Things I Never Told You, page 8
As Geoff directed the car into traffic, another text appeared on her phone from Harper. What did the doctor say? And then a meme with the words No negative thoughts.
A sharp laugh stalled in the back of her throat. Negative thoughts? It was hard to think anything at all when she was in a free fall emotionally, a silent scream welling up inside her. Would she ever reach bottom?
She scrabbled for some semblance of a businesslike front as she called Johanna. Maybe her sister wouldn’t answer. What was the proper thing to do if she got voice mail?
“Jillian? I was debating calling you.”
“Hi, Joey.” She slipped back into her sister’s childhood nickname. Hadn’t used it in years. “I wanted to tell you what the surgeon said.”
“Okay.”
Jillian blinked away the burn of tears. Businesslike. This was her practice phone call. If—when—she got through this call, she’d do better talking to the rest of her family. “Because of the size of the mass, the surgeon recommended a unilateral mastectomy.”
“I see.” She might have surprised her sister, but Johanna’s voice remained level. “You’re getting a second opinion, right?”
“She recommended that, too. I’m talking to my family physician, but I went ahead and scheduled the surgery for next week.”
“I really think you should wait—”
Jillian gripped her seat belt. “Please, I can’t talk about this right now. I called to tell you what the doctor said. That’s all.”
“Do you want me to call everyone else?”
“No. I can do that. Geoff’s driving me to work.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Was there?
“No. I just wanted to tell you. I need to call Mom and Dad. And Payton.”
“Okay.” There was a moment’s silence. “Love you, Jill.”
The words were as odd as Jillian calling Johanna by her nickname. “Love you, too.”
The exchange threatened to crumble her impersonal facade, even as she tucked the words close to her heart. She took a deep breath and prepared to finish calling her family. And then she’d call Dr. Sartwell. She’d focus on one thing—one person—at a time and get through the task of being the bearer of her bad news.
9
I’D NEVER SEEN a hospital room set up as a mini waiting room before. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised at what Johanna could pull off because of her position at the hospital.
The standard bed had been pushed up against the far wall. A round table surrounded by four plastic chairs stood in the middle of the room. Someone had even thought to put a small glass vase of white and red carnations in the center of the table. A compact lounge chair—probably used when a family member slept over—sat at the foot of the bed. The TV, mounted in the upper corner farthest from the door, had been turned on, tuned to a morning news show, and muted.
“I talked to the hospital administrator,” Johanna had announced as she ushered us past the surgical waiting room. “I thought it would be nice to have some privacy, and he agreed to let us use an empty room while we wait for Jillian to get out of surgery.”
She said everything with such a gracious air, I didn’t dare protest or tell her the room seemed claustrophobic. That I preferred the regular waiting room, even with all the strangers coming and going, the background noise of the TV, the scattered magazines and newspapers, the coffee cups and soda cans.
“Mom, Jillian asked to see you.” Johanna stood in the doorway. “The nurse said I could bring you back to the pre-op area.”
“Is that okay, Don? Should I go? Would you rather go?” Even as she asked the trio of questions, Mom was moving toward the door.
“Of course, Heather. Go with Johanna.”
Mom disappeared, ushered away in the cloud of my older sister’s kindness.
Which was fine. I wouldn’t know what to say to Jillian beyond the text I’d managed to send her late last night.
Try to get some sleep. You’ve got a good surgeon. We’ll all be waiting for you. I’m bringing the Warheads.
I blamed the last sentence on seeing a bag of Warheads candies at the grocery store earlier in the week. And then remembering a family vacation to the beach when Pepper and I were ten years old. Jillian was sixteen and Johanna was eighteen—getting ready to head off to college. We’d discovered Warheads in a local drugstore—beyond-sour candies in flavors of lemon, blue raspberry, watermelon, black cherry, and apple. For the rest of the vacation, we challenged one another to see who could suck on a Warhead the longest, sometimes even daring to try two or three at a time.
I’d bought the candy on a whim—and then stuck them in my purse last night after I texted Jillian. What was I going to do? Offer her one in the recovery room?
“You want me to go find coffee, Dad?”
“No, thanks. I’m good for now.” He settled in the lounge chair, glancing at the TV. He looked so calm. How did he do that? He rubbed the palm of one hand against the back of his other hand—the only giveaway that he was anxious. Other than that, he could have been sitting in his recliner at home, preparing to watch the Broncos take on the Cowboys.
Outside the hospital window, the sun shone in a clear blue sky on a normal Wednesday morning before Labor Day. Normal for so many other people who were battling traffic on their way to work. Taking their kids to school. Debating whether to drive through Starbucks or not.
Was it wrong to wish that it was still dark outside? That it was even earlier in the morning and that Jillian had been the first patient wheeled into surgery, instead of having to wait her turn in line? That would be a silly thing to complain about.
I wanted to say something encouraging. Something positive. But the longer I was in the hospital, the more I fought memories of the night Pepper died.
“This clinic is so small. . . . Why aren’t they taking her to a bigger hospital? . . . Somebody tell me something. . . . Let me see her. . . . When are my parents going to get here? . . . Why can’t I talk to the doctor or a nurse? . . . Somebody . . . Mom! Dad! Let me go back with you. . . . Please . . . please . . . I need to see Pepper. . . .”
My father took my hands in his. Was he encouraging me to hang on to him? Or was he hanging on to me?
“Payton—” my name was guttural as if it came from the depths of a broken heart—“your sister didn’t survive the accident.”
“No—”
“I’m sorry. . . .” My father pulled me into his arms, sobbing as if Pepper’s death were his fault. “I’m sorry. . . .”
He had nothing to be sorry for.
Geoff opened the door to the improvised waiting room, ushering Mom in with a flourish and an “After you.”
His arrival prevented the memories of that night from overtaking the reality of today.
“How’s Jilly?” Dad rose from his chair, going over to Mom and hugging her.
Mom took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. Was her action because she needed to feel close to him or because she knew of his nervous habit, too? If I noticed the action, certainly she did.
“My future wife is absolutely amazing.” Geoff beamed as he boasted about my sister. “She was so relaxed. So nice to everyone else.”
My father nodded. “That sounds like Jilly.”
“Everyone knew Johanna, of course.” Mom perched on the arm of the lounge chair. “I think that’s why people were being so extra nice to Jill.”
“I would hope the hospital treats all their patients well—not just family members.”
“Oh, Payton, you know what I mean. Even a chaplain stopped by and offered to pray with us. Wasn’t that nice?”
I turned away from my family, facing the window again. Traffic continued along the roadway outside.
Nice, yes, but unnecessary. So far, my family had gotten through life without any sort of god. What did the Thatcher family have faith in? Getting up each morning and trying again, I guessed. That life was worth it all, for some reason.
But what was the reason?
We’d been taught to play fair. To share. To be good sports. To do our best. Because those were the right things to do.
But why? What was the big gold ring we were reaching for?
And was believing life was worth it all how my parents got through Pepper’s death? Was choosing to get up each morning and try again how they were going to get through today while another daughter underwent major surgery in an effort to save her life?
“Everybody doing okay?” Johanna entered the room as if she owned the hospital. All business. “I talked with Dr. Williamson right before Jillian’s surgery started, and she said someone will come and update us about halfway through.”
“Oh, how wonderful. Thank you so much.” Mom hugged my older sister as if she’d accomplished some miraculous task.
All I could see was Johanna grandstanding on the morning our sister was having a mastectomy. Still finding a way to make today about her.
Was I overreacting? Maybe it was fine for Johanna to use her influence to benefit our family. After all, this was “her” hospital and Jillian was family.
As she stepped away from our mom, Johanna sniffled and blinked.
Tears? Would I ever figure my oldest sister out?
It didn’t matter. Jillian would get through today. Life would get back to normal. And I could retreat to my safe place, away from so much togetherness with my sisters.
Again, the door opened. For a private waiting room, we were getting a lot of traffic.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” Harper backed into the room, carrying not one, but two drink carriers. “How is she? Has the surgery started? I got coffee. Jillian told me everyone’s favorites.”
That was so like Jillian.
“How on earth did you manage?” Mom took one of the carriers.
“I’m just thankful for automatic doors and helpful people.”
As Harper handed Geoff his drink, she also slipped him a few bills and some loose change. I’d sent my sister a text and told her I was bringing a bag of Warheads. Meanwhile, her best friend treated everyone to coffee.
I guessed this was one of those “something is better than nothing” moments.
I thanked Harper for my coffee and eased toward the door.
“Where are you going, Payton?” Johanna’s question stopped me from exiting the room.
“For a walk.”
“Why?”
“It’s going to be a while before we hear anything about the surgery.” I took a quick sip of my coffee, sweetened just the way I liked, the hot liquid scalding my tongue. “I want to take a walk. Do I have to explain myself to you?”
Dad set aside his cup of coffee, rubbing the back of one hand with the other again. Was it because he was anxious about Jillian—or because Johanna and I were bickering?
“You don’t have to always argue with Johanna, you know.”
The whisper of Pepper’s voice almost caused me to drop my cup. How many times had she told me that when we were growing up?
“Just ignore her, Payton. It doesn’t matter what she says.”
But I could never ignore Johanna. What she said always mattered to me.
Not today. Today I’d be quiet. For my parents’ sake. For Jillian’s sake. For Geoff’s and Harper’s sake.
“I think a walk will help me calm down. I’ll be back in a little bit.” I slipped out the door, closing it on any further protests from Johanna.
10
WHY WAS I HAVING such a difficult time sleeping?
It wasn’t as if I’d had surgery. No, Jillian was the one recovering from a mastectomy. So why was I lying awake, tossing and turning, mentally begging my body to relax . . . and then dragging myself into work the next morning, exhausted and still half-asleep?
It had been a week since Jillian’s surgery, and this was turning out to be another sleepless night.
Retrieving my cell phone from my bedside table, I noticed a text from Johanna from ten o’clock. Two hours ago. How had I missed that?
The first week is behind us. Spent the day with Jillian. She says the pain is decreasing. Still limited to sponge baths until her drains are removed. Mom will stay with her starting next week.
Johanna’s texts had started within minutes of Jillian arriving in the recovery room with a Heard from the anesthesiologist that Jillian did well message and continued several times a day since then. I kept telling myself she meant well, that this was the simplest way to keep us all updated and included.
But for some reason I felt excluded. Unneeded. Harper and Johanna helped Jillian the first week after surgery, and then Mom would be with her. After that, Jillian planned to go back to work.
What was I complaining about—even if only to myself? Wasn’t I the one who always demanded distance?
This was what too little sleep did for me. I overthought my life—the life I’d worked so hard to attain. To perfect.
Of course, I could always call and check on Jillian if I wanted to. See if she needed anything.
But not at midnight.
I dragged myself out of bed, taking my comforter and pillow with me, and made my way through the darkened town house to the couch. Maybe a change of location would do the trick. If my mother were here, she’d recommend a glass of warm milk flavored with honey. But even though I was still awake, I didn’t have enough energy to make an updated version of my mother’s remedy using almond milk and maple syrup.
I tossed my phone to the end of the couch. Grabbed the remote and channel surfed until I found some inane Disney Channel rerun certain to put me to sleep. I snuggled beneath the comforter, punched my pillow into shape, and stared at the TV screen, muttering, “Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep.”
The dock moved beneath my feet, my flip-flops sounding a dull thud against the weathered boards. I shaded my eyes against the sunlight streaming across the water that stretched out in front of me. The air carried the scent of salt. Of humidity. Of summer.
“I love this place.”
I stumbled to a halt, not noticing Pepper seated on the edge of the dock until she spoke. She wore a yellow tank top and a pair of cutoff jean shorts.
Pepper patted the space beside her, staring straight ahead, her bare feet dangling over the edge of the dock. “Sit down.”
I slipped off my flip-flops and sat beside my sister, our bare arms touching. “I haven’t been back here since—”
“Summer vacation when we were ten. I know. So many good memories, right?”
“From that summer, yes.”
“I never expected you to be such a cynic, Pay.”
“I grew up, Pepper.”
How odd to say that when I was sitting next to my sister in a dream, and she was still sixteen.
“Is it so bad, growing up?”
What kind of question was that?
“It’s not what I expected. You’re gone . . . and I’ve never had much of a relationship with Jillian and Johanna.”
“Then change things.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Sometimes you just have to forget all the other stuff and remember we’re sisters.”
“What?” Something buzzed around my ear and I swatted it away. More buzzing. “What do you mean?”
I woke up to the sound of buzzing and struggled to sit upright. What was that sound? My neck ached when I turned my head. I was going to regret my night on the couch.
Digging through the folds of the comforter, I found my cell phone, alarm blaring. Six o’clock in the morning? Here I’d been worried about going back to sleep and having another odd dream—and it was time to get ready for work.
What had the dream been about? What had Pepper said? I shoved my hair out of my face, rubbing at my dry eyes. But trying to remember the dream was like dropping a piece of fragile parchment paper into the ocean and then trying to retrieve it. The words blurred . . . it disintegrated . . . and disappeared with the tides.
I was wasting my time.
All I could do was get ready for work—and make good on my late-night decision to call Jillian and see how she was doing.
With her mother in the kitchen making lunch, Jillian could talk to Harper undisturbed. Even so, she slunk a little lower on the couch, thankful the sound of the TV added another buffer to their conversation.
“You know you don’t have to keep checking up on me, right?” She switched off speaker mode and put the phone to her ear. At least her friend didn’t hear her soft hiss of pain at the movement. “My mom is here this week.”
“I’m not calling you because I have to, Jill. I’m doing this because I want to. How are you feeling today?”
“I feel like I’m about four years old again.”
“What? Why?”
“My mom is helping me get dressed. Fussing about what I’m eating. Reminding me to do my arm exercises. She’s even asking if I’ve gone to the bathroom.”
“So? Johanna and I did that when we stayed with you—”
“You never once asked me about going to the bathroom.”
“Okay, that’s true.”
“And I could tell you to leave me alone.”
“Like you ever did that.”
“No . . . but I could.” Jillian shifted her position again, trying to check over her shoulder to make certain her mother was still in the kitchen. “I’m sorry I’m such a grouch.”
“I understand. How’s your pain level?”
“Not as bad as last week. I might try to start going off some of the pain meds.”
“Just do what the doctor said. You’ve still got the drains in. Why don’t you wait until your first post-op appointment?”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. I just hate feeling sleepy all the time.”
“Sleepy is better than hurting.”
“Right again.”
“What’s your positive thought for today?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t read it.”
“Come on, pick one from the jar. That’s what it’s for.”
“It’s in the bedroom, Harper.” Now she sounded like a bratty kid.
“So? Go get the jar. I’m waiting.”
