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“I—I …” She had trouble speaking and grabbed my hand so hard I almost cried out.
“Come,” I said, steering her to the back of the store where I had the table and chairs set up for my class. “Sit down. Can I get you a glass of water?”
Margaret shook her head. I’ve never seen my sister this upset. I couldn’t imagine what had caused her distress or driven her to approach me.
“Dr. Abram’s office phoned,” she said, looking up at me as if I should be able to figure out the problem from that little bit of information. I didn’t know who Dr. Abram was. I wondered if Matt had fallen ill or been involved in some kind of accident. Another possibility loomed and filled me with dread.
“Is this about Mother?” I asked. The thought of something happening to Mom so soon after losing Dad terrified me.
“No,” she cried. “This is about me. Dr. Abram said my mammogram needs to be retaken.” She grabbed my hand again. “It seems—it seems I have a lump in my breast.” My sister stared up at me, eyes wide and fearful.
I’ll admit I was shaken by this and sat down next to her. The pressure on my hand increased when she realized I understood.
“I’m so afraid,” Margaret whispered.
“This doesn’t mean you have cancer.” I tried to sound reassuring, but it was difficult. Margaret was thinking the same thing I was. I’d already been on intimate terms with the big C. Mom and Dad had always worried that they’d passed on a genetic flaw that made us vulnerable to the disease. Two of our grandparents had died of it. When I’d first been diagnosed, Mom had insisted Margaret be thoroughly checked, as well. Everything had seemed all right then—but now …
“When’s the second mammogram scheduled?”
“I … was just there…. The technician wouldn’t tell me anything. She said Dr. Abram would have the results read. Then he’d like to see me.”
“Oh, Margaret, I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?”
“I … don’t know. I haven’t told anyone.”
“Matt?”
She sighed heavily. “I didn’t want to scare him.”
“But he’s your husband! He has a right to know.”
“I’ll tell him when I have something to report.”
Her voice was cold, and I knew better than to argue. My sister did things her own way and in her own time. Pressuring her wouldn’t do any good.
“How did you feel when you found out you had cancer?” Margaret asked.
I had to strain to make out the words. I’d been sixteen during my first illness and I hadn’t known what I do now or even what I did the second time. The day I learned the tumor had grown back was the worst of my life. I was well aware of what lay ahead and in some ways death seemed preferable.
I knew what this could mean to my sister, and I couldn’t hide my reaction. “I was frightened, too,” I told her.
Her grip on my hand tightened briefly.
“How long have you been keeping this to yourself?” I asked and gently smoothed the hair away from her face.
“Five days,” she whispered and then added urgently, “I want you to promise me something.”
“Of course,” I assured her. Margaret had never asked anything of me before and I was willing to comply, no matter what.
“Don’t tell Mom.”
I hated keeping secrets from our mother but in this case I agreed with Margaret. It was useless to upset Mom until we had the facts.
“Thank you,” she whispered, clearly relieved.
“Anything, Margaret. You know that.”
Her gaze held mine. “Would you …” She hesitated. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but would you go to the doctor with me?”
“Of course.” I’d been planning to offer.
She seemed shocked. “You’d do that?”
I nodded.
“You’d have to close the shop.”
“I won’t let you face this alone.”
Her eyes swam with tears and I reached for a box of tissues and handed her one. Then, because I’ve always regretted that Margaret and I aren’t close, I put my arms around her.
“I’ll be with you, Margaret.”
“Thank you.” She sobbed against my shoulder for a minute before she regained her composure. Breaking away from me, she blew her nose and sniffled. “I’ll do what I can to get the appointment on a Monday—but if I can’t …”
“It doesn’t matter what time of day it is or even what day,” I insisted. I intended to help my sister through this, no matter what.
Margaret seemed about to speak when the bell above the door chimed. I wanted to groan at the interruption, but I was in business and my job was to serve my customers. Even at quarter past five …
The friendly whistle told me it was Brad Goetz, my UPS deliveryman. He wheeled in three large boxes and set them next to the cash register. “How’s it goin’?” he asked as he handed me the computerized clipboard, leaning against the counter.
“Really well,” I said and quickly signed my name, eager to push him out the door.
“Every time I come by I see women in the shop, especially on Friday afternoons.”
“I’ve got a class then.”
“That explains it.” He seemed oblivious to my efforts to steer him toward the exit. “I bet you’re pretty beat at the end of the day.”
“Some days,” I agreed.
He grinned then, as if he’d made his point. “So why don’t you relax and have a drink with me?”
This was his second invitation and of all the bad luck, he had to ask me in front of my sister.
“You should go,” Margaret said from the back of the shop.
“Yeah,” Brad said, eagerly leaping on Margaret’s encouragement. “We can stay right here in the neighborhood. There’s a nice bar maybe two blocks away. No commitments, just a few minutes to relax and unwind.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’d better not.” I walked over to the door and all but opened it. He still didn’t take the hint.
Brad raised his hands in frustration and glanced in Margaret’s direction. “Is it something I said?”
“No … no.” I didn’t want him to think that.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s not you,” Margaret called out. “It’s my sister. She’s afraid.”
I wanted to shout at Margaret to kindly keep her trap shut, but I couldn’t. I much preferred to tell him the truth in some other way and at some other time, but the choice had been taken away from me. Rejecting him over and over again seemed cruel. Although I didn’t want to do it like this, I owed him my honesty.
“I’ve had cancer,” I said bluntly. “Not once, but twice, and furthermore I don’t have a single guarantee that the tumor won’t grow back again and the next time I might not be so fortunate.”
“Cancer?” he repeated and from the shocked look on his face I knew it was the last thing he’d expected me to say.
“The big, ugly scary kind,” I said, unable to hide my sarcasm. “You don’t want to make an emotional investment in me because it might not pay off. That’s the problem with cancer.”
“I … didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. How could you? I appreciate the offer,” I said again, and I was sincere about that. “In fact, I’m downright flattered. But I’m saving us both a lot of grief, so please just accept my refusal and leave it at that.” I walked away from him and went to the back of the store where I sank down next to my sister.
Margaret glared at me.
I heard the door close as Brad walked out of the shop. “Why did you do that?” my sister demanded.
“Do what?”
“Turn him down! What harm would it’ve done to have a beer with the guy?”
I covered my face with both hands, unwilling to admit that it’d been so long since I’d been on a date, I didn’t know how to act around a man.
“He’s cute and he’s interested.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“You said you started this shop as an affirmation of life.”
I nodded. “I did—” Margaret didn’t allow me to finish.
“Then live. Get involved in life, Lydia. You should be thanking your lucky stars a man like that wants to date you. Good grief, what is it with you?”
“I … I …” I was so disconcerted I couldn’t put two words together.
“Live, Lydia,” she said again. “Get out there and find out what life’s all about. And do it before you shrivel up—or die.”
18
CHAPTER
JACQUELINE DONOVAN
Jacqueline had been a member of the birthday club since joining the Seattle Country Club years ago. Once a month, a group of nine friends got together to celebrate their birthdays. If no one had a birthday that particular month, they celebrated anyway.
For June they chose a Mexican restaurant. While the ambience wasn’t really up to their usual high standards the food was excellent. After the women had finished a leisurely lunch and several margaritas, four of the waiters came to their table wearing large sombreros. It was time to serenade the birthday girl. One of the waiters had a guitar slung over his shoulder. Another brandished a pair of maracas.
“Señoritas, you celebrate a birthday, sí?”
“Sí,” Bev Johnson, president of the women’s group, told him. “It’s Ginny’s birthday.” She pointed across the table at the other woman, who blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl.
The man with the guitar strummed a few chords and strolled over to Ginny. “Would you like the long version or the short version?” he asked.
Jacqueline loved to see her normally poised and collected friend flustered by the attention. “By all means the short version.”
All four of the waiters immediately got down on their knees as they sang the traditional birthday song with a definite Mexican flair. The nine women at the table laughed and applauded, Jacqueline included.
She’d needed this outing in order to put Tammie Lee’s pregnancy out of her mind. Despite everything, Paul seemed genuinely in love with his wife; Reese, too, was taken with her. That left Jacqueline feeling like the villain of the piece. But even if Tammie Lee wasn’t quite as manipulative or tasteless as Jacqueline had assumed, she was so obviously wrong for Paul.
After Ginny blew out the candle on her small cake, and passed it around for everyone to taste, the party broke up. Jacqueline was waiting in line to pay the cashier when Bev came to stand beside her.
“I ran into Tammie Lee last week,” the president of the women’s club said.
Jacqueline froze. Bev was the most influential member of the association and she could only imagine what her friend thought of Paul’s wife. Already Jacqueline could feel the heat creep up her neck. She could think of no way to explain her son’s lapse in judgment.
“Haywood said he approved their application to the club.” Haywood was Bev’s husband and in charge of admissions.
“Naturally Reese and I were very pleased they were accepted.” It was gratifying to know that her years of volunteer work with the country club were paying dividends.
“We’ve always liked Paul.”
Jacqueline smiled. Anyone would be impressed with her son. He was charming and intelligent and destined to succeed in life. She had to restrain herself from bragging about his accomplishments.
“I understand Tammie Lee’s going to work on the cookbook committee.”
Jacqueline’s heart fell. She’d hoped to speak privately to the committee chairwoman and suggest that perhaps Tammie Lee might serve more effectively somewhere else. The thought of her daughter-in-law’s recipe for boiled peanuts and cheese grits in the Country Club Cookbook made Jacqueline shudder. What an embarrassment! She couldn’t allow that to happen.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to Louise about that.”
“It’s a stroke of genius,” Bev said.
It was Jacqueline’s turn to pay her lunch tab, and she set the cash on the counter, breathing far too fast. Surely she’d misunderstood Bev. She stepped aside after collecting her change and waited while the other woman paid.
“A stroke of … genius?” Jacqueline repeated as they started out the restaurant door.
“Why, yes. I first met Tammie Lee a few months ago. Haywood and I instantly fell in love with her. She’s a breath of fresh air that our women’s group badly needs. She’s so energetic. Don’t you just love that sweet southern accent of hers? I swear I could listen to her speak all day.”
Jacqueline had to bite her tongue to keep from admitting how irritated she was by Tammie Lee’s twang.
“It’s no wonder Paul fell in love with her. I think Haywood’s halfway there himself.”
