5

“WHAT’S THE PLAN FOR TONIGHT?” Harper slipped into one of the chairs in front of Jillian’s desk, kicking off her floral high heels and running her fingers through her black hair. “Do you want to go have dinner? Or do you want to try that paint-it-yourself place? Wine and arts and crafts could be fun.”

Jillian started to twist her hands together, then settled them in her lap, out of sight. “I wanted to talk to you about something before we headed out. . . .”

“Wedding stuff?” Her friend leaned forward. “You know I totally understand about Johanna being your maid of honor, right? Sisters and all.”

“Yes. You’ve been great about that.” Jillian turned her engagement ring around and around her finger. She’d never suspected that something so beautiful would be mistreated whenever her stress levels increased. “And no, this isn’t about the wedding.”

“Is it work-related?”

“No.” Harper needed to stop. No matter how many guesses she made, her friend would never figure out what she wanted to talk about. “I went to the doctor and —”

“Oh, my gosh! You’re pregnant!” Harper fell back against the chair, her expression almost comical. Almost.

“No! No, I’m not pregnant. I can’t even believe you’d think that.” At least she’d been smart enough to close her office door. “I . . . I have cancer.”

There. She’d said it.

Harper gasped, her brown eyes widening and then filling with tears. “Wait. What?”

“I said —”

“I heard you. But you can’t have cancer. . . . You can’t . . .”

“That’s exactly what I thought when the doctor told me. I can’t have cancer. But I do.” Jillian exhaled a shuddery breath. “Breast cancer.”

Harper bolted from her chair, coming around the desk and kneeling on the carpet beside Jillian as she grabbed her hand. “How?”

It took only a few moments to explain everything to Harper, as silent tears streamed down her friend’s face. Harper clung to her hand. Never interrupted. Just let Jillian tell the stark details. The horrible truth.

“How are you?” Harper’s question filled the silence between them when Jillian had nothing left to say.

“I’m . . . scared.” No sense denying it —and her friend would know anyway. “But I trust my doctor. And the surgeon. So I’m hopeful, too.”

“And Geoff?”

“He’s been great. I can’t imagine facing this without him.”

“You’ve told your family?”

“Yesterday.”

“How did that go? No, don’t tell me. Johanna try to boss you around?”

“She means well. And Payton . . . well, she didn’t say much. I think it’s just too hard for her . . . you know.”

“Your parents?”

“My dad was composed as always.” Jillian shifted, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead, as Harper settled on the floor. “I’m worried about my mom.”

“You have to take care of yourself, Jillian. Your family should be helping you —”

“But this is hard on them, too.”

“I get that, but you’re the one with . . . with cancer, not them. Let them support you.” Harper squeezed her hand. “Now tell me what I can do for you.”

Jillian pressed her lips together, blinking back tears. Why was such a simple request enough to make her cry?

Harper leaned up, wrapping her in a hug. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just so thankful you’re my friend. And I don’t know what I need right now. . . . Just be my friend. Okay? You’re really good at that. And I think that’s what I’m going to need most of all.”

“Friends for always.”

Harper’s whispered words echoed of friendships forged in middle school. If only she’d had a friend like Harper back then. “Friends forever.”

“Nothing —absolutely nothing —is going to change that.” Harper squeezed her tighter. “Cancer picked the wrong person. Nobody messes with my best friend.”

“You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?”

Kimberlee’s question interrupted the replay of Sunday’s dream. Every day this week my emotions had balanced on the edge of an invisible precipice as I invented ways to stay busy so I could avoid going home. Avoid going to sleep and possibly dreaming of my twin sister. Avoid longing to see Pepper again, even as the ache lingered.

“I’m listening.” I tilted my mug to my lips only to find it empty, the faint aroma of coffee still inside. When had I finished that cup?

“Do you want to tell me what I just said?” Kimberlee leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. Waiting.

“I’m not playing that game with you.” I retreated to the coffeemaker. “You want another cup?”

“I’m good.” Kimberlee waved away my offer, picking up several sheets of paper off her desk. “We —or rather I was discussing Evangeline Forsythe’s wedding reception. And the long list of must-have items she faxed over this morning. Did you read this?”

“Yes. Nice of her to alphabetize it.”

“An elevated dance floor . . . jeweled seating cards . . . topiary tree arrangements . . . colored glassware . . . and I haven’t even gotten to the menu additions. Are we really going to put up with her demands?”

“The real question is, are we really going to turn away such a huge event?” I tilted my head, trying —and failing —to raise my eyebrow. Sometimes a girl just needed to be able to arch her eyebrow to make a point, but I lacked that particular skill. “We’ve done everything else she’s asked of us. Why are you balking now?”

“Because we’re less than five weeks out from the wedding and the woman is giving me a headache.” Kimberlee dropped the list and the papers scattered across her desk. Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her temples. “Honestly, she’s going to cause my blue highlights to fade.”

“At least there are no animal attendants involved in this ceremony, right?”

“True, true. No need to set up a separate table for canine members of the wedding party or order three courses of doggy delicacies. So we’re saying yes to all this?”

“And calling in a few favors while we charge the appropriate fee.”

“And crossing our fingers we get a glowing endorsement. And lots of referrals.”

“Exactly. We can only hope her friends won’t be quite so demanding.” I set my mug on the counter and retrieved a yogurt from the fridge. “You want one?”

“No, thanks. Switching gears. Have you got any details for your sister’s bridal shower?”

“No. I don’t even know if she wants the early date or the later date, but I keep expecting Johanna to call or fax me at least a preliminary list. She’s such a control freak. So far, it’s been quiet. Surprising, since Johanna thinks Jillian and Geoff should move the wedding date up.”

“Why?”

And now I had to explain things to my business partner, who was also my friend. There was no easy way to say it. “Jillian’s been diagnosed with breast cancer.”

Speaking the words out loud created an ache in the back of my throat.

Kimberlee’s gaze locked on mine. “What? When?”

“In a case of horrible timing, she received the call the night of the engagement party. That’s why we couldn’t find her when it was time to open gifts.”

“You’re kidding.” Kimberlee shook her head. “Forget I said that. Of course you’re not kidding.”

“Jillian had an MRI on Tuesday. She’s seeing the surgeon again next Monday.” I paused to catch my breath as if I’d been running around the office, not talking about my sister’s cancer diagnosis. “Her family practice doctor is optimistic that her case isn’t advanced.”

“Then I don’t understand why Johanna thinks Jillian should change the wedding date.”

“Johanna always has an opinion about how things should be done. She thinks Jillian should get married sooner just in case the prognosis is worse than expected. Ever the optimist, right?” I retreated to my desk. “She wants me to help her convince Jillian to do it —as if I had any real influence with her.”

“Do you think Johanna said anything to her?”

“Not yet. At least, I hope she hasn’t. Jillian has enough to worry about without our big sister swooping in and telling her when to get married.”

“Johanna wouldn’t pressure her, would she?”

“You’re talking about someone who would come home from college and hide the snacks in her bedroom closet because she thought Pepper and I were eating too much of them. Johanna would stash the potato chips and the Goldfish crackers on the top shelf —and then fill her own bowl whenever she wanted some.”

“Oh, come on. . . .”

“Aren’t you glad you don’t have a big sister?”

“Sure. I just had a little brother I had to babysit for free, and all his friends had crushes on me —”

“And you never liked any of these younger guys?”

“Well, there was this one guy, Frankie —”

The ring of my cell interrupted Kimberlee’s confession. “Let me get this and then you can tell me more about Frankie.”

I didn’t recognize the number, but maybe it was a potential client. Then again, why wouldn’t they have called the main business number?

“Hello, this is Payton Thatcher with Festivities.”

“Payton . . . hi. It’s Geoff.”

“Geoff . . . Jillian’s Geoff?”

“Yes. I got your number from her cell phone.”

I swiveled my chair so I faced away from Kimberlee. “What’s wrong?” Silence greeted my question. “Geoff?”

Geoff cleared his throat. “The surgeon called about the MRI results. It appears this may be a larger tumor than they first suspected.”

No. No. No.

“What . . . what does that mean?”

“Dr. Williamson said we’ll discuss the options on Monday.” Even though Geoff tried to keep his voice businesslike, his words were laced with a tremor.

I needed to say something in response to Geoff’s announcement. To at least thank him for calling me. “Can I talk to Jillian?”

“She just finished talking to the doctor and wanted everyone to know because you’ve all been waiting for news, too. But she’s not up to talking to anyone right now, so she asked me to call everyone. Your parents. Johanna. Harper.”

“I understand.”

What would I say to my sister? Offer her words of comfort? How was I supposed to bridge the years of silence and come up with just the right thing to say now that she needed support? Was I supposed to tell her not to be scared? She had every right to be scared.

“How bad is it, Geoff?” My voice had pitched so low I almost couldn’t hear my question. Would he?

“I don’t know. This isn’t what we were expecting. . . .” He stopped. “We’ll just have to wait until Monday.”

I ended the phone call with a brief “Thanks for calling and telling me.” I should have said something more. Something comforting. Something that would have defused the emotional bomb that had just been handed to Jillian. To Geoff. To our entire family.

Turning, I confronted Kimberlee, who still sat at her desk, her gaze trained on me. “What’s wrong?”

“That was Jillian’s fiancé.” I fought to focus through the internal echo of my conversation with Geoff. “The MRI results are worse than they expected.”

“Oh, Payton, no.”

“We still have to wait until Monday before we know what’s going on.” I scooted my chair up to my desk. “Time to get back to work.”

“Are you going to call her?”

“No. Jillian doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. I’ll wait until Monday.”

“Tell her I’m sending her good thoughts, will you?”

“Sure.”

Good thoughts. What else did I have to give my sister?

You can beat this thing, Jillian.

I’m pulling for you, Jillian.

You’ve got this, Jillian.

I sounded like some sort of cheerleader on the sidelines of my sister’s life.

I love you, Jillian.

That was true, wasn’t it? But when was the last time I’d told her?

Jillian huddled beneath her comforter, the bedroom door closed so she couldn’t hear Geoff phoning everyone to give them the update.

She’d left her clothes —shoes, pants, blouse —in a pile on her closet floor and pulled on her soft, roomy robe. The one that swallowed up her curves and extra pounds like a warm hug instead of the sharp rebuke some of the other items hanging in her closet always gave her body.

Then she’d pulled back her pale-blue down comforter, crawled underneath, and buried her face in her pillow —and waited to cry.

But no tears came.

Instead, the doctor’s words echoed in her head over and over again.

“It appears the cancer has extended beyond what we saw in the mammogram. . . .”

Surely the promise of happily ever after should last at least until she and Geoff said, “I do.”

But cancer had lousy timing. It had no sense of timing at all. And it didn’t seem to care about her hopes for future happiness. That she was planning a wedding. That so many people never even expected her to get married. Oh, sure, they never quite came out and said so to her face. But hidden behind all of the “You’d be so pretty if only you lost forty pounds” statements was the unspoken belief that no man was going to look at her, much less date her . . . much less propose to her.

Some of those same people hadn’t even tried to hide their surprise when the improbable happened.

And now . . . this. This thing invading her body, storming past Dr. Sartwell’s assurance that they’d caught the cancer early and taking control of her timetable. Her plans.

Her life.

Jillian twisted beneath the weight of the comforter, rolling onto her back to stare at the stark white ceiling. Was she a coward, not making the phone calls herself? Or was she just reserving her strength for what lay ahead?

She moved her arm so that her hand rested against her breast, her fingers sliding over the skin that covered the tumor lurking inside her body.

What was she facing? Chemo? Radiation? A mastectomy?

Her brain seemed to stutter over the last word. Four syllables denoting such horrible mutilation of her body . . . to save her life. A shiver coursed through her, and Jillian’s hand fell back against the mattress . . . away from the body that had betrayed her. The body that had never lived up to her expectations. That she’d never felt comfortable in. That she’d only begun to accept, thanks to Geoff.

But Geoff hadn’t planned on marrying a woman scarred by cancer, had he?

She stiffened, closing her eyes, as the bedroom door opened.

Geoff whispered, “Jillian? You asleep?”

For the briefest of moments, she considered keeping her eyes closed, evening her breathing out, and feigning sleep. Geoff would press a kiss to her forehead, tuck the blanket up around her shoulders, and leave her in peace —not that there was an ounce of peace anywhere inside her. Cancer had stolen that, too.

But she opened her eyes, rolling over to face the door, not bothering to fake a smile. “I’m awake.”

“Do you need anything?” Geoff sat on the edge of the bed, his hand curling around hers where it lay against the pillow. “Are you hungry?”

No, she wasn’t hungry. For once, she wasn’t hungry.

“No. Thank you.”

Geoff caressed each of her fingers with his thumb. “I called everyone.”

“Thank you.”

“Your parents are concerned about you.”

“I know.”

“Of course Johanna wanted to talk to you.” He ended the comment with a faint laugh.

Of course.

“And Payton asked to talk to you, too.”

“Payton?”

“Yes, but I explained you were resting. Should I have let her talk to you?”

“No. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Maybe I should go and let you get some rest . . .” The mattress shifted as he moved.

“Don’t leave. Please.” She clutched his hand.

“Okay. Do you want some hot tea? Maybe we could watch a movie?”

A movie. Numb her emotions with a chick flick that came with the kind of happy ending that was slipping through her fingers? Or assault her already-bruised mind with a Jason Bourne thriller that Geoff liked to watch sometimes? The only kind of movie she felt up to was a Disney film, but even watching something with magical adventures and singing animals seemed like too much.

“Would you . . . would you just hold me?”

“Here?” Geoff’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “I mean, do you want to come out to the living room . . . to the couch . . . ?”

His nervousness was endearing and understandable. She’d been beyond modest with him. Hesitant when it came to his advances. Not that she didn’t welcome them, but at first she couldn’t believe he found her attractive enough to want to kiss her —or anything else.

“Yes.” She scooted over, allowing him access to the bed. “Here is fine. I just need you to hold me.”

Jillian waited as Geoff slid off his shoes, turning and lying down beside her, slipping his arm beneath her head. As he moved closer, she rolled to her side, curling her knees to her chest as he curved his body to hers.

“I love you, Jilly.” His voice was low in her ear.

“I know.” She spoke against the tightening of her throat. It was silly to cry when he’d told her that he loved her so many times already. “I love you, too.”

“We’ll get through this. It’s going to be okay.”

Jillian squeezed her eyes shut. Forced her breathing to remain even. Of course Geoff would say that.

But Dr. Sartwell had been wrong.

“I know it will be.”

The words were nothing more than the proper blend of consonants and vowels. She didn’t know anything anymore. And the unanswered questions —the possible ways her life could careen even further off course —scared her most of all.