Piper Dreams: Make It Happen (Dream Series Book 2)

by Amélie S. Duncan

  “Seren Monroe,” the receptionist said.

  Cole grinned. “Last time you’ll hear that last name.”

  The receptionist smiled. “Congratulations.” We handed over her documents, and she checked her computer. “You are here for a consultation with Dr. Monica Friedman and a blood test. You can take a seat and the nurse will call you back in about five minutes.”

  She wasn’t kidding. We got the early bird appointment. The seating area was large with four rows of cushioned seats. We and an elderly couple were the only ones waiting.

  “When they call me back, will you go with us?” Seren asked.

  “If they let me,” I said. I glanced at Cole, and he gave a nod though I could see his pain there too.

  “I want you to, for Cole and me.” She turned to him. “Brody’s been before. Is that alright?”

  “I don’t mind, pumpkin. Whatever makes you feel better,” Cole said. The nurse called us back, and we followed her.

  “I only have one seat back here,” she said. We hovered next to Seren as she took the blood then followed her to the office of Dr. Monica Friedman. She rose from her desk when we walked in and shook our hands. Her brown eyes shifted over the three of us, as we introduced ourselves and took seats. Seren and Cole, occupying the ones next to her oak desk. I, took the one by her coat rack that was full of white lab coats like the one she had on today over a knit shirt and slacks.

  “You alright back there?” she joked and made us all laugh a little. It was a good ice-breaker sure enough. Still, Cole took Seren’s hand, and my leg jittered as she settled behind her desk that had a few piles of documents in front of her. She opened them up and managed to keep the bright smile on her face as she spoke to us from her notes. “Dr. Mason in Chicago sent over the results of his test. He found traces of cancer in your blood test.”

  “That’s impossible. I had a double mastectomy and hysterectomy. I went through chemotherapy. The doctor told me I was cancer free,” Seren said.

  Dr. Friedman brows rose. “I’m surprised your doctor used a definitive. There is presently no cure for cancer. We don’t make a habit of telling patients they are cancer free here.”

  “He didn’t,” I said. “He said he thought he removed all the cancer, and he didn’t see any evidence in her last scans.”

  Dr. Friedman shoulders dropped.

  “Yes,” Seren admitted. “But I don’t feel like I did the first time.”

  “Traces, so a small part?” Cole asked.

  “We would need to do more tests to be able to determine your condition. I have no doubt from the reports the surgery was successful, but there are numerous reasons for a reoccurrence. The cancer was too small for the scan to detect. Or the cancer there was more progressive than the treatment that was given at the time. Another possibility is your normal cells mutated.”

  “So what can we do now?” Cole asked.

  “We will run a test to see how far the cancer has progressed and if the cancer found can respond to the treatment available.”

  “Could it be possible that my cancer is untreatable?” Seren asked. Her voice, scratchy.

  “Of course it’s treatable,” Cole interjected.

  “Wait, Cole. Let Dr. Friedman speak,” I said.

  “I can’t and won’t say anything definite without more tests. We can schedule a biopsy, ultrasound, and endoscopy to start. All of which you have had done before. We can try a different medication or look at more treatments. I’ll give you information to take back with you.”

  “I don’t want to start or do anything until after my wedding,” Seren said. “I don’t want to be doped up and out of my mind. I don’t want to have us all worried. Surely you’re not diagnosing I have only a couple of weeks left. So give me a couple more weeks.”

  “I’m not,” Dr. Friedman said. “But I do think the earlier we start, the better. Are you in any pain?”

  “Yes,” Seren whispered. Cole turned and stared at her.

  “I’ll move you to the exam room, and I’ll take a look. We can talk there too. If you want to go in alone?” Dr. Friedman asked Seren.

  “Yes, Please.” She cleared her throat and turned her head towards the both of us. “I’ll tell you two afterward.”

  “We need to know, Dr. Friedman, to best help her,” Cole said and looked at me.

  “Cole’s right, Seren,” I replied. “We could end up putting stress where we don’t mean to.”

  “Okay, we can discuss it when I get back, but, for now, I want some privacy,” Seren explained.

  “That sounds reasonable, gentlemen. You two can wait here, and we will be right back,” Dr. Friedman said. “With Seren’s permission, I will share with you what we discuss. I know this is hard, but I’m on all of your sides. We all want what’s best for Seren.” That calmed us some, and we watched them walk out leaving us alone in her office.

  “Seren doesn’t deserve this. After all that surgery they suddenly discover something? God. She didn’t even tell me she was in pain. I could’ve been hurting her,” he ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”

  “Well, now we know, and the doctor will give her something she can take,” I said.

  “She won’t take pain killers. You know how she feels about them after her father got addicted,” he said. The door opened and Seren and Dr. Friedman returned to her office.

  “They’ll be there if she does,” I responded.

  Seren looked between us curiously before sitting back down.

  “The front desk will call you with the appointments. It looks like we can fit her in for some of the scans this week.” She took out her prescription pad. “Here are a few medications for nausea, dizziness, and pain.”

  “Thank you,” Seren said.

  “Great, Seren. It was nice meeting you. We’ll be in touch soon and good luck with your wedding plans,” Dr. Friedman said. Seren shook her hand and handed the prescriptions to me. She then wrapped her arm around Cole’s waist, and he cuddled her to his side all the way out of the building.

  Seren stopped outside the car. Her body hunched. “It’s starting again. I’m sorry. You don’t have to marry me.”

  Cole stroked the sides of her face. “Nonsense. I love you. I’d marry you right this second if you’ll let me. I’m never letting you go.”

  “I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to go,” Seren whispered. She wiped her cheek.

  “Then you’re not going. You beat cancer before, and you will do it again,” Cole said with conviction. He hugged her tightly.

  “Cole’s right. You have us. We’re with you,” I soothed. “I’ll drive.” And Cole thanked me, then climbed in the back and put Seren on his lap and held her.

  A lump lodged in my throat. I didn’t understand the way life worked. I caught sight of Cole wiping her face with a tissue in the mirror.

  “We’ve got a lot of planning to do for the wedding. Dr. Friedman said they found traces of cancer, she didn’t say a lot. She’ll help you, and we’ll help you. You’ll get better. So don’t worry about the rest,” Cole assured. Seren didn’t respond, and Cole was desperate. So I tried to help him out.

  “You just choose a location. If you don’t want Vegas. Where do you want to get married?” I prompted her.

  “Anything and everything you want, baby. You put us to work and let us know if you’re hurt.” Cole’s voice cracked.

  “Calm down, Cole. I’m sorry I scared you and I will. I did want to get married in Vegas, but I’d also like to plan for the backyard of the house? It’s big enough to have all our friends. I love the house. I can see it now. Riley, Fiona, and Piper. Brody, Zack, and Doc. A few of our other friends. It will be perfect,” she with a little lift in her voice.

  Everything about today told us this life was far from perfect. Still, I let my mind think of Piper. In a perfect life, she would be here and fit right in with us. She was good with Seren, and would be good with Cole too. I turned on the radio and the car filled up with the sound of The Byrd’s, “Turn
. Turn. Turn”. And like that song we’d got the bad out of the way. So good had to be the next season for all of us. At least I hoped.

  Chapter Five

  Piper

  DIRTY DISHES. I was knee deep in dirty dishes. Yesterday, I was a landscaper, planting flower beds on acres of land. Today, I’d been a dishwasher, cleaning dishes at the back of a fancy bistro in Brookline. This job started at four a.m. and ended at noon. Or until I went insane. Whichever came first, I suspected. All the same, I worked today. I got paid today. I had found Hell on earth, and it had a name. Day laborer.

  It took me twenty minutes to convince the labor head at the job site two weeks ago that I wasn’t a spy. And I would indeed take the jobs they offered to those that showed up at the crack of dawn. My options were limited, like my time. Everything else required interviews and time to train. I wasn’t staying in Boston for the rest of the summer. So I took what I could get for fast money. Laborer.

  I started out this new profession as a green pepper gutter until I found out that I had an allergy. Therefore, I had to cut my shift short. Luckily, I recovered enough the following day and upgraded to label presser, where I remained for the first week. Truthfully, I would have stayed and worked as a presser during week two, but everything about the job changed, as I came to understand was the way of day laboring. We went where they needed people. The second week was different too, with more people coming in. So far I’d scrubbed bathrooms (the worst job!), separated recycling, and checked in shipping and receiving (the best job!). And now today was dishwashing (the second worse job).

  Sweat poured down my face like rain. My fingers ached and swelled even though they were protected by long rubber gloves. I scrubbed hard on each plate and pan. Spraying water over them and me in the process.

  “Faster. Quick wash,” My supervisor said. He went as far as to gesture how to scrub.

  I suppressed the curse I had for him and the staff member that brought back yet another crazy stack of dishes. I cursed the invention of breakfast and every fancy chef in this restaurant. I had no idea how many muscles it took to clean dishes by hand. Why do they have to do all this when they have a dishwasher? Because all this stupid food would stick, dummy. They had the people they needed for that part of the job. The grass is greener, or so I thought as I dozed through another stack. Why was this better than rubbing myself against some old crotch? I wasn’t so convinced anymore.

  “You’re done.” My supervisor came back.

  Was I or was I fired?

  Seeing the way his face scrunched up at all the dishes left behind, I’d guessed the f-word. Luckily, today was my final day. Aunt Luna hadn’t made a lasting connection with anyone at her Santa Fe retreat, so I had the all clear to fly there tomorrow. I would be leaving for Luna’s and the bliss of bookkeeping and inventory checking. My summer had taken a dive but had the promise of improving.

  Using the last trace of energy I had left, I took off the gloves and rubber apron. I had realized early in the shift how useless that had been. I was soaked from head to toe. I stumbled behind him as he led me to the door out back like I wasn’t good enough to walk out the front. I sighed heavily. Truthfully, I was totally and completely feeling sorry for myself.

  I got on the transport van and leaned against the window. We drove around to other places in Boston to pick up the others workers from the morning shifts. I dozed off and was shaken awake when we arrived at our destination. A small storefront base downtown. Once I got out, I sat down on a bench and waited with the rest of the crowd. We were an eclectic group—old, young, short, fat. Some of us looked pressed and dressed. Others looked like they’d rolled out of bed. What we all shared was desperation. For whatever reason, we all needed money. Now.

  “Line up. ID’s out for your checks,” The supervisor called out.

  I dragged myself up to the line and waited. When it was finally my turn, I was given a check for $40.00. Wow.

  “We can cash that now. The charge is $8.00.” His tone was flat.

  I narrowed my gaze. He repeated the same thing to every one of us every day. I gave my now usual response before putting the check away. My tone was equally flat. “No, thanks.”

  I shivered against the breeze of the cold wind blowing over my wet clothes, as I walked a few blocks to catch the redline subway train to Harvard Square. It was there I stopped at my bank and deposited my check. I had made close to four hundred dollars the last two weeks. Unfortunately, that wasn’t close to what I’d need for room and board and the abroad semester. I had to find a more lucrative solution soon.

  I crossed the yard and made my way over to the dorm rooms. I hadn’t gotten my key in the door before I heard Eric grunting. Sex?! Again.

  I went over to the lounge and slumped in a seat. Being careful to pull out a book and sunglasses, less someone asked me what I was doing there. I dozed off.

  I awoke to Eric shaking my shoulders a while later and motioning me to come back into the dorm room. “Thank you, Eric.”

  I made my way into the room and over to Jorge’s bed. I paused long enough to take off my top and jeans and then crawled under his duvet. I didn’t have to worry about Eric and his lady friend, Callie, seeing. They were glued to the screen of their multiplayer game. And from a glimpse over, once I settled on my side, their avatars were now getting it on. I was…envious. God, I missed Brody. But I was too exhausted to think about it now. I caught a whiff of the duvet. Mmm. Fresh linen. Jorge had done laundry. I was in bliss and fell off the cliff into a deep sleep.

  “Piper.”

  My eyes popped open to see Jorge peering over me. “What?!”

  “You have been asleep for eight hours. I was worried about you. Did you have another allergic reaction?”

  I shook my head. “Dishwashing. It was brutal.”

  “But you did it. If your mom could see you now, she’d be proud of you or feel guilty,” he said.

  I averted my eyes. “I highly doubt it. She would be happy to see me suffer after I tried to steal Royce.” I hadn’t told Jorge about the assault. Though it had been hard having him watching me every minute.

  “Fine, fuck her. As always, you take it on the chin and never give up,” he said.

  “I wanted to,” I admitted.

  “But you didn’t. I knew you wouldn’t. You never do,” he said and grinned at me.

  I sat up and now he was frowning a little.

  “Cover up,” he reminded me.

  I pulled the blanket up over my bra. Oh yeah. No body-flaunts.

  He tossed me a shirt and sweatpants.

  I groaned as I pulled on the shirt. “So, do I have to drag it out of you? Tell me your good news?”

  Jorge had had a big test and presentation. Between my jobs, I had spent my downtime helping him in any way I could. I quizzed him on every aspect of law and the cases he needed to study.

  “Yeah. I aced my test. I got a meeting next week with Waller and Berg law firm!”

  I jumped up and gave him a tight hug. “Congratulations.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” Jorge said. His hand brushed the top of my butt and swatted it.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Put on the sweatpants,” he said. “I mean Eric is right there.”

  We turned to Eric whose gaze was fused to the screen of his game, countering Jorge’s argument. Still, I didn’t bother saying anything else and put the sweatpants on anyway.

  “I want to take us out for a celebration; anywhere you want to go. It can be for the both of us now that you’re leaving.”

  “For a while, maybe longer,” I said.

  We let that stand between us for a few minutes until he finally said. “Look for a place.”

  He tapped Eric’s shoulder, and I went to collect my laptop to search. Halfheartedly. I was wiped out but was a bit more accepting of a treat. I didn’t find anywhere I wanted to go. So I checked my email and found a new one from Gilmore.

  Hello, Top Ten!

  I’m plea
sed with the group. Although I know only three of you will make it to the end. However, those of you that make it through the next semester and our program in Argentina will get the recommendation.

  Global Journalism isn’t lone-wolf work. It’s about building lasting relationships. That person next to you could tip you the break you need. That relationship could lead the job as a stringer in your area. You could be the one that gets the call from a big news conglomerate to be their beat reporter on the scene. Therefore, my first assignment is dividing you up into buddies. I’ve chosen them based on what you all have shown me. One of you has a quality that the other one needs. This buddy will be with you through the fall semester and abroad. The list with phone numbers and emails attached—use them.

  And to you-know-who that is fond of referring to me by my favorite body part: Make it happen.

  Russ

  I giggled a little. I had called him a dick twice. I knew the cryptic message was for me. Make it happen. I was thrilled that he wanted me to come back to school. I just had no idea how. I opened the attachment to check the list of names we were paired up with.

  Ahmed Aidara and Quinn Masters

  Matt Carson and Piper Rowe

  Tanya Meadows and Uma Das

  Felicity Wallace and Jacque Martinez

  Jon Freeman and Nicola Richards

  I wrinkled my nose. I was assigned Matt Carson. The frat-brat, ken-doll. A disappointing night out with him, freshman year had me combating his “frigid” rumor. All because I said I wasn’t interested in him that way. Knowing I’d be forced to spend the next semester with him was sure to make me not want to bother coming back.

  “What’s wrong?” Jorge asked.

  “Nothing, except Gilmore raised the stakes.” I reminded him of what happened with Matt, and he was just as upset as me.

  “Tell Gilmore to put you with someone else,” he said.

  “All he would do is say, “you will have to make it work or “people don’t always get along,” I said.