Chapter Twenty-One Chicago, Illinois Present Day
Chapter Twenty-One
Chicago, Illinois
Present Day
Chrissie knew she’d been found out the moment they walked into the lobby of the St. Regis Hotel.
Luxury accommodations had never been her thing.
The sleek marble and shining gold accents, the upholstery that was too expensive to sit on, the way everyone talked in hushed, muted tones—it all reminded her too much of her childhood.
If she wanted a sterile mausoleum where sincerity went to die, she knew exactly where to get it and not pay five hundred bucks a night for the privilege, thank you very much.
“Don’t get mad, but I booked us a suite.
After the past few days, I figured we’ve earned it.
” Scarlett’s arms wound around Chrissie from behind.
Since the breast cancer disclosure, Scarlett had eschewed the molded bras she’d been wearing the entire trip.
The flat of her chest pressed against Chrissie’s back in a way that felt achingly real.
“According to the lady I talked to, the bathtub in there is like something out of an Icelandic architecture magazine. I plan to get you just drunk enough to let me do a photo shoot we can send to Walsh. Is he more of a leg man or a breast man, do you think?”
Chrissie let herself back in the warmth of Scarlett’s hug for exactly ten seconds before detaching herself. “He’s a personality man.”
Scarlett snorted. “Of course he is. I bet he used to read his dad’s old Playboys for the articles, too. Do you want to head up straightaway, or should we grab a bite to eat first?”
The moment of truth had arrived.
“What I want is for you to stop trying to buy me off with expensive hotels. And to tell me why we’re heading to a mystery destination in one of the only states in the country that allows nonresidents to access death-with-dignity services.
” Chrissie paused just long enough to clock the way all the blood drained from Scarlett’s face.
“Whether we have this conversation in the privacy of a suite I neither want nor need, or if we hold it in a crowded hotel bar with witnesses around is up to you.”
To give Scarlett credit, she didn’t try to deflect. She might have been devious, sneaky, and wholly untrustworthy, but she’d never been the sort to run and hide when things came to a head.
“I pick witnesses. Lots and lots of witnesses.”
Chrissie tilted her head in the direction of the bar. “Then lead the way. I hope they have the good kind of fries here. I’m craving carbs and salt like you wouldn’t believe.”
“That’s the shock,” Scarlett said. “When I found out my cancer had come back, I ate nothing but potato chips for a whole week.”
“With Mitchell.” It wasn’t a question.
“He mostly eats chicken and steamed broccoli these days, but yeah.”
There was something surreal about the way they continued chatting as they were led to a corner booth with a view of the busy street outside.
To look at them, they were just two travel-stained women enjoying a late dinner at a five-star hotel.
They could have been old college friends meeting up for a girls’ weekend or sisters taking a vacation from the hectic whirlwind of their middle class lives.
Or, Chrissie reflected wryly, lifelong best friends on their way to a fancy estate that only one of them would leave.
“It was River, wasn’t it?” Scarlett said as they placed their orders and settled into the plush booth seats. “Knowing about the pills, I mean? I wish she’d just been a drug addict and stolen them like a normal hitchhiker.”
Chrissie accepted this cavalier statement with equal calm. For whatever reason, Scarlett had decided to treat this whole thing like a blip in an otherwise ordinary day, which meant that she would, too.
Chrissie wouldn’t be the first to give in. She wouldn’t be the first to crack.
“She hinted as much, yes. But I had Walsh look up the village while we were on the phone. That was the real tip-off. You should have lied about where we were going.”
“I considered it.” Scarlett pursed her lips and toyed with the lid on the bottle of sparkling water the waiter had brought out. “But there was no need. I always planned on telling you the truth long before we got there.”
Chrissie could only stare across the table at her.
“I’m not lying,” Scarlett said, her defensive armor sliding into place and clicking between her brows.
“I was working my way up to it, but then we got to Boise and you went all white knight on me. I told you not to invite River to come with us. I begged you to leave her well enough alone. I could hardly spill my secrets with some teenage runaway on our hands.”
Chrissie didn’t point out the obvious—that the time to disclose the truth would have been during the planning stages of the trip or, better yet, the moment Scarlett had gotten the call from her doctor.
There was no need. The longer they sat there, casually discussing the end of the world as she knew it, the fewer excuses she wanted to hear.
She’s not denying it. She’s not even trying.
That, more than anything else, spoke to the severity of this situation.
Scarlett denied everything—it was her preferred state of being.
If you asked her, she’d never had any real feelings for Mitchell Pemberly.
She was more than happy traveling the world all by herself, always searching for the next big adventure.
And of course her cancer would never come back.
That was for other people, boring people.
“How bad is it?” Chrissie folded her hands on the table to keep them still. “And no more bullshit, please.”
“Then free of bullshit, we’re talking DEFCON 1.” Scarlett turned to look out the window. The lower lip she drew between her teeth was the only evidence she gave of feeling anything at all. “I’m afraid this is it, Chrissie. The final countdown. Judgment day. The end.”
At some point in the following ten minutes, a silver basket of fries appeared in front of Chrissie.
She must have eaten a few of them, because the ramekin of aioli had a healthy dent in it, and there were sprinklings of salt all over her fingers.
Her sparkling water was half-empty. But if someone offered her a million dollars to recollect even one memory from those ten minutes, she’d have walked away with a wallet as empty as her heart.
“Aren’t you going to say anything? Ask questions?” Scarlett held one of the fries between her two fingers, toying with it the way she might a cigarette. “I know you’ve always been good at this part, but I figured you’d want a few more details.”
Chrissie’s senses came crashing back all at once—the slightly garlicky taste in her mouth, the hum of voices in the background, the sickening lurch in her stomach she feared would never go away.
“I’m sorry. Did you just say I’m good at this part?”
Scarlett dropped the fry with a shrug. “Well, yeah. You forget that I’ve seen you lose two people close to you already.
I used to joke about it on the radio, actually—never naming names, of course, but about how everyone should find that one person who rises to disaster like Lea Michele finally getting the call from Broadway.
For some reason, a lot of my listeners are obsessed with musical theater. I’ve never understood why.”
Chrissie recognized this insouciant prattle for what it was and cut right through it. “No one is good at handling death, Scarlett.”
“Morticians are. Coroners, too. And don’t even get me started on necrophiliacs. They rise in a totally different way, if you get what I’m saying.”
In the entirety of her life, Chrissie had never slapped another human being, but in that moment, she came damn near to it. Her hands itched not just to force Scarlett to stop joking, but to say anything other than what was coming out of her mouth.
“Stop it. Stop it right now.” She spoke through teeth clenched tight enough to crack her fillings.
“It’s not an insult, Chrissie. In fact, it’s a compliment—the highest compliment I could possibly give.
You were so poised when your brother died.
Grandma, too. At the time, it made me furious—that you could be so cool and collected while the world was burning—but I get it now.
Someone has to be there to hold things together.
It’s not a glamorous job, and I doubt it’s a very thankful one, but it has to get done.
” Scarlett paused and slipped her hands over Chrissie’s clutched palms. “I’m asking you to do it again, one last time, for me. ”
“For you,” Chrissie echoed blankly.
Scarlett nodded, the familiar lines of her face as serene as if she’d just asked for directions to the bathroom.
“I won’t die in a hospital. I promised myself that a long time ago.
This place we’re going—Tranquility Estates—is designed to make the process as comfortable as possible.
It’s basically a hospice that feels nothing like hospice.
We get a private cabin, full access to all their services, and then… you know.”
Chrissie did know, but oh, how she wished she didn’t.
“I’ve already coordinated everything with my doctor back home.
They have a pharmacist on staff to give me the medication I need, and then I take it at my own leisure and under my own recognizance.
And while we wait for me to get up the nerve, we can ride horses or go for nature walks or even just sit and hang out by the firepit, chatting long into the night. ”
For the first time, Scarlett showed signs of strain. Her grip on Chrissie’s hands tightened so much that it pushed her fingernails through the skin of her palm.
“You will come with me, right? We can finish the road trip? Ride horses together?”