Things I Never Told You Read online

  “Right.” Jillian smoothed her yellow empire-waist sundress down over her hips. “It’s been a wonderful party, Payton.”

  “Thank you for saying so, but it’s not over yet.” I touched Jillian’s shoulder. “You’re really okay?”

  She nodded so that the ends of her hair brushed against the back of my hand. “Yes. Nothing that won’t wait until Monday.”

  I didn’t know why I’d asked. It wasn’t like Jillian would confide in me. We weren’t the “Will you keep a secret?” kind of sisters. “All right then. Why don’t you go find Geoff and I’ll bring you both some dessert? Do you want key lime, classic, or turtle cheesecake?”

  Now it was my sister’s turn to shake her head. “I should skip it altogether. We’re going wedding dress shopping soon enough, and I know I’m going to look awful—”

  “Oh, stop! Don’t become a weight-conscious bridezilla.” My comment earned the ghost of a laugh from my sister. “What’s wrong?”

  “You know Mrs. Kenton?”

  “Of course—the family friend who can get away with saying, ‘Oh, Payton, I knew you when . . .’ and does. Every time she sees me. She pull that on you tonight?”

  Red stained my sister’s face. “No. She just said—in the nicest way possible, of course—that she hoped I’d lose a few pounds before the wedding.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Of course she didn’t. “Jillian—”

  She waved away my words. “Forget I said anything.”

  “It was rude.” And Mrs. Kenton, family friend or not, could forget about ever seeing the recipe she’d requested. “How about I bring you a small slice of each cheesecake? Calories don’t count at engagement parties, you know.”

  “Really small slices?”

  “I promise. This is a celebration. Your one and only engagement party.”

  “You’re right.” Jillian stood, brushing her straight hair away from her face. “Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow . . . well, we’re not thinking about that, are we?”

  “No, because tomorrow means playing catch-up for me. And prepping for next week.”

  And Saturday morning breakfast with my family.

  Something else I wasn’t thinking about.

  Breakfast at my parents’ always required drinking at least three cups of coffee.

  I retrieved the glass coffeepot from the kitchen and brought it to the table, pouring a steady stream of dark liquid fortitude into the Dallas Starbucks mug from one of Dad’s business trips. A trip equaled a coffee mug. Just like everything in the kitchen, the coffeemaker was outdated. Maybe I could convince my sisters to buy our parents a Keurig for Christmas. “Anyone else need a refill?”

  Only Dad nodded, moving his faded orange-and-blue Broncos mug closer to me so I could add coffee, the roasted aroma filling the air. After returning the pot to its proper place, I slid into my chair across from Johanna and began sweetening my coffee.

  “Three sugars? What is that, your second cup of coffee?” Johanna wrinkled her nose. “Have you ever heard of Splenda or Stevia?”

  “My third. And I prefer the real stuff. I like my caffeine with a jolt of sugar.” I stirred the overabundance of sugar, my spoon clinking against the rim.

  “I’m surprised your teeth haven’t rotted out of your head.”

  My fingers tightened around the handle of my mug. “Well, if they did, I’d be the one paying my dental bills—”

  “Really, girls, it’s barely ten o’clock in the morning,” Mom interrupted the exchange. “And you’re both adults. Stop bickering.”

  “Weren’t we discussing the bridal shower?” Dad’s tone was even.

  “We’ve discussed the basics.” Johanna scanned the list she’d made on her iPad. “With the wedding in April, we could wait until February for the shower. Or we could do something sooner, say November, and let your friends and coworkers host another shower closer to the wedding date. As maid of honor, I’ll be hosting this party, of course, with Payton and Kimberlee’s company catering it.”

  “As long as Jillian’s happy with all that.” I resisted the urge to toss a fourth spoonful of sugar into my coffee. I could either hassle my oldest sister or drink my much-needed eye-opener in peace.

  “I’m sorry—what?” Jillian yawned and moved leftover scrambled eggs around her plate with her fork.

  “I just said Kimberlee and I are happy to cater the bridal shower so long as you’re good with that.”

  “Oh . . . of course. I loved all the appetizers you served.”

  “The bison sliders were awesome.” Geoff spoke around a bite of bacon.

  “I wouldn’t want anyone else to do my bridal shower.” Jillian smiled when Geoff reached over and squeezed her hand. “But, Payton, could you work something out so you can attend the party, too? I hardly saw you last night.”

  “I was there when you opened gifts—well, most of them.” I pressed my fingertips into the knots at the base of my neck. The consequence of setup, cleanup, and loading supplies into the business van Kimberlee drove back to North Denver last night. “I’ll see if we can arrange things so I can be around for more of the actual bridal shower. We can always bring in other people to help.”

  Johanna added something to her list. “I’ll get together more specifics about a theme, food, and decor and e-mail you, Payton. And then Jillian just needs to let us know a preferred date.”

  “That’ll be fine.” I glanced up from a text from Nash asking when I’d be getting home. Let Johanna take the lead and relegate me to the background. That was easiest. “If we’re done here, I’ll finish my coffee and hit the road . . .”

  Mom shifted in her chair. “There is one more thing we need to talk about.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes. I, um, got a phone call—” Mom made eye contact with everyone at the table but me—“from Pepper’s high school volleyball coach. Your coach.”

  My phone slipped from my hand, bouncing off the edge of the table and tumbling to the faux Persian carpet with a soft thud. “Coach Sydney? Why would she call you?”

  Now Mom looked at me, then concentrated on setting her silverware on her empty plate, one piece at a time. “Well, she wanted to tell me the high school is honoring some of their former outstanding athletes. And Pepper is included because of all the school records she set. They plan on retiring her jersey number and displaying it in the gym.”

  My hands gripped my jeans-covered knees, and I willed myself to remain still as Mom talked. It was no surprise the school would honor a star athlete like Pepper. Several college coaches had been keeping track of her statistics by the time she was a sophomore.

  Mom twisted a strand of her brown hair that was threaded through with gray. “Remember how they called you and Pepper—?”

  “Double Trouble.” I whispered the nickname given us by some of our opponents because Pepper and I were identical twins, and we both played middle.

  “That’s right. It was always fun to read that in the paper.” Even all these years later, Mom seemed to relish the memory. “Anyway, Sydney was trying to get in touch with you because she hopes you’ll say something about Pepper at the ceremony.”

  Mom’s request might as well have been a well-aimed dump by a setter—and me, one of the unsuspecting defenders on the other side of the volleyball net. “What? No. Surely they can do this ceremony without me being a part of it.”

  “Pepper was your twin sister, Payton. She was closer to you than anyone else.”

  “Mom, please!” I shoved my chair back, stumbling to my feet, almost stepping on my phone.

  “Honey, it’s been ten years since Pepper died—”

  “I know how long it’s been, Mom. That doesn’t mean I want to talk about Pepper in front of a bunch of people I don’t know or haven’t seen in years.”

  “What is wrong with you?” And now Johanna had to join the conversation. “This is a chance to honor Pepper’s memory. Why don’t you want to be a part of
it? Everyone else is on board.”

  “Am I the last one to know about this?” I forced myself to face my family instead of walking out of the room. Out of the house.

  “Well, you don’t visit that often, do you?” Johanna managed to twist the conversation away from honoring Pepper to skewering me. “Or call. This is the first chance we’ve had to talk with you about the ceremony.”

  I’d deal with today’s unexpected issue and ignore Johanna’s typical attack. “And you’re all okay with this idea?”

  “Payton, we’re talking about one evening. A couple of hours at most.” Dad’s words were low. Steady. Ever the voice of reason. “We’ll all be there together. Have a chance to remember Pepper and something that was important to her. And you, too. So yes, we all think this is a good idea.”

  “I don’t have a choice?” Did anyone else think I sounded like a sulky adolescent?

  “Of course you have a choice.” Mom’s smile held the hint of an apology. “We’re not going to force you to participate—”

  “But think of how it would look if we all attended and you didn’t.”

  “Thank you so much for not forcing me, Johanna.”

  “Be an adult, Payton. Stop making this about you.”

  “But I’m the one expected to be up front, talking . . . about Pepper.” I swallowed a sudden tightness in my throat.

  I should have skipped breakfast and driven straight home. Coming home was like trying to step into a faded family photograph—one that had been partially torn so that the image was incomplete. “When is this event taking place?”

  “Sydney said it was scheduled for the middle of September.” Mom twisted her napkin. “I have her phone number if you want to talk to her . . .”

  Maybe surrender was my best option for dealing with this ambush—at least for now.

  “Fine. I’ll call her and get the details.”

  “You’ll do it?”

  I bent to retrieve my phone, trying to ignore the hope in Mom’s voice. At least my overnight bag and purse were already by the front door. “I said I’d talk to her. I need to think about this more before I say yes. If I say yes. I need to make sure Kimberlee and I don’t have a competing commitment.” Maybe, just maybe, I’d get that lucky. “Text me her number, please. I need to head home. Nash is hoping to spend part of the day together—maybe catch a movie.”

  “Tell him we missed seeing him.” Dad half rose from his chair.

  “Of course.” I came close enough for a quick hug, following that up with a similar duck and hug with Mom. “No need to walk me out. We’ll talk soon.”

  As I backed up, I nodded to everyone else at the table, hoping a smile would suffice for a good-bye. “Have fun getting all that loot back to your apartment, Jillian.”

  “We will, but it’s going to Geoff’s house. He’s got more room.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Johanna didn’t even look up from her iPad. “I’ll be e-mailing you about the bridal shower, Payton.”

  “Fine.” Another nod and then more distance.

  Welcomed distance.

  2

  SHE’D GIVEN UP being particular about her clothes a long time ago, but a thin pink paper top was the worst excuse for a cover-up she’d ever seen. Or worn.

  Sweat formed along the waistband of Jillian’s navy-blue pants. The astringent scent of alcohol lingered in the room. How long had she been waiting for Dr. Sartwell? She eyed her large teal purse sitting on top of her neatly folded blazer, blouse, and bra in the chair against the wall. Should she hop down and retrieve her cell phone? Scan her e-mails while she waited? Maybe pull up the e-book she was reading?

  Jillian shifted on the edge of the exam table, causing the strip of protective paper to crinkle beneath her legs at the same time the top threatened to slip off her left shoulder.

  No. She would not be traipsing around in this one-size-doesn’t-fit-all medical fashion statement.

  A sharp knock on the door signaled Dr. Sartwell’s arrival.

  “Come in.” With one hand holding the front of the top closed, Jillian used the other to finger-comb her hair into place. Not that her attempt mattered all that much.

  “Good afternoon, Jillian.” Dr. Sartwell entered the room, her thin frame covered by a starched white lab coat, her black cat’s-eye glasses crowning her salt-and-pepper hair. She paused, head tilting to one side. “Oh. You’re in an exam gown.”

  Jillian nodded. “Your medical assistant told me to change into this.”

  “I’m not planning on doing an exam—unless there’s something about the biopsy site you want me to look at.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Well, I believe if we’re just talking, and if I get to have clothes on, then you get to have clothes on, too.”

  “Oh, that’s all right—”

  “It’s only fair. I kept you waiting, so I can wait while you change.” The doctor backed up. “I’ll give you a few minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  In less than five minutes, Jillian sat across from her family doctor, fully clothed, the flimsy paper top tossed in the trash.

  “Better?” Dr. Sartwell set her laptop on the small desk to her side, slid her glasses down, and tapped in her password to open Jillian’s chart before turning to face her again.

  “Much better, at least as far as my selection of clothing goes.”

  “Well, yes. But you’re not here to discuss that.”

  “No.” Her short burst of laughter sounded too high. “I need you to help me figure out what’s going on. What do I do about the biopsy?”

  “Like I told you on Friday night, the biopsy shows cancer.”

  Cancer.

  In a repeat of Friday night’s conversation, it was as if time slowed for a few moments . . . as if her hearing dulled, and she had to mentally repeat the word to process the truth.

  She had cancer.

  She still hadn’t spoken the two-syllable word out loud. Still hadn’t told Geoff about the phone call. Or that she’d even had a biopsy after her supposed-to-be-routine annual physical ten days ago. As long as she didn’t say anything to anyone else, she maintained a thin veneer of control on her life.

  “But I’m only thirty-two. And there’s no history of breast cancer in my family—”

  “I understand that, Jillian. I know that after you hear the word cancer applied to you, your brain shuts down. But we need to talk about the next steps for you to take.” Dr. Sartwell paused and then reached out and touched Jillian’s hand, her fingertips cool against her skin. “I know you didn’t expect me to find a lump during a routine breast exam. It’s a shock—and I’m sorry.”

  Jillian pressed her lips together, her chin quivering. No crying. If she cried, her face would get all blotchy and people would stare at her when she left the office. She averted her gaze and blinked, once, twice, then refocused on her physician, who had the answers to her questions. “What do I do now?”

  “The mammogram shows a one-centimeter lesion, which is about the size of a small grape.” Dr. Sartwell held the invisible grape between her thumb and forefinger. “I’m optimistic we caught this early. Now comes a variety of things. Blood work. A more thorough physical exam. Then we need to schedule you an appointment with a breast surgeon, who will probably recommend an MRI—”

  Jillian scrambled to process everything, but one question trumped all the others. “How soon can we get this done?”

  “We’ve already done your annual exam, and I can recheck a few more things today—like listening to your heart and lungs again. Then I’ll order your blood work. You can have that drawn here.” Dr. Sartwell typed something into her laptop. “I already discussed your case with Dr. Williamson, one of the top breast surgeons in town. I highly recommend her, but she’s out of town for the rest of the week, speaking at a medical conference. The soonest she could see you is a week from this Wednesday.”

  Nine days.

  “Is it okay to wait that long?”
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  “Breast cancer is not generally aggressive, and as I said, based on the initial findings, I believe we’ve caught this early. So yes, it’s fine to wait. But if you prefer, I could recommend someone else who might be able to see you sooner.”

  Jillian ran her fingertips along the premade crease in her pants. “I don’t need to shop around. I trust your recommendation.”

  “Fine. I’ll make sure you have Dr. Williamson’s information before you leave today so you can schedule your appointment. Is your fiancé with you? Does he have any questions to ask me?”

  “I . . . I haven’t told Geoff anything yet.” Jillian twisted the material of her pants between her fingers.

  Dr. Sartwell’s eyebrows rose over the rim of her glasses. “Why not?”

  “Because there’s nothing to tell. Not really.”

  “Jillian, we do know that you have cancer—”

  “You said we caught it early. We’ll confirm that it’s not that serious and then I’ll tell Geoff. No sense in worrying him.”

  “You might want to take someone with you when you have your initial appointment with Dr. Williamson.” Dr. Sartwell’s calm voice soothed Jillian’s frayed emotions. “It helps to have someone else there to hear everything that’s said. Maybe even take notes and help you process all the information. And if Dr. Williamson recommends a lumpectomy—”

  “Dr. Sartwell, I can only focus on realities, no ifs or maybes. And I realize you might handle this differently if you were the patient, but for now, I prefer to keep this to myself. I don’t want to have to worry about everyone else’s reactions. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. But at some point, your family and your fiancé need to know—”

  “I understand.” Jillian straightened her shoulders. “I just need to decide when to tell them.”

  There was time to make that decision later. For now, she’d finish this appointment. And maybe some of Dr. Sartwell’s calm assurance would transfer over to her so that she could get through everything without breaking down.