The Life That Mattered (Life Duet 1)

Mom and Grandma studied me and Lila. Their expressions faded into recognition as something silent passed between them and my best friend.

A look.

What is going on?

“Come sit, Evie.” Mom scooted to the side to make room on the sofa between her and Grandma.

Lila released my hand and sat in the recliner. The air in the room thickened, making it hard to breathe.

“Evie …” Mom took my hand and squeezed it while Grandma rested her hand on my leg. “I have breast cancer.”

The room fell silent for a few seconds. I wanted Ronin to come back inside so we could talk about wood. Breast cancer wasn’t funny.

Time continued to tick along while I took a moment, several moments.

Death.

No amount of optimism obscured that thought. Cancer equaled death. It was what first went through any person’s mind when cancer was mentioned—like the words plane crash and mass casualties.

Only … no one says it. We find better words. There are better words than death. Like … hope.

Perspective showed up next to stick its ugly tongue out at me. Fucking perspective. I couldn’t believe I had an emotional meltdown over something as immature and frivolous as Vanessa and karaoke. That wasn’t real life. It was just a stupid distraction from the important stuff like Ronin falling in love with me and my mom having cancer. I couldn’t stop internally berating myself. I stood in a bar, seething with jealousy, while my mom dealt with her mortality.

“Okay …” I replied, forcing courage into my voice. “So what’s the plan?”

I was a scientist. I liked plans.

When my dad was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease, I didn’t take the time to ask why. The why didn’t matter at that point. The only thing that mattered was the plan. We needed a plan.

“Partial mastectomy. Radiation. Hormone therapy,” Mom said with her shoulders back, chin up.

I glanced at Lila.

She was my rock, and my mom knew it. That was why she told Lila before me. Grandma? Well, she was everyone’s rock.

“We’ve got this.” Lila tipped her chin up too, wearing her confidence like a badge of honor.

“We’ve got this,” I repeated.

Mom squeezed my hand again.

“You need to tell your father,” Grandma said, patting my leg.

Mom cleared her throat. I could feel the lump of emotion strangling her. “You will stay strong for him. He will see through me. And it’s not because I’m weak or even overly worried about the possible outcome. I just know this will hit him really hard. That’s why I need you to tell him, and I’ll be ready with my brave face.”

She needed me to tell Dad because my father was married to another woman before he met Mom. He was nineteen, and she was eighteen. Their young marriage lasted three years because she died of cancer.

To that day, he couldn’t even say the word cancer.

“I’ll tell him.” I maintained a stoic face and pushed that same bravery into my voice—steady and sure. Later, I would take five minutes for myself to let my fears have a voice, have their moment of raw emotion. “Does Katie know?”

My sister didn’t have a brave face. Katie was transparent with every emotion. She would jump to the conclusion of death in the most verbal way possible. No elephants were allowed in the room with her. Nope. Katie always put all her cards on the table, and she expected the people in her life to do the same.

“No. One step at a time. You tell Dad. Then Dad will tell Katie.” Mom slapped her hands on her legs like a judge using a gavel to punctuate her ruling. “She is and always has been a ‘daddy’s girl.’ The truth begins and ends with him in her eyes. He is her voice of reason. It has to come from him.”

Her kidney resided in his body, but they had a special bond before that. As much as I loved my father, I held a stronger bond with my mom. Katie saved Dad’s life. Could I save my mom’s life?

“You’re not dying.” While I pondered all the questions, I could be resolute in my statements, just like my mom. And impulsive.

Jeez … I didn’t even mean to say it aloud. It was cry or fight the grim reality.

She. Will. Not. Die.

“Who said anything about dying?” Grandma scoffed. “There’s an order. No one in this room goes before me.”

“Except me …” Lila stood and pointed to the front door. “And by go, I mean I’m going to check on the lumberjack and give you ladies some time alone.” She winked at me. It was her you’ve-got-this wink. We dragged each other through the trenches, held each other up. That was my relationship with Lila.

Had been.

Was then.

Always would be.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ronin

“You’re not getting wood?” Lila asked, closing the squeaky door behind her. I shot her a quick glance before returning my attention to the view of the Rockies from one of the wooden rocking chairs on Evelyn’s porch.