“Tomorrow? I have reservations for Sunday.”
Paul leaned back, withdrawing his hand. “Surely two days can’t matter.”
“No . . .” I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Of course they don’t, not really. But I want to say good-bye to the kids properly. I need to leave well, Paul. I’ve changed . . . I need to . . .” I drifted into silence. I didn’t know what I needed.
“Of course, I’m sorry I pushed. Take until Sunday. As I said, two days can’t matter. You can dream up names and the theme during that time. I’ll e-mail you some pictures. It’ll be fun for you.” He reached again. “And it will be, Elizabeth. We’ll have fun with this.”
“I know we will.”
Paul’s eyes flickered concern, and I knew I hadn’t offered enough excitement. “You’ve completely overwhelmed me, you know? I’ve never been good at surprises; I need a moment to process this.”
“I know, darling. It’s a lot, and I never meant it to be a surprise. Well, I did. I wanted to give this to you, but I thought I’d share it long before now. You seemed so lost and struggling. And now . . .” He leaned forward again, his eyes searching and eager. “It’s our time.”
“Our time.” I repeated the words, and my heart faltered. I knew what Paul was asking. I knew what he now expected. A business. A partnership. Me. Maybe it was time; maybe it was right. And yet in the past weeks I’d played with those same words, those same dreams—but they hadn’t included Paul.
I turned to the window. Night was falling but I could still see beyond the market. One huge shipping barge dominated the waterscape. Seattle drummed to a different beat than New York, and I understood it now. I had thought there was only one speed at which I could live, but there was a tenor to life here that resonated with me. Nick’s nickname for me flashed through my mind. New York. Was I still that too? I had to be. It was time to go home.
“You look miles away.”
“I was just thinking about my time here. It’s been good.”
“But you’re ready.” A statement, not a question.
“I did what I needed to do. I’m ready.”
Soon the conversation drifted to Paul’s other investments, his kids, and his ex-wives who were chirping with annoyances. I drifted back into my own world, where I hovered on the meals I’d created and the time I’d spent with Nick. It was like watching the good-parts version of a movie in your head after the show ends.
As we walked back to the Four Seasons, Paul put his arm around me. “I’ve missed you, Elizabeth. More than I think you realize.”
I looked up at him. “I needed this time.” I laid my hand on his cheek. “Thank you.” I reached up and replaced it with a small short kiss.
He turned in to me, capturing another before I stepped back. He clasped my hand, laying a kiss in my palm. “Anything.”
I looked beside us and found the hotel valet hovering. Without breaking eye contact with me, Paul handed him my ticket.
Chapter 38
THE NEXT MORNING I WATCHED JANE EAT DRY TOAST and a soft-boiled egg.
“Do you expect my white blood cells to drop off me?”
I blinked and looked to the floor. “Can they do that?”
“No, and they aren’t going to.” She carried her plate over to the dishwasher. “I can’t explain it, but everything doesn’t feel so stripped and burned. I’ll be okay again.”
“If you’re not, you have to tell me faster; that was too scary.”
“This time we’ll make Peter carry me to the ER.”
“I keep forgetting I’m off duty.” I looked around the kitchen, suddenly feeling irrelevant. Paul’s new ideas for a restaurant and for us had played in my mind all night, yielding little sleep and odd, frenetic dreams. Dreams where I raced and raced and found nothing at all.
“You are, but come today and say good-bye to everyone.”
“I did a little of that when I dropped off the cake, but I’ll come. I’d like to see Cecilia. We haven’t talked much in a couple days.” I turned to Peter. “How about you take the first half and I’ll trade places at lunch?”
“Why don’t you just com—”
“Perfect,” Peter interrupted her. “Taxol is a time commitment.”
I flashed a glance at Jane, thinking she might throw daggers at that, but she looked placid—and I’d dodged a bullet.
I ENTERED DR. CHUN’S OFFICE WITH EVERY NERVE spliced and seared. After a few minutes in the waiting room and an informative article on autoimmune diseases, a nurse ushered me to her office.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to sit tall and straight. Dr. Chun tapped on her chart, bringing up my data. “This is a hard test to take. Did you tell Jane?”
“Not yet.”
“I understand. It has implications—for your body, finances, emotions, your children someday, your whole life. But I can’t say that I’m not pleased you took it. I do believe that having the information, as painful as it may be, is important.”
“And?”
“You tested positive.” Her voice dropped low and monotone.
“I figured that.”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.” She waited. I sensed I was expected to say something more, but when I didn’t, she continued. “I will forward the results to your primary physician, and we can talk about some options right now.”
The world felt black and I struggled to hear her through the tunnel. “Can you just forward them?”
“This does not mean you will get cancer, Elizabeth. You had your last mammogram just a couple months ago and it was normal, right?”
“It was, but my chances just skyrocketed, right? It’s only a matter of time.”
“Not necessarily. Studies show they did increase, but there are so many options now.”
I breathed slowly. I’d played this scene in my head a million times, but the cold blackness surprised me.
“Stay and talk.”
“No . . .” Act reasonable. “I need to digest this, and I have a wonderful doctor in New York. I’ll make an appointment next week.”
She hesitated, then acknowledged defeat with a small nod. “All right, take this.” Dr. Chun handed me a pamphlet. Part of me wanted to laugh, but I felt the tears building and feared I might not be able to stop them—ever.
She continued, “This is actually a very good pamphlet. There are some websites also listed on the back you’ll find helpful. It’s a place to start.”
A place to start. “Thank you.” I stood to leave.
“Make an appointment to talk to your doctor, Elizabeth.”
I pulled myself together with a deep breath and rigid shoulders. “I will, and thank you, Dr. Chun, for letting me take the test. I did want to know.”
“It’s hard to live so close to Jane and not know. I understood that. Will you be okay?”
“Of course. As you said, I’m fine right now. I simply have some decisions to make.”
She raised her eyebrows as I turned away, as if saying there was nothing simple about any of it.
I walked out and stopped at the elevator. I wanted to head back to Jane’s house and curl up under the covers, but I’d agreed to trade places with Peter. I pushed the button for the sixth floor and took another deep breath, trying to convince myself that nothing was different. The truth of my situation had not changed, only my understanding had, and that was good. Now I could act and not react. I almost reached equanimity when the doors opened—at least enough to fake it.
As I stopped at the room’s entrance and scanned for Jane and Peter, Cecilia stepped from behind the desk.
“I have to finish a few things, but I need to talk to you.”
I drew my eyebrows in. Not today.
She squeezed my arm, oblivious to my tension. “Jane’s off to the right. Give me a few minutes and I’ll come over.”
The room was quiet. The Griffins weren’t there. No Brian and Tyler. No Andy. It was Friday and they were the Tuesday crew. It was time to go. There were new faces, new people
. I didn’t want to know them, hear their stories, or even look into their eyes. I crossed over to Peter. He was typing on his laptop and Jane was asleep.
“I don’t think I read with as much inflection as you do. She fell asleep about an hour ago.”
“She does it to me too. I think she gets so jacked up on the steroids and then is so relieved she actually makes it here that she passes out.”
“I can stay if you want. I’m certainly getting a lot done.”
“You go. We’ll stick to the plan.”
“If you’re sure.” He gathered up his briefcase and papers so quickly I almost laughed.
Cecilia passed him on his way out and they spoke briefly. His shoulders drooped and he glanced back, first at Jane then at me. The moment our eyes met, he darted his away. Something was wrong; I couldn’t read his expression. I stood to chase him, but Cecilia was already beside me. She dropped into a chair and pulled me down into mine.
“Andy died last night.”
“No . . .”
“His whole family was there. He wasn’t in pain.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I couldn’t make that call. I wanted to tell you in person, and it was so late. Would you really have wanted that?”
I reached for her hand. “No. I’m sorry.” I hiccupped. “Did you tell Jane?”
“I couldn’t. Tyler and Brian came by after an appointment and I told them. Tyler was so upset; he dropped into a chair and sobbed. Brian punched a wall, then swiped his arm across a couple tables and sent magazines and a lamp flying. I had to call security. It was horrible.” Tears filled Cecilia’s eyes. She rested her elbows on her knees and pressed her hands to her temples. “It was my fault. I thought . . . It wasn’t my place. They need help and I hurt them. Oh . . . I messed up so badly.”
“Don’t take that on. You can’t control Brian, and you had to tell them. Tyler would want to know, even if it hurt.”
“Donna was right to be so protective of them. I thought I could help, listen, do something, and I made it worse. And poor Andy . . . and Courtney.” She pressed a fist into her heart and lowered her voice to the faintest whisper. “This place is too hard. I’ve made a mistake, a horrible mistake. I worked so hard to earn a place in this department.”
I leaned in and rubbed her back. “This has got to be the toughest part. As your counselor told you, keep the focus on others, but don’t absorb their pain. It’s not your own. You can’t carry it.”
She clenched her eyes and shook her head.
“Look at me.” I leaned down to my put face next to hers as I pressed my hand into her back. She looked up and we stared at each other, steady and unblinking, until the panic in her eyes calmed.
“Thank you.” She nodded. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I made this about me. But I didn’t expect that to happen . . . Will you be around later?”
“Absolutely. Just give me a call.”
“I thought I was strong enough . . . Later. We’ll talk later.” She stood and took a shaky breath. “Will you pray for Andy’s family? That’s what we should focus on. His family.”
I reached up and squeezed her hand. “Of course.”
“Ben is almost finished over there. I need to go. I’ll be back . . .” She looked to Jane.
“I’ll tell her.”
I spent the next hour staring at page 30 of Me Before You until Jane woke up.
“When’d you get here?”
“Awhile ago . . .” I told her about Andy and all that Cecilia had said. Jane flipped her recliner into sitting position as tears flooded down her face—then she started hyperventilating and gasping.
“Stop, Jane. Stop it.”
I dug in her bag for Kleenex and flashed my eyes around the room. Cecilia’s warnings about hearts stopping pounded in my ears.
Cecilia was suddenly there, leaning over Jane. “Take deep breaths. That’s right. Calm down. Take this.” She handed her a paper bag and Jane began to calm, first her breathing, then her eyes. Cecilia held out a piece of mint gum. “Can you chew this without choking? Are you calm?”
Jane lowered the bag and reached for the gum.
“Not yet. I want to see you calm. Deep breath . . . Another.” Cecilia glanced at me. “Mint calms people.”
“I know, but I never would’ve thought of gum.” I reached out my hand. “Can I have a piece?”
Jane lowered the bag. “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s the steroids. I just . . . I just . . . Oh . . . poor Andy . . .” She rocked back and forth, whispering and weeping.
Cecilia drew up a chair and rubbed Jane’s shoulder. “Deep, slow breaths . . .”
ON THE WAY HOME JANE LEANED AGAINST THE WINDOW. “I can’t help but see Kate and Danny when I think of him. That’s so horribly selfish.”
“It’s pretty natural. I think of them too.” And me. I now think of me.
My phone beeped again.
“Who keeps calling and texting you?”
“Nick.”
“Why aren’t you answering?”
“I can’t talk to him . . . and it doesn’t matter. I’m headed to New York, Rebecca’s back, and as you said, it was just a vacation fling.”
“I didn’t—” She stopped talking as I pulled in to the driveway. Nick was sitting on the front steps. “I guess you should’ve answered.”
I didn’t reply as we got out of the car. Jane walked up the stairs with a simple hi and walked inside. I stood in the driveway.
“Why won’t you call me back?”
“I’ve been busy and you’ve got your hands full.”
“I thought we were friends, Elizabeth. More than friends.” He dug his hands in his pockets. “I thought I could be honest with you about her. This is a big deal for me and my son.”
“I get that, but it doesn’t involve me.” I tried to walk past him.
“Doesn’t involve you?” Nick’s face closed. “So the line’s drawn now, is it? You’re leaving and we’re done.”
“What do you want me to say? That’s always been the reality of this.” I waved my hand between us. “And you’ll end up with her anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
I walked past him. “She lost her job, Nick, and suddenly she wants to move here. You’re stable. Doing well. What’s not to love? Nothing you’ve told me makes me believe any of this is about Matt; it’s about her. And you? You’ll give it to her thinking you’re giving it to him.” I turned around at the porch steps and faced him.
“That’s not true, but she’s his mom and he’s thrilled. I won’t deny him that. I’ve thought a lot about this since . . . Is his name Andy? . . .” Nick’s voice rose with each word.
“Don’t bring Andy into this.” I spit out the words, suddenly angry with him—angry that I was leaving, that I’d “failed” that gene test, and that Nick had the gall to use Andy to justify his choices, that he’d even mentioned Andy’s name. And to top it all off, I didn’t know anger—it felt foreign and slightly scary. Anger required caring, and not much of that had permeated my life in recent years. I took a breath and detached a heartbeat more. “You know nothing about him, and you’re not doing this for your son.”
I stepped forward. “You don’t tell your dates about Matt’s birth, your great one-night mistake, because you want to be honest. You tell them because you need to punish yourself. You haven’t forgiven yourself and you revel in a public thrashing. You built him a sanctuary, a home and a garden, where you can hide and do everything right, never feel, never let anyone in. I know that one, Nick, and I’ve been at it a lot longer than you. But you let me in. I don’t know why or how, but you did; yet she’s back and I know you, you think she can make it whole, and deep down you want that because it will erase your mistake.”
I looked down the street and knew where to find comfort. I knew where to stand and I knew I needed to go home.
“You’re wrong.” Nick stepped back.
“Well, it runs two ways . . .” I dropped my voice to mimic h
is. “I know you. And you’re a fool.”
I watched his face harden. “Good-bye, Elizabeth.”
“Good-bye.” I climbed the few steps and my anger evaporated. “Nick?” I turned around. “She’ll go. She’s not trying to be Matt’s mom. Protect him.”
He said nothing, but simply turned and walked away. By the time I crossed the porch and looked around again, he was halfway down the block, his long legs eating up the sidewalk. And everything I felt, good, bad, ugly, and everything in between, dropped away and I was alone.
I turned the knob and walked inside, right into Jane. “Were you listening?”
“You were kinda loud.”
“Only if one is standing with her ear pressed to the door.”
“So Rebecca is back for good.”
I leaned against the door. “Doubt it, but she’s his albatross. Always will be.”
“His what?”
“His weight. The weight hanging around his neck. Rebecca is his. Mom is yours. And mine? Mine is that I feel nothing. I’m done.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. I am what I am. I don’t know what I thought might happen here.” I pushed my hands against my eyes. “But I need to go back to what I know. There are doctors in New York, my work is there, I need to go.”
“Why do you need a doctor?”
“Forget it.” I sighed.
“Forget what? You? I can’t do that. You’re my sister.”
“I’m your sister who stayed with you because I had nowhere to go. Just like Rebecca. I needed to cook and you had a warm kitchen. That’s all this was.”
She stared at me. “It was more than that.”
“I’m never more than that.” I turned to walk for the stairs.
“What’s happened? Why are you doing this?” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Is it about Nick? Go after him.”
“It’s not Nick.”
“Then what? Tell me. You told me to stop fighting with Peter and I’m trying. You stop fighting with me.”
“I just did. Send me one of your passive aggressive e-mails next week complaining how I abandoned you and the children, and we’ll be back where we started. I’ll never fight with you again. And tell Peter to send me an e-mail with how all this works out.” I took a step on the bottom stair before my brain caught up with my mouth. I turned back as my jaw dropped with the recognition of what I’d implied . . .
A Katherine Reay Collection Page 51