by Lori Ryan
He forced himself to taste the meal. The food was delicious, as usual. Elle had always been an excellent cook. She’d learned early. Losing her mother and becoming the only female in a house full of men, she’d had to grow up fast. Her father and brothers relied on her, too much at times he thought. Many people considered Elle an old soul. And she was. But it wasn’t all genetics. Life had pushed her into adulthood at a very early age.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
Emmett glanced up.
She gave a small smile. “Besides cancer,” she said, waving her fork in the air as if they could cross that off some list.
Was there anything else to talk about?
The silence was deafening, so unlike their younger years.
“Do you think your family will work with the resort?” she finally asked. “To work on joint marketing ideas on ways to attract more tourists to Canyon Creek? I think the lodge and the resort would benefit.”
Emmett remained silent. He wasn’t sure he could work with Elle even if he did get all the answers he wanted tonight. Some obstacles were too big to get over. Cancer.
The thought of Elle having cancer scared him to death but it was the fact she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him that really hurt.
She put a hand out to cover one of his and he had to fight the urge to pull it away. At the same time, he had to fight not to flip his hand over and take hold of hers. Instead, he held perfectly still as she spoke.
“I’ve had a lot more time to process this than you have, Emmett,” she said. “For that, I truly am sorry.” She put down her fork and pushed her plate away. “It wasn’t always this easy. There were lots of tears, lots of screaming at how unfair life was, lots of sleepless nights.” Her once peaceful face contorted at the remembered worry.
Emmett could only stare, grateful she was still here. “I’m sorry,” Emmett said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t upset me.” She smiled, that same expression that had been part of his life since he’d first caught her stealing his lunch box at six years old. “It’s good to remember sometimes, to think of how fortunate I am.”
“How can you say you’re fortunate?” Emmett asked. “You’ve had cancer.”
“Yes, it’s true. But there’s more to me than my diagnosis.” She stood, grabbing her plate, reaching for his. “I see you didn’t like my veggie stir fry.” She laughed, her gaze sweeping over him.
He didn’t have to say it, she knew he’d lost his appetite.
“Come on,” Elle said, placing the plates on the counter, before turning to walk into the living room. She moved past the ottoman and sank down on a large leather sectional couch that filled most of the small space. She motioned to the other side. “Sit. Ask me anything.”
Emmett drew in a shaky breath, his lungs burning with fear.
“Emmett,” Elle prodded quietly.
He studied her beautiful face and was instantly transported to their childhood. Elle had always been so open and honest with him. That was one of the reasons he couldn’t believe she’d lied. Well, not lied, just withheld the truth.
With unsteady legs, he made his way into the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa, not sure where to start now that he had her here. The beginning seemed like a good place.
He drew in a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh as he stared into the eyes of his best friend. He didn’t want to know, but he had to. “How did you find out you had cancer?”
Chapter Nine
This was it, Elle thought. The moment she’d been dreading since the morning she’d left their hotel room without a word almost five years ago. The moment she’d have to answer Emmett’s questions. She just prayed he would understand.
What if he doesn’t?
Elle refused to think that.
As Emmett sank down onto the couch opposite her, she drew up her feet and grabbed a throw pillow to tuck in her lap, then glanced at the mantel. The framed piece of art held two words. “Fight” on the top and “Give Up” on the bottom.
Every day she had a choice. There were days she turned the plaque to “Give Up” before crawling back in bed and curling into a tight ball. Most of those days had been back when she was undergoing her treatment, dealing with the side effects of the chemo and radiation that sometimes seemed worse than the disease it was designed to battle.
The block had remained upright on “Fight.” Elle had refused to turn it over. Giving up wasn’t an option, even though she wanted to some days.
She hadn’t given up in her fight against the cancer, and she wouldn’t give up on Emmett. Not again. She wanted to see if they could find a way back to the friendship they’d lost.
“How did you find out you had cancer?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She cleared her throat and smoothed her hand over the pillow in her lap. “I was rehearsing one day and extended my arm. There was this burning sensation on the right side of my chest, here.” She pointed to the top of her breast. “At first, I thought I just pulled a muscle, but it hurt on and off for the next several days after. I’d already graduated from Tisch at NYU and was dancing with a small company in New York.”
Emmett remained silent so she continued.
“I mentioned the pain to one of the instructors, Sabine Bonnay,” she said. “She’s a breast cancer survivor. I didn’t know it at the time. Anyway,” Elle relaxed into the sofa. “I always thought you would feel a lump or something with breast cancer, not that soreness. Sabine recognized the possibility it was cancer and literally drove me to the clinic for an exam that day.” Elle sat in silence, remembering how scared she’d been watching Sabine’s reaction to her news.
“And?” Emmett said.
“On the cab ride, Sabine shared her story with me. It scared the crap out of me.”
Emmett scooted closer to the edge of the couch. “What did she say that scared you?”
“She just said it was unusual for a girl my age to get breast cancer. At first, I was relieved. I mean, who thinks they have breast cancer at twenty-three? I hadn’t had any other symptoms. There was just something in her eyes that made me take it seriously, though.”
“So, what happened next?”
He wanted a blow-by-blow retelling. But that was okay. Emmett deserved that much from her.
“There was a lot of testing, mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsies.” She trailed off, her mind traveling back in time to the words her doctor had said. Breast cancer.
Cheeta jumped up, unbidden, and snuggled into the side of her leg between her and the couch. Her sweet pup always knew when Elle needed strength. It seemed funny for an animal so small to give her so much comfort.
“When did they find out it was breast cancer? When did they operate?” Emmett’s questions fired off in rapid succession, just like her family’s and friends’ had.
“The sonogram was first. It came back with a definitive mass, so they performed a needle biopsy in my doctor’s office. He wasn’t too concerned, not as concerned as Sabine. I tried to hold onto that hope, but deep down inside, I think I just knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That it wasn’t a benign lump.”
Emmett watched her, his face ashen. She realized that he was processing her diagnosis in a matter of seconds, not days and months and years like she had.
“So they did the biopsy?” he asked. “Then what?”
“The pathology came back saying the tumor was breast cancer—invasive lobular breast carcinoma is the medical term.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they had to take another biopsy, only this time surgically.”
“What happened during that procedure?”
“They cut out a piece of my breast for more testing,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Some people call it a lumpectomy. I was scheduled for the excisional biopsy the day after I ran into you.”
“So you knew you had cancer when we slept together, but you hadn’
t had any surgery yet?”
She nodded. “That’s why I wanted to be with you that night. It was the last time I’d ever have all of me to give you.” Elle’s head fell and she twisted the tassels of a pillow as she stared at it in her lap.
“Elle,” Emmett said softly.
Slowly, she raised her head, tears burning her eyes. She hated being weak, but there was no way not to cry right now. Talking about this with Emmett was more intimate than any talk she’d had about it with anyone before. Even the friends she’d met during treatment.
Familiar hazel eyes held hers and for a moment she felt that connection, the bond only she and Emmett shared. She watched with relief as he stood and walked toward her.
He sat beside her, still an arm’s-length away, but the gesture spoke volumes. “What happened after the second biopsy?”
“There was a lot of waiting for pathology reports and specialists to confer.” Elle hated reliving this part of her journey.
“Specialists?” he asked, shaking his head like he couldn’t wrap his brain around all of what she was telling him.
“Yeah, apparently when you get cancer you get a whole team of doctors. Not the best experience.” She laughed.
“Why?”
“Would you want a team of doctors collaborating on the best treatment options for you?”
“If it saved my life, yeah,” Emmett said.
Elle nodded. “Looking from the outside in, yeah, I guess you’re right. But it was very frustrating at the time.”
Emmett scooted closer. “Why?”
“It’s hard enough to schedule appoints with one doctor, but coordinating four, it was nearly impossible.”
“So, did you have a, um…” He glanced down at her chest then snapped his eyes back up.
Elle had to fight not to cover her chest. “Mastectomy?” she asked with a small smile.
“Yeah,” he smirked. “Mastectomy. There, I said it, are you happy?”
She laughed and suddenly the mood changed. She could remember what it felt like to be best friends with this man. The thought of restoring their friendship gave her the courage to answer the one question she’d dreaded. “Yes. I had a mastectomy.”
“How long was your treatment?”
“From the time I was diagnosed until my actual surgery, it was seven weeks.”
“Seven weeks,” he said, the outrage coming through in his voice.
“You sound like my family.” She laughed.
“It seems freaking ridiculous to wait any amount of time. Don’t they say getting to it early is everything?”
“The tests take a long time. The doctors have to make sure they’re considering every aspect of your illness to treat your cancer the right way. In the end, they decided a mastectomy of my right breast was the best option for survival.”
She saw the flash of pain on his face and had to clench the pillow in her lap to keep from crossing her arms over her chest. She hated that Emmett was probably picturing her body right now, scarred and maimed under her clothes.
“So, then after your surgery, you had other treatments?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Almost a year’s worth of treatments in the end. The cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. I was diagnosed with stage three cancer.”
“What does that mean?” His voice wavered, his hands clenching his thighs. “How many stages are there?”
“Four,” she said quietly.
“What’s the fourth?” His voice was barely above a whisper now.
This was what she didn’t want to say out loud. She knew the information would scare him. Hell, it scared her. “It means the cancer has spread to other parts of the body. They consider stage four breast cancer terminal.”
Emmett drew in a deep breath and she could see the pain in his eyes, but she pushed on.
“Since I had stage three, we decided on chemo and radiation along with hormone therapy.”
“Was it bad?” he asked. “Oh, shit, what am I talking about, of course it was bad. I’m sorry, I just meant…”
“It’s okay, Em.” She reached out and covered his hand with her own. She had to touch him. He grounded her in so many ways.
His gaze fell to her hand and she quickly pulled it away.
“Yeah, it was bad,” she said. “I did six rounds of chemotherapy and radiation over six months. I threw up a lot, basically felt like crap. Couldn’t work.”
“Lost your hair?” he asked, glancing up at her hair.
She instinctively ran a hand through her short hair. “Yeah, that, too. It was a hard day when that started.” She drew in a heavy breath and closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
The couch shifted and she opened her eyes, happy to see him move closer.
“It is what it is.” She shrugged then shook her head. “I used to hate that saying. Tanner said it all the time. But you learn that life is not always about what happens to you. Cancer has a way of changing your perspective. My focus was no longer on my outer appearance but on surviving.”
Emmett squeezed her thigh.
The look of sympathy in his eyes now was exactly why she hadn’t brought him into her hell five years ago. Her treatments would have hurt him, too. Her disease would have derailed his life along with hers. The changes in her body would have changed him, too.
She glanced down at his strong hand now wrapped around her leg before looking into his familiar green eyes—eyes that had always offered her hope and encouragement.
“This is why I didn’t tell you that night, Em,” she said.
“Why?”
She wondered if it had been a mistake, not allowing Emmett to be a part of her journey. She’d needed him, even back then, but she’d refused to be selfish. Could he have changed anything?
“You crushed me when you left, Elle,” he said softly, pain etched in every syllable.
“I know,” she choked out.
“Do you?” Slowly he withdrew his hand.
“Believe it or not, I do. And I’m sorry.”
They sat in silence, but it wasn’t like the comfortable quiet of their youth. The tense silence in the air told Elle that he was confused. She needed to make Emmett understand.
“It almost destroyed me, seeing what this diagnosis did to my family,” she finally spoke. “My dad watched me like he was seeing a ghost every time he looked at me. Tanner gave up his dream of a snowboarding career to take care of me. It was just …” She stopped, wanting to find the right words to explain why she’d been unable to put Emmett through that pain and devastation, too.
She couldn’t decipher his expression. Was it fear? Anger? Betrayal?
“Hold on a minute,” she said. “I have something for you.” She stood and walked toward the stairs, bolting up the steps to her bedroom. She knelt beside her nightstand and opened the bottom cabinet, reaching in the back for her journal, the journal.
Elle had kept a diary of her musings. Emmett had always encouraged her to write. But this journal was different. It was the story of her journey through diagnosis and treatment of breast cancer. If anything could explain what she’d been through, it was her own words
Emmett was a writer. He’d understand. He had to.
She clutched the leather-bound journal to her chest and turned to leave before catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above her dresser. Elle studied her body. She was healthier now, her hair thicker and darker, her face filled out, her skin not so pasty and pale.
She was alive. A huge smile spread across her face. If she could make Emmett understand, maybe he would forgive her for shutting him out. She’d missed him so much over the last five years and honestly, she had no idea how she’d survived without him.
Elle hadn’t felt this hopeful in years. Maybe Emmett would want to be part of her life again. If the past had taught her anything it was to stay positive during uncertain times. She would choose to believe that Emmett would forgive her, maybe even let her become part of his life again.
At the very least she prayed he would understand she was protecting him.
Chapter Ten
Emmett sat at the desk in his childhood room. He’d been back in Canyon Creek almost three months and had yet to find his own place. He didn’t even know how long he was staying so why bother to look?
He straightened in the wooden chair and looked down at the journal Elle had given him two nights ago, afraid to open the cover—afraid to learn more about what she’d gone through, without him.
Drawing in a deep breath, he lifted the cover and read the title page.
The Musings of a Dying Girl
Emmett chuckled in spite of the morbid title. The Musings of a Dying Girl was the name of a short story he’d written in tenth grade for creative writing.
The story was about a girl who’d been abused by her father for years, unable to escape, until a social worker found her in a homeless shelter and changed her life.
His teacher had been so appalled by the title that she almost didn’t accept the assignment, until Elle stood up for him, claiming artistic immunity or some bullshit. She’d always looked out for him in a way he’d taken for granted.
Growing up, Elle had never realized she was so much stronger than him. Emmett had a feeling she knew that now. Anyone looking at her could see she’d found her own strength in the battle she’d fought for her life.
He stared blankly at the first page. The paper was littered with Elle’s familiar handwriting. She’d always had perfect penmanship, whereas his had been nearly illegible.
Elle teased him anytime he wrote her a note, and he’d written her dozens over their years of friendship.
Suddenly the note she’d left stuck to his hotel bathroom mirror the night they slept together in New York City popped unbidden into his mind.
“Thanks.”
What the hell had she been thinking leaving him that?
As much as it pained him, Emmett knew he at least owed Elle the opportunity to explain. He still reserved the right to keep his distance, but at least he would know everything if he read her journal.
May 14, 2014
