by Brenda Novak
In the face of real illness, Stacy and Chantel’s differences seemed minor. Especially when Stacy considered the possibility of losing the last member of her family for good.
Wade had said it might be the flu, she told herself. Healthy young women didn’t die from the flu, right? But the guilt she felt about her part in their estrangement nagged at her. Chantel’s genetic makeup wasn’t her fault. Maybe Stacy would have done the same thing at nineteen, if their roles had been reversed. Only weeks ago she’d slept with Wade simply to bolster her ego.
With a grimace Stacy wished she could blot out that night. She gunned her Honda, and when she reached the freeway, immediately merged into the fast lane. A voice in the back of her head warned her about getting a ticket, but she pressed the accelerator closer to the floor, anyway.
When she arrived, Wade was sitting in a chair by Chantel’s bed, staring at her in the dim light filtering through the window. A heavyset woman Stacy recognized as Chantel’s manger from the office, Maureen something, sat on the corner of the bed.
“Is she okay?” Stacy directed her question to the woman. It was the first time she’d seen Wade since their night together, and she would rather have avoided speaking to him again, but it was Wade who answered.
“She fell asleep almost the minute I hung up with you.”
Stacy gazed down at her sister’s face. Despite the poor lighting, she immediately noticed the dark circles beneath Chantel’s eyes and the paleness of her skin. “I called her doctor before I left home. It’s after office hours, but he said he’d wait, that we could bring her right in.”
“I’ll carry her out,” Wade volunteered.
Stacy looked at Maureen. “Listen, you can go. I’ll take care of her from here.”
Maureen nodded, glanced worriedly at Chantel and handed Stacy her card. “Call and let me know how she is, okay?”
Stacy agreed, and Maureen left just as Wade slipped one arm beneath Chantel’s knees and one under her shoulders, to lift her from the bed.
Chantel groaned. “Where are we going?” she asked. “I don’t feel well.”
“Chantel, it’s me.” Stacy touched her arm, and her sister went completely still. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’re taking you to see a doctor.”
“I can walk.”
“There’s no need. Wade’s here. He may as well carry you.”
Chantel sighed, but settled into his arms as though grateful she didn’t have to prove her words. “You guys are making too big a deal of this. I just have the flu.”
“Then I hope you don’t mind letting us get a second opinion,” Stacy told her. “You look a bit ravaged for just having the flu.”
“Evidently you haven’t had the flu for a while,” she murmured. “But if we have to go, then let’s hurry before I throw up again.”
Stacy chuckled. “Hang on to your lunch, it won’t be long now.”
They got to the doctor’s office fifteen minutes later. All the nurses had gone home except one, who was kind enough to show Chantel to a room right away. Stacy sat in the empty waiting area across from Wade, staring blankly at the magazines on the coffee table nearby and marveling at what an unlikely threesome they made. “Thanks for calling me,” she said at last.
He looked up from an issue of Mademoiselle. Stacy couldn’t remember ever seeing another man choose that particular magazine. “She could be on here again, you know,” he said. “She was once, about five years ago.”
“She doesn’t seem to want that anymore.” Stacy didn’t understand what had chased Chantel away from New York, but she did recognize a flicker of hope in herself. If her sister wasn’t going to run after fame and fortune again, if she was actually going to stick around, maybe they could rebuild their relationship, after all.
“Ever since she got sick, over a year ago, she hasn’t been the same,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Stacy pinned him with a hard gaze. “What are you talking about? You said she never got sick in New York, that she had it good there.”
He set the magazine aside, and for the first time, Stacy noticed how bloodshot his eyes were. “She was sick,” he admitted, hunching down in his seat.
“How sick?”
“She spent months in the hospital.”
“What?” Stacy nearly leaped out of her seat. “Why didn’t you call us?”
“She said she needed to pay the price for her own dumb decisions.” He gave her a twisted smile. “I guess that meant me. I wasn’t about to call up and announce to everyone that she regretted coming to New York with me.”
Stacy felt a cold unease creep over her heart. “What kind of illness keeps you in the hospital for months?” she asked. “Cancer?”
He shook his head. “Anorexia. When she went in, she weighed only ninety pounds.”
“What? She’s six feet tall!” Stacy felt the sting of tears and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t avoid the mental picture of her sister lying in the sterile atmosphere of a hospital for months, believing her family didn’t care about her. Chantel couldn’t have believed anything else. Her own father had told her not to contact them again. At the time Stacy had thought it a just punishment. Now she realized just how much her playing the martyr had manipulated him into casting his own daughter aside. “And here I thought she was living the high life,” she whispered. “Miss Cover Model on the front of every magazine.”
“She nearly died.”
“But you were there for her, right?” Stacy asked hopefully. “I mean, she didn’t have to fight that battle alone.”
He grimaced. “Oh, like you would have been there for her, had you known. She tried to reach you several times during our first year together, but you wouldn’t accept her calls. You could have contacted her once in a while, you know. You could have forgiven her.”
Stacy winced at the memory of hanging up on Chantel the one time she did get through. Her father had died and she’d missed the funeral. Chantel had insisted she’d received Stacy’s message too late, that she’d been on location at a shoot, but Stacy had chosen to believe she hadn’t cared enough to make the trip. “You were my fiancé, Wade, and she—”
“You knew I didn’t really love you, that I let it go as far as I did out of a sense of obligation. I remember trying to tell you how I felt about Chantel, but you shut it out and did nothing.”
“I was young and stupid.”
He sneered at her. “She was younger than you.”
DILLON SAT at the exit to the grocery-store parking lot, letting his engine idle. Helen was at home with Brittney and Sydney. She’d stopped by to visit and had joined them for dinner, then he’d gone to pick up a few things for the girls’ lunches. He was finished shopping, and home was to the left, but he wanted to go in the other direction—to Chantel’s condo.
Another car came up behind him, so he flipped on his signal and made a right-hand turn. It had been weeks since he’d talked to Chantel. He’d called her once to see how Stacy was treating her, but she’d been distant, and he’d known better than to call again. Pressing her would only chase her further away. He’d hoped she’d get in touch with him, but she hadn’t, and he was beginning to think she never would. So he’d told himself to forget her and go on.
But it wasn’t that easy. She crept into his thoughts at the most inopportune moments—in the middle of giving a presentation on an industrial park, while making dinner for the girls, even while talking to Dave on the phone. He’d been thinking of Dave and Reva’s relationship and wondering if he’d ever find a woman he’d want to spend so many years with, and Chantel had just popped into his mind.
She was driving him crazy. He had to see her. He had to know, without a doubt, that what they’d shared couldn’t grow into anything more lasting.
The night was cool and breezy and smelled like rain. Dillon rolled down his window and let the wind ruffle his hair as he drove, and fifteen minutes later, the redbrick walls of her condominium complex appeared on his left. He turned into the
drive, telling himself he’d only stay for a few minutes, just long enough to see how she was doing. But before he could even pull into a parking space, he saw something that made his blood run cold: the same brown Cadillac he’d seen in Stacy’s drive.
Wade. Had Chantel gone back to him? The thought turned Dillon’s stomach, but he knew how easy it could be to fall back into an old relationship. How many times had he wished he could work things out with Amanda? It had to do with knowing a person so well, remembering what had attracted you in the first place, hoping that whatever hadn’t worked could change. And there was always the lure of New York. That was something Dillon couldn’t offer her, ever.
Damn. He was a fool to have come. Shoving the car into Reverse, Dillon backed out of the drive and peeled away. He was better off without Chantel, he told himself. Where could it go, anyway? He had his girls to think of now. He had no time to build a relationship with a woman. It was just as well.
But he didn’t care how logical it all sounded. The idea of Wade with Chantel made him want to bust Pretty Boy’s jaw.
CHANTEL COULDN’T get rid of her unlikely caregivers.
At home in her own bed, she rolled over and covered her ears to block out another of Wade and Stacy’s many arguments, wishing they’d leave her in peace—but wishing it only halfheartedly. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit she’d never felt better emotionally. Stacy had been more open and giving over the past three days than Chantel ever remembered her being, and she was thrilled by the prospect of what was starting to grow between them. Wade was another story, but his father had kicked him out, so she was letting him stay until he found some kind of work. And she was doing her best to be patient with him.
Now, if she could only get well enough to lead a normal life again.
What was wrong with her? The doctor hadn’t been able to tell her yet. He didn’t think it was the flu. He didn’t think it was any kind of allergy, to her home or to microscopic particles or whatever. He thought her anorexia might be reasserting itself, but was skeptical even there. And all the tests he’d run had shown nothing. They were waiting for a few more—the results of several blood tests—before they had to start all over again.
“Why leave it on the counter?” Wade asked, his voice rising as it came from the kitchen. “Then the food dries on, and the dishwasher’s no good. At least rinse it off!”
“And then leave it in the sink like you? Since I’m the one who’s been doing all the housework, anyway, what does it matter?” Stacy yelled back. “You know I’ll take care of it.”
Were they fighting about the dishes? Last time it was who had what section of the newspaper. They were at each others’ throats constantly.
“The question is when. Besides, I did some vacuuming yesterday.”
“Ooh, big deal—”
“Stop it!” Chantel cried weakly. “I can’t take you guys arguing anymore.”
There was a momentary silence. “Now look what you’ve done. You woke her up,” Wade said.
“I’m not the one who started ranting about dishes!”
“I wasn’t ranting. You make me sound like a fishwife.”
“If the shoe fits…”
Their voices came closer, along with the sound of their footsteps, until they both appeared at Chantel’s door and tried to fit through it at the same time. With an irritated look at Wade, Stacy squeezed through first.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded.
Chantel let out a long-suffering sigh. “Do you guys think you could go a couple of hours without bickering?”
“We weren’t bickering!” Wade said. “Bickering’s what women do.”
Stacy gave him a jaunty toss of her head. “Like I said, if the shoe fits…”
Chantel covered her ears again. “Stop!”
Her sister pointed an accusing finger at Wade. “It’s his fault. I can’t believe you’re letting him stay here.”
“So I’m a bit of a neat freak,” he admitted, smiling proudly. “At least I’m not a total slob.”
Stacy bristled. “Are you calling me a slob? The one who’s been cleaning up after you for the past three days?”
Wade shrugged. “I’ve done my part. Who do you think took care of Chantel last night while you were at work?”
“And left a sinkful of dishes for me to load when I got back.”
“At least they’d all been rinsed off.”
“That’s enough!” Chantel sent them both a reproving glare and shoved her pillows against the backboard so she could sit up. “Are you trying to drive me out of my own home?”
They exchanged quick hate-filled looks but didn’t say anything.
“Anyway, I’m feeling a little better today,” Chantel went on.
“Really?” Stacy crossed to sit on the end of her bed, and Wade, not to be outdone, joined her. “No nausea?”
Chantel shook her head. “Not right now.”
“You think you could eat something?” Wade asked. They’d been force-feeding her almost every time she woke up, then holding her head over the toilet when what went down came back up.
“I’m not sure I want to go through all that again.”
“The doctor said you need to eat, Chantel,” Wade reminded her.
“But it doesn’t do me any good if I can’t keep it down.”
That worried expression Stacy had been wearing on and off came on again, and Chantel relented just to see her sister’s puckered brow relax. “Okay, I’ll try.”
Stacy looked at Wade. “Make her some pancakes, Wade. You need to do something to earn your keep around here.”
He pulled a face at Stacy but spoke to Chantel. “Do pancakes sound all right?”
Nothing sounded worse. Except perhaps eggs, bacon, oatmeal, doughnuts, any kind of cold cereal, any lunch item…Chantel forced a smile. “Sounds great.”
Wade left to start the pancakes, and Stacy edged closer. “You’re really giving us a scare here, you know that? Everyone’s worried about you. Maureen calls all the time to check on you.”
Chantel didn’t even want to think about work. She’d just missed another three days. “They’re going to have to let me go if I don’t get better soon.” She fought the lump rising in her throat. “I mean, what else can they do?”
“The senator’s being pretty good about it.” Stacy waved to the large bouquet of flowers the office had sent, along with a card each of her co-workers had signed.
Chantel knew that sending flowers probably wasn’t the senator’s idea—more likely Maureen’s—but she was pleased, anyway. “It’s just that this is my first chance to really prove myself. I can’t stand the thought of failing.”
“You can’t help being sick. Let’s handle first things first, then we’ll worry about your job, okay? Speaking of work, I have to leave for the hospital in a few minutes, but I’m sure Wade will be here.” She sneered. “As long as there’s free room and board, I doubt he’ll be going anywhere soon.”
“Is he still talking about moving back to New York?” Chantel whispered.
“When he first got here, he was talking like he had a string of jobs lined up, but he hasn’t mentioned them lately.”
“You don’t think he’s still expecting me to go back with him, do you?”
“I don’t see how he could. You’re not well enough to go anywhere.”
“I can’t believe his dad kicked him out,” Chantel said. “It’s the last thing I need.”
“You’re too nice. I’d kick him out, too.”
Ever since Stacy had spent the night with Wade, she claimed she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Chantel guessed it was her poor judgment she couldn’t stand. Wade just reminded her of it. To a point, she felt the same way, but they’d been together too long for her not to help him out now. “How did you get the day shift?” she asked, changing the subject. “It’s not even noon.”
“I think the nurse who does the scheduling is losing her mind,” Stacy joked. “She gives me completely differe
nt hours every week. But I have to run.” She checked her watch. “I’ll see you later.”
Stacy rushed out, leaving Chantel to contemplate the change in her sister’s attitude these past few days. There were still some things they couldn’t talk about—like Dillon—but Stacy was treating her more warmly than she had since they were kids. Chantel suspected her night with Wade had humbled her a little, taught her that people don’t always use their best judgment and that she was no exception.
The telephone rang. Wade answered it in the kitchen before Chantel could slide far enough toward the nightstand to grab it herself. A moment later, he called out, “It’s the doctor, Chantel.”
Chantel picked up the phone and waited for the click that told her Wade had hung up. If the news was bad, she wanted to hear it in privacy. “Hello?”
“Ms. Miller? This is Dr. Campbell. Your blood tests are back, and I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay.”
“When was the date of your last period?”
For nearly a year she hadn’t menstruated at all. But in the past six months, she’d had a couple of brief periods, if you could call them that. Since the anorexia nothing had been the same. “I’m not sure,” she said. “There really wasn’t any reason to make a special note of it.”
“Just hazard a guess.”
“Let’s see, it’s been…jeez, I don’t know, at least three months.”
Wade came to stand in the doorway again, but Chantel didn’t acknowledge him beyond a quick glance. “What do you think’s wrong with me, doctor?”
“I don’t think anything is wrong with you, Ms. Miller. According to your blood tests and what you’ve just told me, I think you’re pregnant.”
Chantel dropped the phone, then scrambled to pick it up. “But that’s not possible,” she said, feeling her hands, her arms, her whole body start to shake. Because Wade was watching her closely, Chantel tried to control her shock so she wouldn’t give anything away, but she felt as if the doctor had landed her a hard blow to the head. He’s made a mistake. That’s all there is to it.
