8

DR. WILLIAMSON’S EXAM ROOM had a split personality.

One wall was decorated with a large photograph of a trio of waterfalls cascading over a broken bank, exposing the rough roots of trees, into placid water below. All forest greens and browns and foaming white and even teal blue where the photographer had captured what was below the surface of the water.

Serenity in a picture frame.

On the opposite wall hung a full-color, side-view drawing of the inside of a woman’s breast. A poster detailing how to do a monthly breast exam. Another titled “101 Breast Cancer Facts.”

“You okay, Jillian?” Geoff’s question distracted her from the too-small-to-read list of facts.

“Yes. I just wish Dr. Williamson would get here. I know she’s busy, but —”

“First patient of the day, and we still have to wait. Crazy, huh?”

“Yes.” She’d keep her attention on the waterfalls.

“How are you doing?”

She could be honest with Geoff. Go past the “fine” answer she said to everyone else. “It’s like I’m on some sort of horrible game show. I know I picked the wrong box . . . or the wrong door. I know it’s bad. I just don’t know how bad.”

Her heart rate seemed to slow down the longer they waited for the doctor. Every beat seemed harder. Louder. Would her heart stop? Would she keel over in the office before Dr. Williamson showed up?

No. She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t scare Geoff like that. This was her life and she had to face whatever truth she’d hear this morning.

Just as the door to the exam room opened, her phone pinged with a text from Harper.

Be aware of the good.

Be aware of the good? What was good about cancer?

Jillian scrambled to think of something —anything —good about her situation.

Having Dr. Sartwell and Dr. Williamson on her side was good.

Having Geoff with her was good.

Having some sort of medical coverage was good.

There. That was the best she could do right now. She knew how to be okay, no matter what was happening. The middle child. Not the oldest. Not one of the athletic, attention-attracting twin daughters. She was just Jillian —and her claim to fame was cancer.

Dr. Williamson sat down in front of them. Said good morning. Apologized for being late, offered a brief smile. But she never lost her “I’m the doctor, you’re the patient” demeanor.

Maybe that was how Jillian could get through this appointment. By being businesslike. She knew how to do that, too. She’d had to deny loans to clients. Had to talk to them about foreclosures. And she’d been caring, but professional.

“I assume this is your fiancé, Jillian?”

“Yes, this is Geoff. He wanted to be with me this morning.”

“I think that’s wise.” The two shook hands. “Do either of you have any questions for me before I talk to you about the MRI findings?”

“No.” Jillian spoke first as Geoff nodded for her to continue. “No, I think we’d like you to tell us more about the MRI.”

“Technology has pros and cons, but we’re glad we can image things better now. It helps us plan the surgery more accurately rather than changing things in the operating room.”

Dr. Williamson inserted a disc into her computer, turning the screen toward Jillian and Geoff. Once the image appeared, she began orienting them. “Although this looks like shadows, I can point out the density and which is the cancer. . . .” She paused. “Maybe this will help you. Do you know why it’s called cancer?”

Geoff answered. “No, ma’am.”

“Decades ago, when people first looked at cancer in the body, they said it looked like a crab —a central body with appendages. Some people called it cancer, after the astrological sign.” She turned back to the MRI. “You can see the central mass, but there are tendrils spreading out from it. Unfortunately, doing a lumpectomy like we had originally planned isn’t sufficient. We need to get as much of the cancer cells as possible so that chemotherapy will be effective. The less cancer your immune system has to kill off, the more likely it is to be successful.”

The words mass and tendrils and chemotherapy swirled in Jillian’s brain, even as the room seemed to sway around her. Someone might as well have come up behind her while she’d been standing on the edge of a cliff and shoved her off.

When she remained silent, Geoff spoke up. “What are you recommending Jillian do?”

“We need to do a unilateral mastectomy.”

A mastectomy? Even as she resisted the urge to move her hand up to shield her breast, Jillian found her voice. “That’s one side, right?”

“Yes.”

For some reason, she noticed the time on the clock: 8:37 in the morning. The moment she learned what was behind the door.

“How soon?”

“This is not an emergency, but the sooner the better. I recommend scheduling surgery next week. We still need to do other tests.”

One week. Seven days.

“Like what?”

“Blood work and a CAT scan.” Dr. Williamson turned the screen back toward herself. “This is your decision, Jillian. You’re welcome to get a second opinion. And if you’d like me to talk to your family, I’m available to do that, too.”

“I don’t know. I do want to talk to Dr. Sartwell, but there’s no need for you to talk to my family.”

“I’ve already spoken to Dr. Sartwell, but I’m certain she’s expecting a phone call from you.”

Jillian didn’t remember saying good-bye. Checking out at the billing desk. One minute she was talking about dates for surgery, the next she was sitting in the passenger seat of Geoff’s car.

“What do you want to do, honey? We can go get breakfast —”

“I want to go to work.” Jillian set her purse at her feet and clicked her seat belt into place, staring straight ahead at the other cars in the parking lot.

“Jillian —”

“I want to go to work.” She didn’t mean to sound harsh. She wasn’t angry with Geoff. She wasn’t angry with anyone. “I’m not hungry right now. And you need to get into work, too.”

“Do you want me to call anyone for you?”

“I’ll call Dr. Sartwell on the way. You’re driving.”

“What about your family?”

“I’ll call Johanna. And my parents. And Payton.”

Geoff rested his hand over hers. “You don’t have to do all that. I can call them when we get to the bank. And my parents, too.”

“It’s fine, Geoff. I’ll call my family and you can call your parents later. Right now just go ahead and drive.”

As Geoff directed the car into traffic, another text appeared on her phone from Harper. What did the doctor say? And then a meme with the words No negative thoughts.

A sharp laugh stalled in the back of her throat. Negative thoughts? It was hard to think anything at all when she was in a free fall emotionally, a silent scream welling up inside her. Would she ever reach bottom?

She scrabbled for some semblance of a businesslike front as she called Johanna. Maybe her sister wouldn’t answer. What was the proper thing to do if she got voice mail?

“Jillian? I was debating calling you.”

“Hi, Joey.” She slipped back into her sister’s childhood nickname. Hadn’t used it in years. “I wanted to tell you what the surgeon said.”

“Okay.”

Jillian blinked away the burn of tears. Businesslike. This was her practice phone call. If —when —she got through this call, she’d do better talking to the rest of her family. “Because of the size of the mass, the surgeon recommended a unilateral mastectomy.”

“I see.” She might have surprised her sister, but Johanna’s voice remained level. “You’re getting a second opinion, right?”

“She recommended that, too. I’m talking to my family physician, but I went ahead and scheduled the surgery for next week.”

“I really think you should wait —”

Jillian gripped her seat belt. “Please, I can’t talk about this right now. I called to tell you what the doctor said. That’s all.”

“Do you want me to call everyone else?”

“No. I can do that. Geoff’s driving me to work.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Was there?

“No. I just wanted to tell you. I need to call Mom and Dad. And Payton.”

“Okay.” There was a moment’s silence. “Love you, Jill.”

The words were as odd as Jillian calling Johanna by her nickname. “Love you, too.”

The exchange threatened to crumble her impersonal facade, even as she tucked the words close to her heart. She took a deep breath and prepared to finish calling her family. And then she’d call Dr. Sartwell. She’d focus on one thing —one person —at a time and get through the task of being the bearer of her bad news.