The Heartbroker (12 page)

WE’RE STILL LOUNGING BLISSFULLY in bed an hour later, talking about Logan’s Hobbit tour, when my phone rings. I notice it’s Grace again. I decide I had better answer it: she clearly has something she needs to talk to me about.

“Hey, Grace. Sorry I didn’t call you back. I’ve had things on my mind.”

I dart a look at Logan, lying lazily next to me. He flashes his sexy smile and it’s all I can do to focus on my conversation with my sister.

“Oh, I’m so glad I’ve got you.” She sounds troubled.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting up, instantly concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” she answers flatly.

“What is it?” A million scenarios flood my mind, from the mundane to the catastrophic.

“It’s Mum. She’s sick, Brooke. Really sick.” Grace begins to sob.

“Tell me everything,” I reply, frowning.

“She’s—” Grace begins, but falters.

“It’s okay, Gracie.” I try to stay calm while my insides are screaming for her to just spit it out.

I wait for a few moments.

“She’s got cancer,” she manages to get out, before dissolving into sobs again.

“Cancer?” I ask, almost in a whisper. “How? When?” My mind zips to my own mum, and the cancer that took her from us, all those years ago.

Logan sits up next to me, putting his hand on my arm in concern.

“They told me yesterday,” she sniffs.

“What sort?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.

“It’s breast cancer. They say they’ve detected it early so she’s going to be okay, but Brooke, it’s still
cancer
.”

“I know.” I try hard to control my own emotions.

First Mum; now Jennifer.

“Tell me everything you know, Grace. From the top.”

Grace manages to pull herself together long enough to tell me Jennifer found a lump a couple of weeks ago. She went to her doctor, who sent her for a mammogram and ultrasound. The tests confirmed the lump. She had a biopsy done a few days later, and it showed it is malignant, requiring surgery.

“Did they say what stage it is?” I ask, my mind darting to the worst possible scenario. Mum’s cancer was so advanced they couldn’t do much about it. I say a quick, silent prayer Jennifer’s won’t be the same.

“Stage one, but she still needs a partial mastectomy to remove it.”

“Well at least that’s something. They’ve caught it early. Why didn’t she tell us this was going on?” I’m suddenly angry with Jennifer and Dad for keeping such potentially damaging information from us. “We just had dinner together this week!”

My mind darts to that evening and the way in which I caught Jennifer and Dad sharing looks with one another. I’d put it down to them being so in love—which they are—not that she was awaiting news of a potentially fatal diagnosis.

“She and Dad said they didn’t want us to worry about her, you know, after what happened with your mum.”

I bite my lip, forcing memories of Mum’s dreadful illness out of my mind.

We’re both silent for several moments, while I process the news.

“I’m coming home,” I say decisively.

“Okay,” she replies, sniffing. “I think that’s a good idea. Let me know when and I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“No need, I left my car there. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

I hang up and stare out the window, biting my lip.

“I know it’s a stupid thing to say, but are you okay?”

“I have to go.” I dart out of bed, heading for my bathroom, collecting my clothes, dotted around the room, along the way.

Guilt sears through me as I hastily dress: if I hadn’t been so focused on Logan, I would have called Grace back earlier. I could have been there for everyone by now.

I’ve been so wrapped up in my own affairs I’ve neglected the most important people in my life.

Watching me frantically dressing, Logan asks, “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. Look, I’m sorry. It’s my stepmum. She’s been diagnosed with—” My voice catches. “With cancer.” Tears well in my eyes. “I need to get back to Wellington. Now.”

“Of course you do. I’ll tell your team you’ve had a family emergency and have had to head back.”

“Thanks.”

I do a final check of the room, ensuring I haven’t missed anything, and then head to the door. I turn back to say goodbye to Logan, realising with a start this is an actual ‘goodbye’, not just a ‘see you soon’. It’s come about too soon.

“Logan. This is not how I wanted to end things. Leaving like this. I’d hoped we might have more time. You go in the morning, don’t you?” I look into his eyes. Sadness envelops me.

“Yes,” he replies, looking downcast. He kisses me gently, and my body aches for him. “Take care, Brooke.” He holds me to him. “And… well… it’s been incredible.”

I look into his brown eyes for one last time. A lump rises in my throat.

“It has. I only wish—” I’m unable to find the words.

“I know,” he says kindly. “Me too. I’ll call you later tonight.”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

I’m so torn between wanting to be with this incredible man and my need to be with my family. But I know I have to go.

“’Bye, Logan.”

I turn away from him and head out the door, holding in my tears as I prepare to face whatever life wants to throw at me back home.

* * *

That afternoon, and a large pit of worry later, I’m back in Wellington, pulling up outside Dad and Jennifer’s house.

I burst through the front door, calling out to everyone. I find Jennifer in the kitchen. She’s chopping up sweet potatoes for the evening meal, looking like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Brooke, hi! What are you doing here?” she asks, looking genuinely pleased to see me.

I rush over to her and collect her in a hug, forcing her to drop her knife to the bench in surprise.

“Ah. You’ve heard,” she says as I hold tightly onto her. She pats my back, saying, “There, there, it’s all going to be fine.”

She’s the one with cancer and she’s comforting
me
?

I pull away from her. “Is it? How do you know?”

She smiles gently at me. “Because I just do, that’s how.”

Here’s this woman suffering from cancer and there’s nothing I can do to help her, to protect her. I feel so helpless.

“Here.” She pulls me in for another hug.

“Why are you reassuring me?
You’re
the s-s-sick one, the one w-w-with c-cancer,” I blub, holding onto her for dear life.

“You’re upset, and that’s okay. Just let it out.”

As if I needed permission, another sob escapes. “But Grace told me you have to have surgery. Where I come from, that’s serious.”

“Shhh, shhh,” she soothes until I let go of her to wipe my eyes with a tissue from the windowsill.

For a girl who prides herself on keeping her emotions under wraps, I sure have been letting them out on parade a lot these past few days.

Dad walks into the kitchen, holding a basket of spinach from their veggie garden, followed closely by Dylan.

“Brooke. How wonderful to see you. Aren’t you meant to be in the South Island, brokering this big deal of yours?” he asks, placing the basket on the bench and giving me a hug.

I look in wonderment from Jennifer to Dad and back again. “Why are you both so
calm
?”

“Ah, that’s why you’re back.” He darts Jennifer a knowing look and smiles at me. “Because, kiddo, worrying isn’t going to make this better,” he replies in his pragmatic fashion. “We need to stay positive, for Jennifer and for all of you.”

I walk over to Dylan, who’s looking even more moochy than when I saw him at dinner last week, and give him a hug.

“I’m fine,” he snaps, pushing me away. He’s clearly not. I let it slide.

“Did you know about this?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “Nope. Not until Grace told me.”

I glare at Jennifer and Dad, as my anger rises like lava in an erupting volcano. “Why didn’t you tell us? We have a right to know. Can’t you see that finding out this way makes it so much worse?”

“We didn’t want to worry you all,” Jennifer replies. “We thought it best I get the tests done before we tell anyone, to understand what we’re dealing with here. We would have preferred to tell you all ourselves, but Grace beat us to it.”

“Rightly so!” I’m indignant on her behalf. “Where is Grace, anyway? I thought she’d be here.”

“She’s gone out to let off some steam. We thought it best,” Dad says. “She was pretty upset.”

“Oh. How serious is this?”

“Let’s all sit down, shall we?” Dad suggests.

“Good idea,” Jennifer agrees.

We all pull out chairs from the kitchen table and sit down. I prepare for the worst.

“You have to tell us everything. No glossing over details or leaving anything out.”

“Sure,” Jennifer responds, smiling that calm smile she’s had plastered across her face since my arrival. “I was doing my routine breast check in the shower a while ago, and I found a lump.”

Dylan groans. “Do I have to hear this?” He looks like he has a sour taste in his mouth. “I’m your son. I don’t want to hear about your boobs.”

I smack his arm. “Get over yourself, Dylan.”

“Oww-ah!” he protests.

“You were pretty happy to know about them when they were breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Dylan,” Dad teases, chuckling.

Dylan looks like he might very well throw up.

How can Dad make a joke at a time like this?

“Carry on, Jennifer,” I say, trying to pull everyone’s attention back to the real concern here.

“Well, I saw our GP, who sent me off for a mammogram and ultrasound. The ultrasound confirmed the lump and showed I have enlarged lymph nodes in my armpit. But, the only way they can tell it’s cancer is from the biopsy I had last week. And that came back positive for carcinoma.”

I swallow hard. “Did you have to go under for it? Have an anaesthetic?”

“No, it’s done with a needle,” she replies brightly, as though it was nothing, just a walk in the park.

I cross my arms under my own breasts, thinking about having a large needle poked inside one and how freaky—not to mention painful—that must be.

“One of the important things to understand is that it’s one of the treatable types,” Dad adds.

I nod, feeling worried. “What happens now?”

“I’m seeing my specialist in a couple of days’ time and we’ll have a clearer idea then.”

“But it looks like surgery is the best option, hopefully nothing else,” Dad adds, putting his hand on Jennifer’s arm.

My thoughts flash to my mother, and the vague memories I have of her during her treatment, weakened and grey, unable to play with me, take me to school, or do any of the other everyday things I took for granted she could do. Tears well in my eyes afresh, and I try to swallow the lump rising in my throat.

I guess the thought of losing Jennifer to cancer has shown me just how important she is to me.

“There she is,” Dad says brightly as Grace bustles into the kitchen.

“Hey, sis.” I stand to give her a hug.

“Hi, Brooke. I’m so glad you’re here.” Her eyes are red and puffy from crying.

“Did you have a nice time?” Dad asks.

“Hardly, Dad. I just went to Sam’s house to hang out for a while,” she replies.

Grace is friends with Alexis’s youngest sister, Sammy Jo. She’s ‘Sam’ for short because who wants to be called ‘Sammy Jo’ outside of the American Deep South? Unlike Alexis and me they became close friends at school, virtually living in one another’s pockets. They’re still great friends to this day.

“Jennifer was just telling us what’s happening next,” I say to Grace.

“Yeah. I want to go to the doctor’s appointment with her, but she won’t let me.” She sounds hurt.

“Grace, darling, you have an important job to do,” Jennifer says, putting her arm around Grace’s shoulders and giving her a maternal squeeze. “And anyway, I’d like to go with just Dad.”

Grace slumps her shoulders, looking resigned.

“Now,” Jennifer continues, smoothing her skirt and picking up her knife, “Who’s staying for dinner? I’ve made my chicken pie.” Her eyes sparkle at us, and a fresh wave of sadness washes over me.

“Chicken pie? Yum. I wouldn’t miss one of your chicken pies for the world,” I say.

After dinner, Dad walks me to my car.

“Doesn’t this seem so unfair to you, Dad? Jennifer getting cancer, just like Mum?”

“I’m trying not to think in those terms. It doesn’t help anyone.” He has a grim look on his face, and I know the thought has occurred to him, probably more than once.

“You’re worried, aren’t you?”

“Scared shitless, kiddo,” he replies with a grim smile. “But I can’t show her that. She needs me to be strong. She needs
you
to be strong, too.”