“I just need a minute,” she says.
“Can you work that machine, or does it make coffee by itself?” I ask.
She whips around at the sound of my voice. “I thought you were Charlie . . . or Reese.”
“Nope, just the better part of the Jackson brothers.”
A half smile touches her lips and then dies off. She turns and busies herself with the coffee maker. “When Reese told me that Charlie had reconnected with you, I was worried and not a little angry on her behalf, but I told myself that I wasn’t going to complain about you or suggest she was making a mistake because what’s the point of telling your best friend that her man is rotten.”
I wince. Rotten? Lainey’s good at hiding her feelings because the other night at dinner, she was all smiles and welcomes. “Thanks, I guess.”
She flicks a hand but doesn’t turn around, either fascinated by the machine or not willing to look at me. The coffee machine hisses and gurgles as it heats up the water. Twisting a few knobs, she turns and shoves a steaming mug of coffee at me. “Don’t screw up this time. If you do a runner on her, I swear to God your little band of SEALs won’t be able to keep me from carving out your balls.”
Lainey may have thought her fierce words would scare me away, but they only make me smile. “My big balls and I are safe then because I have no intention of running away from Charlotte. She, and the rest of you, are going to have to get used to me.”
“Fine, but I’m watching you.”
She sweeps by me, but I ruin her exit line.
“By the way, Lainey, I won’t tell Charlotte that you’ve slept with Nick until you’re ready to come clean.” The shock and horror on her face is a little comic relief as I walk out. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Back in the dining room, I lean over Charlotte’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”
“Wedding dresses.” She taps a magazine with the tip of her perfect shell shaped fingernail.
“How about this pink one?” Reese asks, showing her his phone.
“Pink?” I draw back in horror.
“Nathan’s a traditionalist,” Charlotte explains and pats my leg. “It’s okay. I like white.”
It’s not the pink that I’m overly concerned about. It’s that she’s planning a wedding as if we didn’t just find out she had cancer. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” She picks up her coffee and follows me out into the living room.
Trying my best not to look confrontational, I clasp my hands behind my back. “Are you planning someone’s wedding?”
“Yes, Master Sergeant, I am, sir.” She salutes me like a smart ass.
“Seriously, Charlotte,” I scold. “And I’m a Senior Chief Petty Officer. There are no sergeants in the Navy.”
She falls onto the sofa and laughs. “You look so earnest, Senior Chief.”
I stalk over to her and place an arm on the back of the sofa. “You have to start treatment this Friday.”
“I know, babe.” She lifts a soft hand to stroke my face. “I want to get married before my surgery. Next weekend. I’ve already called our parents, so they aren’t going to fly down. They’re expecting us.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Never been surer about anything.” Her hand curls around the back of my neck and rises up to press her lips against mine. “We’re going to be okay.”
44
Charlotte
Nathan is more nervous than I am, I think, and it has nothing to do with the flight from Dallas to Chicago. For one thing, we’re in his parents’ home, far away from any airplane.
In the few days between my diagnosis and the return to Chicago, Grace has transformed the sunporch into a bedroom/sitting room. Custom motorized shades are being installed tomorrow, but for now I can sit on an oversized chair not too far away from the bed where the IV drip and hospital monitors sit silent. In an hour or so, the nurse and oncology doctor will arrive and administer the chemo.
This is what money does for you. I don’t have to go to a hospital and lie in an uncomfortable bed in a sterile environment. For God knows how much an hour, the hospital is moved to the Jackson’s North Shore estate, where Grace will watch over me as Mom and Noah wind down Freedom Funds.
Nathan is bewildered by it all. He stands, one arm folded over his head as he watches the tents being set up in the backyard for the wedding that will take place this week. We can’t have it on the weekend because I wouldn’t be able to stand after the treatment. So in five days we’ll hold each other’s hands under the ivy arch they are constructing and promise to love each other in sickness and in health until death do us part.