everyone. So much for the idea of choosing a public place and maintaining some sort of control over the situation. She’d been fooling herself.

She’d known her announcement would upset her family. But was it wrong to want someone to ask her how she was doing? For her sisters to stop fighting and focus on her for once? To see her? To not want her mother to compare her cancer to losing Pepper, but just let this moment be about her?

Was it so wrong to need her family?

“Jill, is it all right with you if I say something?” Geoff lowered his voice so only she could hear his question.

“I guess so.” Jillian pressed her fingertips against the pressure building behind her forehead. She closed her eyes, blocking the sight of the breakfast in front of her, the rich confection unsettling her stomach.

Geoff slipped his hand from hers, but only so he could place his arm around her waist and pull her even closer. “I’m certain we all have our opinions about how we would have handled this situation. But Jillian did what she thought was right.”

Jillian wanted to twist and stare at her boisterous fiancé who had gone so somber on her, but she remained still. Maybe Geoff could handle her family. She certainly couldn’t.

“I admit I would have liked Jillian to tell me about everything sooner. I hate the thought of her going to the biopsy appointment by herself.” Geoff paused for a moment. “But like I said, that was her choice. We all know now. The most important thing is that we support Jillian however she wants us to.”

Geoff’s words helped Jillian straighten up and face her family again. She had to remember she wasn’t alone in this.

“You’re right, Geoff.” Her father nodded. “We’re all just a bit shocked by this news.”

“I know, sir. I was, too. I wish there’d been some way to prepare you better, but there’s really no good way to say this . . .”

“Well, it’s been said. Now we have to deal with it.” Her father offered her a smile. “We’re here for you, Jilly.”

His words caused tears to threaten. Instead, she forced herself to smile in return. “I know you are, Dad. I promise to let you all know as soon as I have the MRI results.”

“Do you want me to go with you? I can take off work.” Johanna was already pulling up her calendar on her phone.

“Thank you for the offer, Johanna, but there’s no need for anyone to take me to the appointment.”

“I wanted to be there with her, but Jillian insisted I not miss work because of the deadline we’re dealing with.”

“The appointment’s scheduled first thing in the morning, so I’ll be back at work almost on time.”

“If you change your mind, you know any one of us would go with you.” Her mother offered an almost-normal smile.

Jillian shifted away from Geoff, picking up her knife and fork and slicing into her French toast. If she took small bites, maybe she could stomach the too-sweet dish. “I appreciate that. Now that everyone knows, maybe we can get back to our breakfast?”

“But I think we should discuss some things —” Johanna raised her voice enough that several people at nearby tables glanced at her.

Jillian gathered her strength to respond to her sister, but Geoff spoke first. “There’s really nothing to discuss until after we get the final report from the surgeon. What Jillian wanted to do this morning was to inform you of her diagnosis and tell you about her upcoming appointment. Why don’t we talk about something more pleasant, like the wedding, okay?”

And just like that, Geoff had done it again and come to her rescue. That was sweeter and more comforting than any amount of French toast topped with a lavish amount of strawberries and whipped cream could ever be.

I was almost alone. Almost. Just a few more steps and I would be inside my town house. By myself. Able to begin processing Jillian’s startling announcement earlier this morning.

“Nash, please, just go home.” I leaned against the frame of the front door, which seemed to be the only thing holding me upright.

“But I’m worried about you.” Instead of leaving, Nash snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “You’ve been so quiet all day.”

“I just found out my sister has cancer. What do you expect?” I rested the palm of my hand against his chest. “I’m trying to process all of this.”

“Let me help you process.” He pressed his lips to mine, lingering for a moment. He was too close. The scent of his aftershave too heavy.

“I don’t think ‘processing’ is what you really have in mind.” Nash’s kisses, usually so enticing, sparked no response from me. Well, not the kind of response he was hoping for.

“You can talk . . . I can listen. I could even run you a bubble bath . . .”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “A bubble bath? Me?”

“Just trying to help you unwind. Would you like a back rub maybe?”

When he kissed my neck, his breath hot against my skin, I shrugged out of his arms. What part of “not interested” did the man not understand? I didn’t want to talk . . . or do anything else. I’d already let him convince me to go see some sci-fi movie I didn’t care about, followed by an early dinner at a Mexican restaurant. I didn’t remember how the movie ended or what I’d eaten.

“I just want some time to myself.” There. That was as plain as I could say it, other than my “just go home” statement, which he’d already ignored. “It’s been a long day. I’ll probably go to bed early so I’m ready for work tomorrow.”

Nash backed off. Finally. If I didn’t look in his eyes, I wouldn’t see how hurt he was to be kicked out. Not that I’d even let him in the door tonight. It wasn’t his fault he wanted more of me than I was able to give him. How did I explain that it wasn’t him, it was me? A romantic cliché that had ended all of my adult relationships, yes. It’s not you, it’s me. But just because I’d said those five words over and over again in one form or another didn’t make them any less true.

My capacity to love, to be close to someone else, had been wounded ten years ago and never healed.

But how was Nash supposed to know that when I barely mentioned Pepper to him or to anyone else? A decade after my sister’s death, most people didn’t even know I had a twin.

My life was easier that way.

Blunt and nonresponsive worked. Nash left, but not before he promised to call later, his shoulders down, his steps slow.

Let the man sulk.

I escaped into my house, closing the door on the late-summer twilight and my stubborn boyfriend.

I kicked off my wedges, leaving them in the foyer beside several other pairs of sandals, and dead-bolted the door. What had my parents always said when they left Pepper and me alone in the house when we were younger?

“Nobody in. Nobody out.”

That was just the kind of evening I had planned.

My town house was a multiroom replica of Festivities’s back room. A small neglected living room, with my laptop perched on one end of the couch. One of these days I’d buy a coffee table. Various white cotton ankle socks —a preference developed during my volleyball days —were tossed about the carpet, along with empty plates and glasses stacked near the couch, waiting to be taken to the kitchen. That room was not much better than the living room, although I could hide the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, which I always forgot to start until no clean dishes remained in the cupboards.

I changed into a loose-fitting T-shirt and black yoga pants left over from a brief phase that ended when a too-ambitious attempt to do the crow pose earned me two black eyes and a swollen nose.

As I pushed my hair back with a thin black headband, my cell phone rang. Somehow, I knew who it would be.

“Yes, Johanna?”

“What? No hello?”

“Hello, Johanna. What can I do for you?” As I waited for Johanna’s reply, I ransacked my freezer for a small container of ice cream. I might not indulge in a bubble bath, but Ben & Jerry’s vegan Chocolate Fudge Brownie was always an option.

“I’ve been thinking . . .”

Uh-oh. Not a surprise and never a good thing. “Yes?”

“We need to convince Jillian to move up her wedding date.”

“What?” I almost dropped my spoon. “Why?”

“I’ve been on the computer all afternoon doing some research.”

Was I surprised? No. My sister —the woman who researched. Who controlled. Who told other people what to do.

“Jillian didn’t ask you to do any research —”

“I’m the one with a medical background. I know where to look for up-to-date information. Jillian said her doctor thinks they caught her cancer early, but what if they didn’t?”

“Way to be positive —”

Johanna ignored my comment. “She and Geoff are planning on getting married next April. But what if the prognosis isn’t good? Why not get married sooner so they can enjoy their wedding and honeymoon before she has to have chemo or radiation? Then she’s not alone while she’s going through treatment. It just seems like the best —”

“It seems like the best idea to you, Johanna. To you.” I tore the lid off the ice cream container. “But it’s not what Jillian wants to do.”

“That’s why I’m going to call her and suggest moving up her wedding. And then you can call her and suggest she change the date, too. If we both talk to her —”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. I’m not going to call her.”

“Payton —”

“Johanna. Stop. I mean it. Keep your research and your recommendations to yourself. Jillian and Geoff will figure this out. They need our support, not our unwelcome advice.”

“Researching and offering advice is how I support them.”

“No.” I paced the kitchen, my ice cream left on the counter. “It’s bossing them around, like you’re the parent and they’re children. This is their wedding. They’ll decide if there’s any change to the date because of her . . . her diagnosis. If they want anybody else’s opinion, they’ll ask.” Was it possible to turn the focus from one sister to the other? “Shouldn’t you be planning your own wedding?”

Johanna paused for half a second before responding. “I already know what kind of wedding I want.”

“Don’t you mean what kind of wedding you and Beckett want?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant. Stop twisting my words.”

“Have the two of you even set a date?”

“We’ve tossed around some possible dates.”

“Just possible dates? You’ve been together for seven years. Why are you waiting?”

“Beckett has the choice to deploy overseas for a year and then have a three-year follow-on assignment to Colorado, and then he could retire.”

“Well, why don’t you attend to your own life?” I rushed ahead before Johanna could respond, not that I understood all the military talk about Beckett’s career choices. “Let’s wait for Jillian’s update after she has the MRI. That’s what she asked us to do, after all.”

I chose to take my sister’s silence as agreement and said a quick good-bye.

I’d lost my appetite. Some people assumed I was naturally thin, but I was one of those women whose appetite fled at the first sign of stress. I tossed the carton into the trash and added the spoon to the dishwasher, which overflowed with dirty dishes. Then I curled up on my couch, pulling a multicolored quilt made from old volleyball T-shirts over my body. I’d close my eyes for a few minutes before updating Festivities’s Facebook page.

“Payton.”

That voice. It was so much like my own, except it sounded younger. Lighter.

“Hey, Payton.”

Was that . . . Pepper?

I turned around, my tennis shoes squeaking on the cement floor. Where was I?

Humid. Dimly lit. An odor of . . . what? Sweat and soap.

Rows of blue lockers filled the room.

What was I doing in my high school’s girls locker room?

My sister sat astride one of the long wooden benches positioned between the rows of lockers. She wore gray sweatpants and a white team T-shirt, her long auburn hair in a single braid. She could be heading into volleyball practice.

I stopped at the end of the row. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” Pepper leaned forward, her hands resting on the bench.

“Waiting for me?”

“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“I was wondering how you were doing.”

“What?”

A smile curved her lips, lighting her eyes, the blue eyes that hinted at turquoise just like mine did. “You’ve got to admit it’s been a long time since we’ve talked, Pay.”

Was that supposed to be some sort of joke? I forced the words past my dry throat. “But you don’t look any different.”

“I know.” Pepper tilted her head, her braid swishing to the side. “You do, though. You’re all grown up. So that’s what I’d look like, huh?”

Her carefree giggle caused my chest to ache even as I touched the ends of my hair that lay tangled against my shoulders. “If you went shorter and opted for layers and blonde highlights, yeah.”

“I like it. We always had long hair.”

“The volleyball girl look, right?”

“So people said.” Pepper pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Are you still playing volleyball? Coaching? That was your plan.”

“No. I couldn’t . . . Not after you . . . It was too hard. I own a party-planning company with a friend.”

“Huh. I never would’ve figured that.”

“I like it.” I hadn’t lied to her. I did like my job, so long as Kimberlee was the “party” part of the business and I was the “planner” part of the business.

“What kinds of parties?”

“You name it. Wedding receptions. Birthday parties. Would you believe we just catered Jillian’s engagement party?”

“Jillian’s getting married? Wow. Is he cute?”

I’d never really thought about that. “Jillian thinks so. Remember how we used to watch those old black-and-white Dick Van Dyke TV shows with Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“I think Geoff —that’s Jillian’s fiancé —kind of looks like a young Dick Van Dyke. And he’s got the crazy sense of humor, too.”

“Well, good for her. What about you and Johanna?”

I’d focus on Johanna’s love life. “Johanna’s engaged to Beckett. He’s in the Air Force.”

Pepper leaned forward. “Pay?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

My throat tightened. “I miss you, too. Every day . . .”

Pepper didn’t respond. Instead, she stood, casting a long shadow against the wall, and walked right past me.

Where was she going?

“Pepper —” My voice was a whisper. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t turn around.

The locker room went dark.

“Pepper? Where are you?”

“Where are you? Where are you?” I woke myself up yelling the question into my dark living room.

Early on after my twin sister died, I’d had dreams —nightmares —where I stood in the dark and screamed her name. Over and over again. Pepper never appeared. And I was thankful when the medications prescribed by the psychiatrist ended months of disturbed sleep.

I didn’t need nightmares to know I’d never see my sister again.

And now . . . now she’d shown up in a dream. Just to talk. To find out how I was doing. How Johanna and Jillian were doing.

I found my cell phone tangled up in the quilt. Almost nine o’clock. I gathered the quilt around my shoulders again. Maybe I should have given in to Nash’s advances and let him stay. I could always call him. He’d come back. But every night he stayed over weakened my argument against him moving in with me. . . .

I pulled my knees up to my chest, pressing my forehead against them. This dream was some sort of emotional fluke caused by Jillian’s unexpected announcement earlier in the day. Did I want to start something more with Nash because of an unsettling dream?

I abandoned the couch and the warmth of the quilt and reached for my laptop. I’d do some work. Maybe even search online for new recipes. Peruse Pinterest for ideas for Jillian’s bridal shower. Why did I have to wait for Johanna’s marching orders to plan things? As the oldest sister, she was the maid of honor by default, but that didn’t make her the boss of me.

Would my older sister ever realize that? Or years from now would we be two gray-haired old ladies in an ongoing power struggle? Maybe my work on Jillian’s shower and wedding would help her learn the lesson that I was a capable adult a little sooner.

I opened my laptop, powering it up so that the familiar view of the Festivities logo appeared on the screen. For now, I’d focus on work. Reality. And forget about seeing my twin sister again —even if only in a dream.