Ariel’s eyes widened. He frowned at her.
“Embarrass you? I would never.” She pressed her face into the pillow to smother her giggles.
Roth sprang to his feet and clomped over to her, growling. He reached around the pillow and tickled her sides. She flinched away and squealed in his ear.
The ringing continued in his head for ten minutes, but so did the sound of her laughter. He hadn’t done that since…
He stopped short of his bedroom door. Five years.
Roth hadn’t tickled his daughter until she squealed like a stuck pig and wiggled with laughter since the day before his wife died.
The heavy blanket of guilt he usually wore drifted to smother his soul. But he sidestepped it.
It was time to move beyond the loss of his wife. His daughter needed him to live in the present.
In this, he wouldn’t fail her.
15
The next afternoon, Kyanna waved at Bella and Ariel, who laughed their way to the student parking lot. A locked door unbolted inside her chest. The assault had been horrible, but it seemed God was using it to pave avenues of friendship.
He was good to his people.
As the artsy gang members shoved through the doors, Kyanna gripped the post beside her. Arthur Marones strutted past as if she didn’t exist. Kyanna’s fingernails gouged into the wood. If only she could compel him to identify Ariel’s attacker for the police.
Because even though Ariel had found better friends, the investigation of her attack had stalled. As the police predicted, the community in the cousin’s apartment complex had scraped together an alibi for him.
When the lot cleared, Kyanna returned to the office with dragging feet. After her MRI, a long weekend of uncertainty stretched to infinity.
She exited the office loaded down with her laptop, lunch bag, purse, and jacket. As she passed the secretary’s desk, Norma clasped her hand.
“I’m praying for you,” Norma whispered close to Kyanna’s ear, and the scent of sunflower seeds rolled over her.
“Thanks.”
Kyanna waved to the rest of the staff and called, “See you tomorrow.” Pushing open the door, she shivered as wind buffeted her. A bank of clouds glowered in the distance, accurately reflecting her personal mood.
While she drove toward Rosewood, Kyanna played classical concertos over her car’s Bluetooth. And tried to pray.
Hollowness and anxiety warred in her chest. Sharing the burden with the pastor’s wife and Bible study group helped, but she longed for strong arms to comfort her. Roth Stryker’s handsome face popped in her head. She tried to shake thoughts of him away.
As she neared the hospital, the knot in her stomach tightened. With every pause in the music, her mind sang “cancer” in a discordant key.
By the time she pulled into the parking structure, her shoulders strained like rubber bands stretched to the max. She turned off the car, leaned her arms on the steering wheel, and rested her forehead on them.
“Lord, I’m making myself sick. I want to trust You, but the word cancer scares me. Get me through this test and everything that’s ahead. Amen.”
She remained still until her heartbeat evened out and her tense muscles relaxed. Her mind continued to spin like a merry-go-round in zero gravity, while her body plodded into the hospital and up to the imaging department.
One look at the round tube they were going to stick her in brought anxiety crashing over her. Her hands shook so hard she could hardly unbutton her pants.
Lord help.
Once she’d donned the not-stylish gown, a technician explained the procedure. Her ears listened, but her heart bowed before God’s throne.
Another technician approached with a needle. Kyanna’s heart banged like a person buried alive, but she closed her eyes and silently prayed.
After injecting her with tracking dye, the gentle technician led her into the room with the over-sized pipe-like machine. A humming permeated the air, and Kyanna flinched as she lay on the paper-covered table.
Kyanna sucked in a deep breath. The table lurched, and she watched her feet disappear into the machine’s gaping mouth. Her eyes snapped shut.
Lord, make it pass quickly. The petition repeated over and over in her head.
Perhaps her meditative breathing helped, or perhaps God answered her prayer. What seemed only a few minutes later, the table moved again, backing her out of the tube. As soon as she was clear of the noisy contraption, she swung her feet to the ground.
When she passed the technician on the way to change back into her clothes, he said, “The images are transferred digitally to your doctor, so she should be able to read them right away.”
Was that good news? She still hadn’t heard about the biopsy.
As she pulled her blouse over her head, she repeated her grandmother’s mantra, “Worrying about the unknown is a waste of time.”
After dressing, she paced along the hallway outside the lab. Only a few patients passed her. Her stomach ached, and her fingers twitched.
After the third lap, she pulled her phone from her handbag and brought up Roth’s number.
Can we talk? Her thumbs tapped out the text.
While she waited for a response, Kyanna found the exit stairs and trotted down them, blood pumping through her arms and legs.
She reached the lobby level and emerged into a long hallway. Her phone vibrated in her palm.
She leaned against the wall to read his message.
When?
She responded: I’m at the hospital now. Getting coffee.
Although caffeine really was the last thing she needed. Worry boosted her energy as well as amphetamines.
She was staring at the selection of drinks when his response came back. Down in a few.
Her heart tripped, and pleasure spiraled up her spine. If only he weren’t so handsome and such a conscientious father, it would be easier to keep him in the friend zone. Physical attraction had been the basis for her first marriage and that hadn’t lasted.
She ordered a power smoothie, various fruits blended with ice and a scoop of protein powder. The blender spun, crushing the ice and pulping the fruit.
While she watched the machine whir everything into an unrecognizable slush, Kyanna realized the smoothie process was metaphoric for her life. The weight of the diagnosis was crushing her, and old fears of death-by-cancer pulverized her faith until she felt like mush.
After she collected her drink, Kyanna turned toward the tables. Roth entered the atrium, and she raised her hand in greeting. He waved, his generous lips relaxing into a smile.
She wove through the mesh of tables, scooting chairs out of the path with her hip when necessary. A table near the garden windows sat empty. Kyanna dropped into a chair facing the expanse of greenery.
When she sipped the smoothie, flavor exploded on her tongue. The berries mingled with melon and pineapple, sweet and tangy. If her life was like this, perhaps God would make something delicious out of it in the end.
Tension drained from her shoulders at the thought.
Roth rounded the table. Her eyes followed his backside—at eye level so she couldn’t miss seeing it—until he pulled out the chair beside her.
A heavy sigh filled the space between them. He lifted his paper cup toward her.
“I needed this today.”
His brown-eyed gaze rested on her, and Kyanna’s pulse spiked. She sucked a mouthful of smoothie to allow her scattered thoughts a moment to congeal.
“Your text surprised me.” Roth’s mouth curled in a content smile.
It surprised her too. Hadn’t she been holding him at arm’s length?
Still uncertain how to explain, Kyanna slurped on the straw. Each taste of the drink revealed another flavor. This time, blueberry and watermelon spread sweetly over her tongue.
“What brings you to the hospital?”
That was her opening.
“An MRI.” She described how terrified she’d felt at the sight of the tub
e.
“They have a clinic in Austin that offers open MRIs. Some people are so claustrophobic they opt to make the two-hour drive.”
Kyanna tapped her finger on the lid of her drink. “God sped me through it.”
“Why were you getting an MRI?” He paused, his cup inches from his lips. “If you don’t mind telling me.”
She shook her head. Telling him was exactly the reason she’d sent the text message. “I’ve been going through tests for the past couple weeks. This was the final one before the surgical consult with the oncologist.”
The name of the specialty hung between them. Kyanna imagined it hovering like an ax above the chopping block. Roth furrowed his eyebrows, the hammer of realization falling.
“What’s the diagnosis?”
Was he really going to make her say it? She took another pull on her straw, the explosion of fruit diametrically opposed the medical diagnosis.
“Breast cancer.”
His chin dropped. One hand snaked away from his cup and covered hers. Warmth seeped into her skin. She wanted to interlace their fingers, draw the heat deeper. She resisted.
“Prognosis?”
Her hair skittered across her neck as she shook her head again. “Won’t know until I meet with the surgeon.”
“When?”
“Tuesday afternoon.”
His brown gaze caressed her face. They stared into each other’s eyes. Knowledge and sorrow passed between them, unspoken but substantial.
“This is the reason you didn’t want to date me.” His eyes held no accusation.
“I need a friend right now.” Even if she wanted more. “My family’s in Washington, and there’s no one to discuss things with.”
His lips quirked. Air stalled in her throat. Salt-and-pepper hair and receding hairline aside, the grin made him youthful. And sexy.
Friends. The warning did nothing to slow her galloping pulse or settle her flopping stomach.
“I’m glad you consider me a friend.” He squeezed her hand.
Tingles danced up her arm.
“You might change your mind when I’m asking you to drive me to chemotherapy or hold my head while I’m vomiting my guts out.” She tried to smile, lighten her tone, but the reality counteracted her attempts. Her mind flashed scenes of moments like those with her grandmother.
His smile faded. A glint of understanding and loss flitted through his coffee bean eyes.
“My wife died during surgery to remove her cancer.”
Kyanna rubbed the top of his hand. Her fingers, wet with condensation, slid over his skin.
“She had a brain tumor. It was in a location difficult to biopsy, but her blood indicators for cancer were skyrocketing.”
Kyanna’s weren’t doing anything. Did that mean something good?
“They shrank it with chemotherapy, but the only way to free her from its effects...” His attention dropped to the table.
Kyanna stroked his wrist. Tiny hairs prickled the pads of her fingertips. Butterflies took flight in her chest. How long had it been since she’d touched a man this way?
He swallowed and looked up, staring past her shoulder. “The headaches were debilitating. She was so dizzy she couldn’t walk unassisted.”
He stuttered to a stop. His eyes darkened. She imagined scenes from that horrible time replaying in his mind. Her fingers threaded through his of their own accord.
His eyes widened, and he stared at their joined hands.
“But they thought the surgery would work?”
In the echoing expanse around them, her question nearly faded.
He nodded. “It was operable, but they warned us that half the patients who underwent the surgery didn’t survive. Or they were brain damaged.”
His gaze locked with hers, hand twitched against her palm. She cupped her other hand over the back of his, wanting to remove the horror he had survived.
His voice was hoarse when he said, “But she knew she would die either way, so why not take a chance to live a normal life?”
In the stretch of silence, their gazes crashed together. Kyanna tried to channel compassion through hers and squeezed his hand. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”
When her grandparents died, her soul descended into a bottomless pit. That’s when she’d become an orphan, even though her parents died a few years later. Her parents had been all about their careers, while her grandparents focused time and attention on Kyanna.
Realization dawned. She’d patterned her life after her parents even though she’d never been close to them. Pops and Nana had passed on their faith in God, but Kyanna had made relationships secondary to success.
Roth blinked and squeezed her hand. It jerked her from her disconcerting thoughts.
“All that to say, I’m here for you.”
The look in his eyes said otherwise, and when he leaned away, dragging his fingers from hers, it confirmed her fears.
She’d been right to say no to a date. Regardless of how he might feel about her, Roth’s expression revealed the truth: He didn’t want to invest in another woman only to lose her.
“I should get back. Schedules and vacation requests.” A hint of a smile didn’t alleviate the worry lines etched in his forehead.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
“Anytime.”
When they stood, their shoulders brushed, and her stomach woke with a wrenching stretch. He cupped her upper arm, gaze flicking to her mouth.
“Don’t forget tomorrow night’s dinner.” A lopsided grin broke the serious lines on his face.
She patted her churning stomach. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Kyanna watched him walk away. A cloud of gloom stifled her, until breathing seemed difficult. The sky outside dimmed.
In the same moment she realized she wanted more, Roth decided the risk to his heart was too great. Maybe their friendship would survive her illness, but the fledgling hope for a shared future wilted. Why should he risk a repeat of his loss? She wished she could find an exit rather than facing cancer.
She slurped the smoothie, hardly tasting the raspberries and honeydew.
Perhaps Tabitha would drive her to appointments. It would be less embarrassing for the pastor’s wife to sit beside her while she heaved. In all honesty, Roth and Ariel didn’t need the trauma of watching another woman suffer through the agony of cancer treatments. Even friendship might be too much to ask in this season of medical trials.
Her mind flitted to her family. She would need to tell Derek about the diagnosis and warn Adam. He could offer emotional support to their son and field questions Derek might have.
So many things she never wanted to face, conversations she hoped to never have.
A rumble shook her handbag, yanking Kyanna back into the teeming atrium. She pulled the phone out, not recognizing the number on the screen.
“Hello.”
“Miss Patchett?” The voice was young and brisk.
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Sharp’s office. We have the results of your biopsy and MRI. Do you have time to speak with the doctor?”
The smoothie churned in her stomach. “I’m actually at the hospital.”
“Oh, well, she could speak to you on the phone.”
Kyanna stood and pushed through the glass doors into the garden. Silence descended, and she shivered in the shadows cast by the building.
“I can speak to her now.”
“Hold while I transfer you.”
In the silence following a click, Kyanna heard her heart pounding. She held her breath. The ominous wait was about to end.
16
While he and Ariel layered the vegetable lasagna into a casserole dish Thursday night, the meeting with Kyanna replayed over in Roth’s mind. Once he’d retired to bed, sleep didn’t stop those visual reminders. In his dreams, he pulled Kyanna into his arms rather than walking away. When he awoke, the smell of sweet apple pie tickled his nostrils.
Work on Friday dragged. He l
eft the hospital at 5:00 and raced toward Sweet Grove. There wasn’t much for him to do to get the dinner ready, since Ariel promised to toss a salad and prepare the bread for the oven, but that didn’t keep his stomach from tightening in anticipation.
The scent of fresh baked goods welcomed him into the house. Ariel popped her head out of the kitchen.
“You’re early.”
“That isn’t lasagna I smell.” He bustled over to her.
“Brownies. Lasagna’s in the oven.”
He rubbed his hands together. “What do I need to do?”
Ariel eyed him critically. “Put on something casual. Ties are not in vogue.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve never been fashionable.”
“Do you want to make a good impression?”
“She’s already seen me at my worst.” He pictured himself the night of Ariel’s attack.
Ariel grimaced. “And you want to wipe that from her mind. At least comb your hair.”
He rubbed his fingers through the graying strands. Ariel shook her head, making him laugh.
“Not better?”
“I’m cooking, and I’ll set the table.” She shooed him toward his room.
If having Kyanna over awakened this responsible side of his daughter, their friendship might not be too terrible. His heart twisted, unconvinced.
Roth dropped his computer bag at the foot of his bed. He loosened his tie and changed into a teal polo shirt and his favorite jeans. Okay, his second favorite jeans, since they didn’t have a stain on one knee.
When he judged his hair was presentable, he slapped a little cologne on his neck and cheeks. The alcohol stung, and he sucked air. A woodsy scent reminiscent of autumn surrounded him.
He stepped out of his room and realized he’d forgotten to put on shoes. The doorbell chimed.
“Who rings a doorbell?” Ariel’s mutter made him grin.
His stomach knotted as he strode to answer the door. Ariel merged from the kitchen as he reached the junction with the hallway.
“I got it,” he said.
Her eyes raked up and down him. “Better. That’s a good color on you.”
“Glad you approve.”
She grunted and stomped back into the kitchen.
Love's Late Arrival (Sweet Grove Romance Book 1; First Street Church #8) Page 8
