Bitter Truth

by C. J. Carmichael

  Zak glanced at his watch. “Man, I didn’t realize how late it’s getting. My knee isn’t too bad. I’ll get it checked another time.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Thursday, November 30

  On Thursday Tiff’s mother didn’t feel well enough to get out of bed.

  Tiff put a hand to her mother’s forehead. No fever. “Want me to bring up some breakfast?”

  Rosemary waved off the offer. “Marsha brought it earlier. She cleared away the dishes before she went to work.”

  “I’ll be working in Dad’s study if you want to go for a walk later.” Yesterday they’d walked for twenty minutes and her mom had seemed brighter and more alert after.

  But you couldn’t walk if you were sleeping and her mother’s eyes were already fluttering closed.

  Downstairs, Tiff sat by the bank of windows on the south-facing wall as she ate her own breakfast. She watched as the first customer of the day drove up to the barn in a cherry-red pickup truck. Ten minutes later one of the employees—she thought it was Bob Jenkins—loaded a long balsam fir into the back of the truck. The customer shook Bob’s hand then drove off.

  Judging by the amount of traffic it was going to be a good season for the Christmas tree farm.

  She was determined her new accounting business would be a success too. Even if Derick gave her only a bit of work to start, Sparks Construction was an important name to have on her client list. She needed to add a few more names to that list.

  Tiff refilled her coffee mug and took it into her father’s study. The house had a peaceful, restful feeling today. For once when she sat in her father’s chair she didn’t think about him, but about the work she needed to do.

  Last night, with the help of her aunt and her mother, she’d come up with a list of potential clients. Cold calls were never easy, but at least she knew most of the people. Given her family’s standing in the community she figured even if they said no to her, they’d do so nicely.

  An hour later Tiff was depressed and deflated. While she hadn’t expected instant success, she had hoped for a few leads at least. But so far, every single person she’d talked to had politely explained they had no need of her services.

  She pushed away from the desk and went upstairs to check on her mother. Rosemary sat in the armchair overlooking the front yard and driveway. Still dressed in her robe, with slippers on her feet, she seemed to struggle to focus when she turned toward Tiff.

  “Feeling any better?”

  Tiff wasn’t surprised when she shook her head no.

  “I wanted to get dressed and head down to the kitchen. I only made it as far as this chair.”

  “Want me to help you?” Tiff stepped toward the closet. “What do you feel like wearing?”

  “Actually, I’d rather go back to bed.”

  Tiff checked her mother’s temperature with a thermometer this time. “You aren’t running a fever. Do you have any aches or pains?”

  “No. I’m just so tired.” Rosemary leaned on her daughter’s arm as she raised herself from the chair and then hobbled to the bed.

  Tiffany refilled her water glass, then left her to rest.

  In the kitchen she brewed some fresh coffee and grabbed a couple of shortbread cookies. Several trucks were parked by the red barn now, as well as a small hatchback. It would be a challenge strapping a tree onto that vehicle. She was tempted to go out and watch, distract herself from her problems.

  But she still had more calls to make. The Lost Trail ski hill would be a great client to snag. She didn’t know the manager personally but counted on the Masterson name to get the woman to accept her call.

  It worked, but after just a few introductory sentences, the manager shut her down politely.

  “We don’t need any help at this time, but we’ll keep you in mind.”

  Damn.

  Tiff went online and checked her Facebook account.

  She really should send a reply to Craig. Thanks to the helpful checkmark Facebook put beside a message once it was opened, Craig had to know she’d read it. But she still wasn’t sure what to say to him.

  Tiff closed the app and loaded up the accounts for the farm. She wanted to get something productive done today. Maybe she’d calculate the Christmas bonuses and send out the transfers a few weeks early. The guys would be pleased.

  One job led to another and soon the sky was growing dark. Shocked that so much time had gone by Tiff went to her mother’s room and found it empty. She called out and her mom answered, “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Still dressed in her robe and slippers, she was peeling potatoes.

  “How about beef stew for dinner?”

  Pleased at her mother’s newfound energy, Tiff agreed. “Can I help? I’ll brown the meat.”

  “Caramelize the onions first. And use the big cast-iron pot. That’ll save dirtying a frying pan.”

  Tiff did as instructed. Her mom was an excellent cook. Once the stew was in the oven, she put together a salad while her mother mixed a batch of biscuits.

  At quarter after six they heard the front door open and close. Aunt Marsha coming home from her shift at the clinic. Tiff imagined how wonderful the house must smell to her...aromas of onions and beef, rosemary and thyme, all topped with the buttery goodness of biscuits.

  “I’m going to open a bottle of red,” Tiff told her mother. Sometimes her aunt enjoyed a glass after a long day of work, and this meal deserved a good Bordeaux.

  Her mother rarely drank, especially when she wasn’t feeling great, so Tiff opened the bottle and poured two glasses, ready for when her aunt joined them. Marsha always had a quick shower and changed into lounging clothes after work.

  When her aunt appeared fifteen minutes later, looking tired and frazzled, Tiff passed her a glass. “Tough day?”

  “One of the worst.” Marsha took a long swallow of wine.

  “What happened?”

  “Clark has decided to hold a stem-cell drive at the clinic next week.” After another drink of wine, she added, “Let me back up. The first bad news of the day was finding out Justin has Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”

  “No!” Tiff thought to the last time she’d seen him. It would have been at the wake after Lacy’s funeral. He’d been thin and pale, true, but not that different from when she’d seen him and his dad in Seattle last year. “How long has he been sick?”

  “Apparently it’s been almost two years. Hodgkin’s lymphoma is a cancer of the lymphatic system and it’s often curable with chemotherapy and radiation. Justin went through both of those without telling anyone, not even his father. By the time Willow and Geneva came to town he thought he’d been cured.”

  Tiff noticed her mother listening carefully, though she didn’t say anything.

  Tiff tried to imagine going through all that treatment without anyone in her family knowing. “Is it even possible to keep such a serious illness secret?”

  “Justin was strong and he tolerated the treatment quite well. He invented an out-of-town client to explain the days when he had to travel to Missoula. And when his hair began to thin, he shaved his head and pretended it was for charity.”

  Tiff let that all sink in. “But the cancer came back?”

  “It came back. This time his oncologist wants to try a bone-marrow transplant.”

  “What are the odds of that working?”

  “I don’t know the specifics of Justin’s case. But the average five-year survival rate for males with Hodgkin’s lymphoma is around eighty percent.”

  “So pretty good.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  “You don’t sound very sure about that.”

  “Clark got permission from his son to contact his doctors. Justin’s oncologist isn’t as confident in his particular case. I don’t know why—perhaps the cancer wasn’t caught as quickly as it could have been.” Marsha reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass.

  “I’m so sorry to hear this.” Tiff gave her aunt’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You
and Dr. Pittman are so close. You must feel devastated.” She was pretty sad, too. Justin was several years older than her, so they’d hung out in different friend groups. But she’d known him all her life and their families were close.

  “He has to be okay,” Rosemary said faintly. “Think of his little girl, Geneva. Her mother already deserted her. She can’t lose Justin, too.”

  “You’re right, Mom. He’s a great guy and so many people need him.” Tiff swirled the wine in her glass, considering the situation, wondering how she could help. But her aunt had already given her that answer. “When is that donor clinic happening, Aunt Marsha? I want to get tested.”

  “No.” Marsha slapped her hand on the counter for extra emphasis.

  It was the last response Tiff expected. “Why do you say that?”

  “The chance that you could be an appropriate donor for Justin is almost zero, honey. The odds are so small, but the risks are not. Even worse...once you’re in the pool, you could be asked to donate for a complete stranger.”

  “Would that be so awful? You’ve always encouraged me to be a blood donor.”

  “Donating bone marrow is a far different thing. It’s much more invasive for the donor and there are risks to you. Besides, Justin has a very good chance of finding a donor in the national registry. Almost all patients do.”

  “Then why is Clark holding the drive?” Rosemary had slipped on her oven mitts and was holding them crossed at her chest, as if needing a layer of protection for her heart.

  Tiff wondered if hearing of Justin’s disease was reminding her of all she’d gone through with Casey’s heart issues.

  “Clark thinks the world revolves around his son. He needs to feel he’s doing something to help and hosting the donor clinic was the only thing he could think of. I’m not in favor. People are going to get tested thinking they’re helping Justin and then down the road they may be asked to donate for someone they don’t even know.”

  “But they wouldn’t be obliged to donate to someone other than Justin would they?” Tiff asked, mentally substituting the world “I” for “they.”

  “Then why join the pool in the first place? I told Clark he should wait to see if there was an existing match for Justin, before he held the drive. But he wouldn’t listen.”

  Tiff couldn’t understand her point of view. This was Justin. Dr. Pittman’s son, for God’s sake. Even if the odds of success were low, shouldn’t they be doing everything possible to help?

  But that new, closed expression was on Marsha’s face, and Tiff decided to drop the subject.

  After dinner Tiff left her mother and Marsha watching a feel-good Christmas movie on TV. “I’m going to meet some friends at the Dew Drop.”

  She was hoping for an update on Nikki, plus she wanted to talk to Zak about Justin and the donor drive. She’d texted him after dinner and he’d agreed to meet her at seven-thirty.

  Outside it was dark, but the snow was reflecting so much moonlight she easily spotted Kenny heading from his cabin to the barn, Spade loping awkwardly by his side. On impulse she called Kenny’s name.

  He stopped. Turned her way.

  “That you, Tiff?”

  “Yeah. I’m headed to town to grab a beer with Zak. Want to join us?”

  Kenny didn’t need to think long. “Sure. Give me a minute to drop this paperwork off at the barn and put Spade back in the cabin.”

  “I’ll warm up my car.” Inside the SUV she turned on the radio and listened to the weather forecast. An arctic cold front was pushing in from the north. Southwest Montana could expect temperatures to drop drastically in the next few days while the skies remained clear and calm.

  Tiff thought about Nikki. Hopefully wherever she was, she was protected from the elements.

  Weather ended and a Coldplay song was followed by one from John Legend by the time Kenny joined her. He’d substituted his heavy work jacket for a navy pea coat with a gray-and-white-striped scarf knotted casually at his throat.

  Tiff shifted into Drive and headed out to the road.

  “Tell me about your friend, Zak Waller. What’s his story?”

  “Anything in particular you’re wondering about?”

  “I’ve done some asking around. Did you know it’s quite rare for a male to work as a dispatcher in a sheriff’s office?”

  “So what? If women want the right to traditional male jobs shouldn’t it apply in the reverse direction? Used to be you rarely saw a male nurse. Now they’re commonplace.”

  “I’m all for gender equality. That’s not my point. When you find a guy choosing a path different from the norm, there’s usually a reason. That’s all I’m saying.”

  His point seemed fair. Besides, she too had wondered why a smart, capable guy like Zak wouldn’t set his aspirations a little higher. “Zak grew up in a crazy household. One minute his dad might be planning a family trip to Disney, the next he could be throwing one of his kids down the basement stairs.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “No, I’m not. When we were in grade school Zak showed up one morning with his arm in a cast and bruises on one side of his face. He told the teacher he fell down the stairs himself, but he admitted the truth to me.”

  “Wasn’t anyone in authority at that school suspicious?”

  “Social workers were called. They came out and talked to his parents, but nothing changed. Zak’s coping technique was to keep quiet and try not to be noticed. He was that way at school, too. If you knew how shy he was back then, you’d be impressed with how well he copes now.”

  “Poor guy. Now I feel silly for being jealous of him.”

  The “Welcome to Lost Trail” signpost appeared and she lowered her speed. Glancing over at him she asked, “You were jealous?”

  “I heard he kissed you at Lacy Stillman’s wake.”

  “You got that all wrong. I kissed him.”

  “Oh, in that case I don’t feel jealous at all.”

  “We were just giving Gertie Humphrey something to talk about.”

  “Well I’m at your service if the urge hits you again tonight.”

  He’d made the comment light-heartedly, but Tiff didn’t laugh. When it came time to kiss Kenny, she didn’t want an audience.

  The Dew Drop Inn was before them now and Tiff slid her car into a spot between two trucks. The aroma of barbecued meat, deep-fried chicken wings and French fries lured them inside the pub.

  Zak was at their usual table. He’d already ordered a pitcher of beer and two glasses. As soon as he spotted them he held up an arm hoping to attract Mari, but there was no need. As they passed the bar Kenny asked for an extra glass as well as one more pitcher.

  “Taking advantage of the fact you have a designated driver tonight?”

  “Hell yeah.” Kenny stepped ahead to shake Zak’s hand. “How’s it going?”

  “I’ll be happier once we find Nikki Stillman, but other than that things are good.”

  “Hope you don’t mind Kenny joining us.” Tiff hadn’t thought he would but there was no denying a certain stiffness between the two men.

  Zak filled both their glasses. “So what’s this news you wanted to tell me?”

  “It’s about Justin Pittman.” She glanced at Kenny. “He’s the local attorney. Son of Doc Pittman.”

  Kenny nodded. “Tall, thin guy with super short blond hair? Yeah, I’ve seen him around town. Looks like a lawyer all right.”

  “He’s sick. Hodgkin’s lymphoma.” She studied Zak’s face for a reaction. “Did you know?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Didn’t have a clue. That’s too bad. He’s a decent guy.”

  Tiff filled them in with the news her aunt had shared. It didn’t feel like gossiping to her. She wanted to get the word out about the donor drive. “So next week at the medi-clinic they’re going to be taking samples from anyone who’s willing to go on a potential donors list.”

  “Samples of what?” Kenny wanted to know.

  “I think they swab your cheek.�
��

  “Sounds easy. What if you’re a match?” Zak asked, leaning forward a little anxiously.

  “There’s a whole process that takes months, apparently. In the end what they do is remove your blood through a needle in one arm, pass it through a machine that takes out the blood-forming cells, and then pump the blood back into your other arm.”

  Zak relaxed. “That sounds doable.”

  “According to the website for the donor drive, you can feel a bit sick and achy afterward. It takes a least a week to feel normal again.”

  “If that’s the cost of saving someone’s life, it’s worth it,” Kenny said.

  “I agree. So we’re all going to donate?” Tiff asked.

  The guys nodded and just then Mari arrived with the second pitcher. Zak took it out of her hands.

  “Next week we donate. Tonight we drink.”

  Friday, December 1

  After missing his morning run two days in a row, Zak craved an endorphin rush on Friday morning. He jogged into the Lost Creek parking lot at seven o’clock and wasn’t surprised to see Luke Stillman waiting in his idling truck.

  Running was a great way to deal with stress. And Luke was dealing with a lot of that right now.

  Luke cut the ignition and jumped out to the snow-packed ground. “About time, Waller. Let’s get at ’er.”

  Luke shoved a hat over his head, then stuffed his key between the laces of his left track shoe.

  “Any word from Nikki?” Zak began jogging again, heading toward the trail that zigzagged up Strawberry Mountain. He didn’t hold out hope for a positive answer. If Nikki had shown up, Zak would have heard.

  “None.” Luke caught up to him and set the pace a bit faster. “I can’t figure her out. My gut tells me she’s okay, but you’d think she’d send a message to her folks, at least. They’re going crazy.”

  “The helicopter from Search and Rescue will be going out today.” Huff. “And Butterfield’s organizing a ground search.” Huff. “Maybe today we’ll get lucky.”

  Zak’s lungs burned, his legs felt forty pounds heavier than normal. Hard to believe just two days off could leave him feeling this rough. But when you factored in his lack of sleep and the beers he’d consumed at the Dew Drop last night, it all added up.