Things I Never Told You Page 3

  Should she take someone with her when she met with Dr. Williamson—or shouldn’t she?

  Jillian flipped Dr. Sartwell’s business card over, reading the information her family practice doctor had scrawled on the back, as if she’d find the answer to her question hidden within the surgeon’s name and office phone number.

  She was an adult. She’d been going to doctors’ appointments by herself for years. She’d take careful notes just in case she didn’t remember everything Dr. Williamson said. Because yes, she’d have to tell Geoff and her family. And then she’d have to answer all their questions.

  She turned the card over again. If she did ask someone to go with her, who would it be?

  Geoff? No, she wouldn’t ask him. He was swamped with helping a company recover from a malicious malware attack that took down their computer system. The man didn’t need something else to worry about. And maybe she was old-fashioned, but being her fiancé didn’t mean he had to sit in on a discussion with a breast surgeon.

  Harper? As much as she might want to confide in her best friend, she couldn’t. Geoff would be hurt that Harper had known something before he did.

  Her mother? Definitely not. Just asking her mother to come to a doctor’s appointment would prompt questions she didn’t want to answer like “Why?” and “What kind of appointment?” Besides, most thirty-two-year-old women didn’t ask their mothers to take them to the doctor.

  And there was no asking her father, either. He was good for watching Broncos games with, for grilling her steak just the way she liked it, and for still tweaking a strand of her dark-blonde hair and calling her “Jilly.” But she couldn’t tell him that she had cancer and ask him not to tell her mother.

  Johanna? No, not if she wanted to retain some control of this situation. If she asked, Johanna would throw on her big sister cape, do extensive research, and come prepared with all sorts of questions. Then Johanna would do all the talking as if she were the one facing cancer, relegating Jillian to the role of spectator.

  Payton? Jillian closed her eyes, unable to stop the quick huff of laughter. The thought was an off-key bit of comic relief in the midst of too much seriousness. Her relationship with Payton was distant at best, the last decade choked with so many things unsaid. And now she was going to call her sister, pull her into her confidence, and ask her to come to a medical appointment?

  No.

  Her cell phone rang from within the depths of her purse—what Geoff called a “suitcase”—and Jillian dug past her wallet, keys, change purse, and various tubes of ChapStick and packs of gum before rescuing it.

  “Hello?”

  “Am I speaking to the future Mrs. Hennessey?”

  Geoff’s question caused her to giggle, scattering her internal debate. “Why, yes, you are. And who is this?”

  “This is Mr. Hennessey, your future husband. I’m also the guy who missed having lunch with you today.”

  “I doubt that. You’ve been so busy lately, we haven’t had time for lunch dates.” Jillian pulled a cold can of soda from the fridge. “Besides, won’t I be seeing you in less than an hour? With deep-dish pizza?”

  “I did notice we missed lunch together because I had no reason to take a break.” Geoff paused. “And I called to say I can’t make it tonight.”

  “What?” Jillian pressed the can against her heart. “Why not?”

  “We ran into some additional problems and I have to work late.”

  “Geoff, really? You’ve been putting in so much overtime as it is.”

  “I know. I know. But this project is my responsibility. Besides, what with the engagement party this past weekend, I wasn’t around as much as I should have been.”

  She shouldn’t complain. One thing she loved about Geoff was his determination and commitment. Yes, he liked to laugh and joke, but he worked hard. “I understand.”

  “You know I’d rather be there with you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Once we help the company recover from this incident, my hours will be back to normal.” His voice lowered. “And besides, in nine months, we’ll be married and coming home to each other.”

  “Now that’s a nice thought.”

  “Yes, it is. I think about that a lot. You sure you don’t want to skip all this wedding stuff and just elope?”

  Jillian set her soda on the counter and went in search of a bag of white cheddar popcorn. “How many times are you going to ask me that? I’m beginning to think you’re not joking.”

  “Hey, I’d elope with you tonight.”

  “Now I know you’re joking. You’d never elope in the middle of something like this.”

  Geoff’s burst of laughter warmed her, dissipating the shadow that had lurked alongside her all day. “You know me so well.”

  “I do. And you understand I want a fun wedding to celebrate with our friends and family.”

  Or was a big wedding the chance to prove to so many doubters how wrong they’d been about her chance of ever getting married?

  “All right. No more talk of eloping. We’ll do this getting-married thing up right—and then party all night long.”

  “I like the sound of that. But first, you get back to work.”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  “Me? I’m going to relax. Maybe read a good book.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “Only if you have time.”

  “I’ll make time.”

  Jillian’s apartment was too quiet after she ended her phone call with Geoff. Her secret hung suspended in unspoken words between their hello and good-bye.

  Should she have told Geoff? Shifted the weight of her diagnosis off her shoulders onto his?

  No. Not yet. Geoff was already worn-out with work. It was just over a week until she saw Dr. Williamson and confirmed Dr. Sartwell’s optimistic outlook. It was worth waiting to be able to tell him and her family there was nothing to worry about.

  Jillian stuck the business card to her fridge door, holding it in place with a colorful fish magnet her parents had brought her from their last vacation to Mexico.

  It was a doctor’s appointment, not an inquisition. If anything, she’d be the one asking questions. She knew how to listen, how to take notes. More than likely, they’d hand her a pamphlet to take home. The surgeon would confirm what Dr. Sartwell said about the cancer being caught early and then outline what needed to be done. Jillian would have one more appointment before she had to tell anyone else. One more appointment before she had to admit that, yes, she had cancer.

  Before she had to help everyone else be okay.

  3

  MY CLUTTERED DESK and Kimberlee’s even messier one greeted me as I flicked on the overhead light in the back office. Coming to work was like a walk back in time—straight to our college days, when we shared a small, disorganized apartment. Except we’d abandoned the white twinkly lights, beanbag chairs, and textbooks in exchange for a messy but more businesslike decor that included file cabinets, desks, rolling chairs, and a full-size fridge.

  Did I ever wish that my workplace was a gym—on a volleyball court with a team?

  I’d made my decision about that question a long time ago.

  Dumping my purse on the floor beside my desk, I stocked the fridge with coconut milk yogurts and fruit and stashed the reusable cloth bag in the supply closet. It took less than two minutes to make a cup of coffee, thanks to the office Keurig, and the caffeine and jolt of sugar would shove away the last remnants of sleep. Despite seeing me on Sunday, Nash had insisted on coming over last night, too, and then stayed too late, despite my not-so-subtle hints to leave.

  Almost as if on cue, my phone buzzed.

  Nash. He wouldn’t appreciate how his phone call brought up similar feelings to my family interrupting me while I worked Jillian’s engagement party four days ago.

  I pushed the Speaker button to leave my hands free and powered up my computer. “Hello?”

  “And good morning to you.” He dropp
ed his voice to a sexy whisper, although the effect was ruined with his voice amplified through the phone. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Why, yes, I did. Thank you for asking.”

  “I did, too, although someone kicked me out instead of letting me stay.”

  My skin warmed as if someone else had heard his comment. “Tsk. Sounds heartless.”

  “You know, if we lived together, we wouldn’t be having this conversation—”

  “And we are not having this conversation now, Nash.” I typed in my password. “I’m at work. You should be getting ready for work, too.”

  “Well then, how about if we continue talking over dinner tonight? And I’ll use my most persuasive powers to convince you it’s time to take our relationship to the next level.”

  A smile was woven through his words. I was tempted to admit his suggestion tugged at my heart. I could imagine how his brown eyes darkened—the way they did right before he kissed me. But what I couldn’t imagine was Nash moving in. Getting that close. He already stayed too many nights at my town house, his toiletries crowding my bathroom shelves. Clothes lingering in my closet.

  “You are distracting me, sir.” His laugh came across the phone line, just as I knew it would. Teasing always worked when I needed to distract Nash. To put him in his place. “And while dinner sounds nice, I can’t tonight.”

  “What can I do to convince you?”

  Maybe he could just take no for an answer? “There’s no convincing me. I’m sorry, but I’ve got some things to catch up on, so I’m going to be working late—and so is Kimberlee.”

  “Lunch?”

  “Nash!” I softened my tone with a quick laugh. “You are persistent, but it has to be no. No lunch. No dinner.”

  “This is what I get for dating someone so dedicated to her job.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Before he could reply, I moved the conversation on. “I really do need to get to work. Please.”

  “I understand. I love you, Payton.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Even if I am a little too dedicated to my job, right?” With a laugh, I ended the call.

  I should have said I loved him, too. But maybe the bantering tone to our conversation had covered up my omission. It wasn’t that I hadn’t ever told Nash I loved him. But each time I said those three not-so-little words, I committed more of myself to him.

  Did I want to keep moving toward a deeper commitment with Nash? After dating him for eight months, I still wasn’t sure. Not in the same way he was ready to commit.

  Kimberlee breezed in forty-five minutes later, her blue-streaked blonde hair flying about her face, begging forgiveness and bribing me with a half-dozen homemade doughnuts. “Is Bianca here yet?”

  “Of course. She’s sorting through the mail and listening to the phone messages.”

  “I’ll let her choose one or two of these and then come back so we can start talking about the day.”

  “Sounds perfect. I should have my in-box under control by then. And grab the to-do list I asked Bianca to print off, will you? We can look over that when you get back.” I selected a doughnut, plopping it onto a napkin on my desk. “When did you have time to make these?”

  “I like to bake. It’s no big deal.”

  Homemade glazed yeast doughnuts. No big deal. Right.

  I logged out of our bank account just as Kimberlee returned, balancing the box of doughnuts in one hand and carrying the list in the other. “Someone’s here to talk to you.”

  “What? I checked and we don’t have an appointment until after lunch.”

  “He’s not here to talk to us. He’s here to talk to you.” Kimberlee tossed me a wink. “And if you weren’t dating Nash, I’d mention he’s kind of handsome in an outdoorsy way.”

  “Well then, I know you’re not really interested in him. The most time you spend outdoors is walking back and forth to your car. Who is he?”

  “He introduced himself as Zachary Gaines and asked if you were available to talk.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Zachary Gaines.

  “Payton? What’s wrong?”

  The way I’d frozen behind my desk in a half-standing, half-sitting posture must have alerted Kimberlee that something was off.

  “I just remembered how I know Zach Gaines.”

  “Is there a problem? Do you want me to tell him you can’t talk right now?”

  “We . . . we went to high school together.” I rounded the desk, wiping my sticky fingers on a napkin, the sugary sweetness of the doughnut congealing in the back of my throat. “I’ll see what he wants. Maybe he’s planning a wedding or a birthday party and heard about Festivities—”

  “More than likely that’s it.”

  “Go ahead and look over the week’s schedule. We’ve got Mrs. Anderson’s very posh eightieth birthday party on Thursday and the Morrison wedding on Saturday. And some consultations—”

  “I’ve got it, Payton. Don’t keep the guy waiting.”

  Keep him waiting? I could have lived my whole life without ever seeing Zachary Gaines again.

  Zachary was chatting with Bianca when I entered the reception area. Could I say I would have recognized him anywhere? No, not really. Gone was the eighteen-year-old boy who’d been a high school cross-country standout with dark hair and an alluring smile. The guy who seemed to always be surrounded by a joking, laughing group of friends and who attracted the attention of quite a few of the teen girls. In his place stood a wiry man with a weathered face and eyes that seemed to shift between shadow and sunlight.

  And now I was waxing poetic about a man I didn’t want to talk to.

  “Hey, Payton.”

  There was just a hint of the smile I remembered. “Zach. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “I wasn’t sure you would . . . would have time to talk to me.” Zach shifted his feet, his hands tucked in the pockets of jeans that were worn at the knees.

  “What do you want?” Even with my voice lowered, my words sounded harsh, but surely he wasn’t expecting me to welcome him with a hug and a “What have you been up to since I last saw you?”

  “I was hoping we could talk. I know you’re working, but this was the only way I knew how to find you.”

  Why did he need to find me?

  “Payton?” Bianca spoke behind me.

  “Yes?”

  “I have some things to work on in the back.” She pushed her chair away from the semicircular desk. “I’ll take any phone calls back there, too.”

  “That’s fine, Bianca. Thank you.” I motioned for Zach to follow me to the alcove where Kimberlee and I talked with clients. “Well, she staged a convenient exit, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” Zach settled into the cloth chair covered with bright, multicolored polka dots, a small tempered-glass table between us. He picked up one of the pens resting on top of a pad of paper decorated with our company name, rolling it between the palms of his hands. “So this is your business?”

  “Yes. Kimberlee and I plan events for people. Birthday parties. Wedding receptions. Showers. Whatever.” Maybe my initial hope was correct. “Did you come here because you wanted us to help you plan something?”

  “No.” Zach glanced away, hesitating for a moment. “I wanted to talk to you about Pepper.”

  Below the table, I clenched my hands into fists. “Pepper?”

  “I know it’s been a long time—”

  “Ten years.”

  “Ten years. Right.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I got a call about this event the high school is doing to honor some of the former athletes . . .”

  Again with the ceremony. My mom had said they were honoring various athletes. Zach Gaines had broken numerous school cross-country records. Jaunted off to college on a four-year scholarship months after my sister died. It only made sense he would be included in the group of students the school would be celebrating.

  “Congratulations. But I still don’t know why you needed to see me afte
r all these years.”

  “I asked my coach who else was on the list. He said they were retiring Pepper’s jersey number, so I figured your family was going to be there.” When I didn’t say anything, Zach continued, “And that got me wondering . . . hoping . . . I could finally make things right.”

  Everything Zach said made sense until those last three words. Make things right. I didn’t like that he was here. Didn’t like what he was saying. But at least I understood him until then.

  “What did you just say?”

  Zach rubbed his hand down his face. Small black letters were tattooed on several of his fingers. “I mean . . . I know I can’t make things right. But I thought maybe I could finally apologize to you . . . to your family . . . for the accident.”

  “You want to talk with my family?” I flexed my fingers, but they fisted closed again.

  “Yes. Look, I’m not proud of that night . . . of the five years of my life after. But I’m also not that messed-up kid anymore. I’ve changed . . . a lot . . . in the past few years. I’m not drinking or doing drugs . . . I’ve gotten myself straight with God—”

  Zach Gaines could stop right there. Because just as much as I didn’t want to talk to him about Pepper, I had no desire to talk with the guy about any god he might have stumbled across, drunk or sober. “What is this? Some sort of religious thing?”

  “It’s not a ‘religious thing.’ I’ve been in AA and I’m a Christian now. I want to make things right—”

  Make things right. There was that insulting phrase again.

  “And you think saying, ‘I’m sorry’ to me and my family is going to make things right?” I gripped the edge of the table to stop myself from leaning across. Getting in his face. “You’ll feel better, won’t you? Make your apology and go away, patting yourself on the back—but things still won’t be right, will they? Because Pepper will still be dead.”

  “This isn’t about making myself feel better, Payton.”

  “It isn’t? I’m not so sure.”

  “I am sorry for what happened that night.”

  “I’m sure you are. And are your parents sorry they covered up the fact they’d been serving alcohol at a party where there were underage kids?”