The False Flat

CHAPTER 47

LIFE REALIZATION #21: I MIGHT BE CAPABLE OF HOMICIDE

Over the next couple of weeks, I tried hard not to think about losing the one thing I so desperately did not want to lose, which took constant redirecting as Grant underwent a flurry of tests, lab work, and minor surgical procedures to improve his chances of chemotherapy success. We found out that his cancer wasn’t “resectable.” In other words, it couldn’t be cut out because the tumor involved his liver’s artery and vein. We were told to prepare ourselves for a long and potentially ugly battle. Though, according to the doctors, he was doing surprisingly well. I hated the word “surprisingly.” It meant they hadn’t expected him to do well.

But if anyone was going to kick cancer’s butt, it was Grant.

“I need you to prepare yourself, Penelope.” Grant had turned to me, crinkling the thin white paper on the exam table we were both sitting on, with an expression so severe my stomach flipped. “It’s possible I’ll lose the one thing that defines our relationship.” He leaned over as my chest vibrated with worried anticipation, and then he whispered, “The stache.”

I let out an exasperated sigh and nearly shoved him off the table.

The oncologist had laughed. “Some people lose their hair on FOLFIRINOX, some don’t.” Like so many medical terms we’d been forced to learn over the past few weeks, this was yet another horrid acronym.

Grant had grabbed my hand and squeezed. We were getting through it one step at a time, and with Devina’s help; she understood what it was like to go through cancer treatment. She’d beaten the odds, and she constantly encouraged us both.

I wouldn’t say I was doing well, but I coped in the ways that suited me particularly: riding my bicycle religiously and using numbers in two ways. First, I’d turned most of the hospital staff into various digits; then, as Devina had suggested, I made spreadsheets and lists, documenting Grant’s treatment schedule with precision and accuracy, and learning about pancreatic cancer.

“There will be times you’ll feel helpless,” Devina had told me, “but education and organization are your friends. You’re a businesswoman. Lean into your strengths.”

I’d done exactly that, and she’d been right. It had helped. Unfortunately, that meant learning statistics, things like only 20 to 30 percent of stage-one pancreatic cancer patients will be alive in five years.

I scared myself with the numbers. I soothed myself with the numbers. I was up and down like ocean waves. One minute, I was a confident mermaid swimming in Grant’s optimism; the next, I was a drowning diver, ready to be eaten by the sharks, the facts that defied the optimism.

When someone’s time has a known end, you tend to cling tighter than before, which was what we were all doing today, preparing for a Saturday-morning group ride together.

The November air had a bite to it, chilling us until we’d started moving. Erin, Beau, and Deanna had joined our regular riding group. I’d tried to cancel this particular ride because of the dark circles painting the skin under Grant’s eyes, but he’d wanted to go. And I wouldn’t deny him what he wanted, not now, because I didn’t know when he would stop asking. I’d tasked myself with watching him in such a way that he didn’t know I was watching him. So here we were, in the cold, staring at a long, flat road ahead, surrounded by trees and patches of grass and relative quiet.

“Let’s talk wedding plans as we ride.” Deanna rubbed her hands together.

“Yes, let’s!” Erin said.

Beau rode back toward William and Grant, and I wanted to follow.

“I don’t want a big wedding, you guys.”

Deanna’s plans had grown in size and number ever since she’d heard about my proposal.

Her eyes glittered. “But—”

“No. Grant and I agreed. A simple ceremony back at Chuck’s cabin the week before Christmas. Only family, except Chuck and Celia because it’s their cabin and Chuck’s ordained.” I was apparently weird for thinking a wedding was a private thing, love shared between two people. I didn’t understand why everyone wanted to make a public spectacle of it.

The road was mostly deserted, so we were able to fan out a bit and keep a conversation going.

“There are so many other people who are going to want to be there. What about Erin, Mere, Key—”

“Don’t make Pen feel bad about not inviting me,” Erin said. “If they invite one person, they have to invite them all. To spare feelings, they have to do it this way.”

“Thank you for understanding, Erin,” I said, hoping it would prompt Deanna to do the same, but she only huffed.

I covertly glanced back at Grant, hopefully making it look like I was only talking to Erin and not watching him. He’d moved slightly behind us to make room for a passing car. He was at the back of the pack. I slowed.

Deanna continued, “Wouldn’t you be hurt if you weren’t invited to Erin’s real, fake wedding?”

“Pen will be at my wedding,” Erin said before I responded. “Not the same thing. Have you told your mom, Pen?”

I sighed. “No.”

“You should tell her,” Deanna said.

“After.” We’d had this conversation before, so I hoped my tone would encourage dropping the subject of Aurora. I was afraid of what she’d do if she knew. It was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

“Flowers?” Deanna questioned, and I wondered if she’d already picked out oversize bouquets.

“Nature. Chuck’s cabin will have trees on a carpet of fallen leaves. Done.”

“Bare trees towering above a carpet of old, slimy, trampled sludge. How about ivory roses and dusty miller with sprigs of berries? You know who could put together a beautiful arrangement?”

“Keyondra? She’s helping me with something else.”

Deanna was relentless. “She can still do flowers.”

Keyondra was helping me with Grant’s third wedding gift. Grant thought our first dance at the reception was going to be to Etta James’s “At Last.” Little did he know I was planning to surprise him with three solid minutes of complete and utter embarrassment; I was going to shuffle.

While Erin and Deanna talked about my dress, two riders passed us. Grant was now behind William and Beau, and I couldn’t make out the expression on his face. I slowed again.

“Okay, what about music?” Deanna continued.

I inhaled. Too many things to think about. I had Grant and my clients. End of story. “The soft chirp of birds?”

“You mean the screech of vultures ripping up the flesh of a dead deer in the woods?”

“Deanna!” Erin shouted.

“I’ll bring a Bluetooth speaker,” Deanna decided, unfazed. “Actually, I think Celia plays the violin. And then there’s the reception. You are going to let me throw you a party afterward, right? Grant already said yes, so there’s really no stopping me. We’ll have it at my house.”

“And you wouldn’t have thrown a party if he’d said no?” She had no idea that the party was going to be in the venue hall in her new B and B, and I loved that she didn’t know.

“Of course not, but I have to at least pretend to care about your feelings on my big day—I mean your big day.”

I rolled my eyes. I wanted to be married to Grant. We didn’t know how much time we had together, and I didn’t want to waste any of it planning a wedding. But then it hit me, why this wedding was so important to Deanna. It was a distraction and a thing she could do for her brother, the only thing she could do.

“Tell you what,” I said, looking out at the trees just feet away from us. “Do whatever you want. As long as I don’t have to make any decisions.” This was something I could do for her.

“Wedding guests?”

I shrugged. “Whatever.”

Her excited squeal scared me a little. I’d regret this.

She huffed. “Why is this ride so hard? It looked easy when we started.”

“This is a false flat,” I told her, which I’d learned from Grant the last time we’d done this route. “It looks flat and unthreatening, but there’s an imperceptible gradient that gives you a real workout.”

A sardonic laugh fell out of my mouth. Life was like a false flat. It looked smooth and easy and straightforward, but it was a steady, arduous climb to the finish, leaving you haggard and out of breath.

A white Honda flew past, going too fast beside a group of cyclists on the narrow-shouldered road.

“That’s why I don’t ride!” Deanna shouted from behind me.

I looked back, stopped.

“Where’s Grant?” I asked.

No answer.

Several seconds passed.

William and Beau came up beside us.

No Grant.

A chill tightened my skin “Where’s Grant?” I asked, louder this time.

“He told us to go on,” William said. “I listened because you remember what happened the last time I didn’t.”

Grant had given us all a lecture about not treating him like he was an invalid.

My heart pounded in my chest. My legs pedaled back. Sweat trickled down my neck.

I saw Gaia first, mangled in a heap on the gravel shoulder. And then I saw him, lying in the grass a yard away from the road.

Still.

A scream curled in the back of my throat. I threw my bicycle and ran.