Chapter 32
FOR A SECOND, NO one seems to understand what’s happened—not even me. There’s just the sickening thud of Mom hitting the ground, and then a chorus of shouts.
“Joan!” Dad drops to his knees beside her.
“Mom!” Linney and I shout at the same time, both of us lunging toward her.
She’s already blinking, thank god, trying to push herself upright, dazed but conscious. “I’m fine,” she insists, breathless.
In that moment, I hear the echo of every I’m fine that either of us has ever said through gritted teeth, when in fact the exact opposite was true.
“You’re not fine,” I snap, adrenaline buzzing under my skin. “You just collapsed.”
“It’s the heat.” She waves a trembling hand. “I just got a little lightheaded.”
Dad and Linney each take an arm, helping her sit up.
She’s pale—too pale—and sweating through her makeup.
The photographer and bridal party hover for a moment before Cara gently tells them we need a minute, and they all drift toward the house.
Nate backs up, too, giving us space, but he doesn’t go far.
We manage to guide Mom onto one of the benches inside the gazebo. She keeps trying to bat our hands away, muttering that she’s embarrassed, that she just needs a sip of water, that we’re all overreacting.
“Mom…” Linney says quietly, worry pinching her voice.
“It is just exhaustion,” Mom insists again, more sharply this time. “It has nothing to do with—”
“With what?” Cooper asks, stepping closer.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. “I’m f—”
“Joan,” Cara says softly, stepping forward for the first time. “I think you have to tell them.”
I freeze. Tell us what? Why does Cara sound like she already knows something?
“What are you talking about?” I demand. “Mom, what is she talking about?”
Mom looks at Cara, and something passes between them—something heavy, resigned. And in that gaze, I feel it—I feel the heaviness of whatever this secret is.
I glance over at Nate, and I see it in his eyes too.
My heart plunges into my gut as Mom exhales, as if she’s been holding her breath for weeks. Maybe months.
Her eyes come back to mine. They’re full of apology. And fear.
Oh no.
Oh no.
“Mom?”
“I’m not—I’m not well, Nikki.” Oh no. Tears are already springing to my eyes, ruining my makeup, as she admits: “I’m sick.”
I look from her to Dad. He opens his mouth to say something, but can’t get anything out. It seems like the scaffolding holding him up is about to cave in, but I watch as he steels himself. He curls an arm around Mom protectively and manages a nod.
From beside me, I hear Linney ask Graham to take the kids back to the house. Once they’re out of earshot, Mom clears her throat. “I have cancer again. It… it came back.” It’s almost a whisper, but it tears through me just like that fine tear in Cara’s veil, and I feel ripped in half instantly.
A soft keening cry goes up from Linney, and Pete wraps an arm around her.
Mom takes a deep breath and continues. Her tone is matter-of-fact, like she’s explaining how to read a recipe. “We’d been optimistic about a trial treatment, but their funding got cut off, and…” She falters, but presses forward. “And the diagnosis isn’t great.”
Nausea washes over me. All the moments when Mom hasn’t been herself since I’ve been back. The fainting spells. The long looks. Oh my god: and the obsession with getting this wedding together. It all falls into horrible and stark relief.
Dad clears his throat. “We’ve been looking for a short-term rental in Atlanta while your mom is in treatment,” Dad says.
More pieces of the puzzle come together: the short conversations with the Musgroves, the real estate listings.
“So you aren’t selling the house?” My voice cracks on the question. I feel like a fool for being so concerned about the house. I’d sell ten thousand houses if it meant Mom was well.
“We’re not making decisions yet,” Dad says.
“I don’t understand… you knew?” My mom’s voice is curious, but not castigating, as she looks over at Cara.
“I found a parking stub for the cancer treatment center in your car when we borrowed it to go into town the other day,” Cara confesses.
“At first I wasn’t sure if it was really anything, so I told Nate, to ask if I should say something,” she says, apologetically.
“We’ve—we’ve been through something similar. I didn’t know what to do.”
I remember the argument between Cara and Nate in the backyard a few days ago, when Nate had told her to drop it. And then clammed up when I tried to find out what it was about. How he shut down emotionally after that, pushing me away, and refused to explain why.
Cara looks between us all. “But I couldn’t hold it in. I talked to Coop about it, and he said he’d been suspecting it for a while. Right, Coop?”
I turn to Cooper in shock.
“You knew?”
Cooper just nods, his face flushed with emotion. “I think… I think we all did. Or suspected anyway. Except you.”
I gape at him, then swivel to Linney. Graham has his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. Then I look to Pete. Both he and Tripp have tears in their eyes, but they’re calm tears. Tears of knowing. Pete nods softly.
“But—but…”
“Nikki,” Cooper says softly. “You weren’t here. The rest of us, we live nearby. We’re here all the time. We see things. We put some things together.”
I turn to my mom. “But why didn’t you just tell us outright?”
“I was going to tell you after the wedding,” Mom says to all of us kids. “I didn’t want to ruin Cooper’s perfect day.” She chokes up. “I’m so sorry.”
And my chest aches hearing that, hearing how badly she didn’t want to make a mess of things. So badly, she hid this huge thing away from us. It hits me sharply, like a stark warning.
“Mom.” Cooper lets go of Cara and steps toward Mom, pulling her into a hug. “No, don’t be sorry. I understand.”
I dig deep for a smile. Something to smooth away the worry on Mom’s face, but there’s nothing there. “I’m so sorry,” I choke out. “I’ve got to… give me a second.”
I rush away from the group, but the house is crowded with the bridal party and arriving guests, so I turn down the lakeside path toward Camp Bennet.
THE FLOORS AND SURFACES are cluttered with men’s things, since all the guys got ready in here together earlier, and for once, the room smells different—heavy with the musk of various colognes.
I collapse on the bed Nate’s been sleeping in. The wrinkled sheets that remind me of him and of our one night together.
I can’t believe I’ve been so blind, so stupid and clueless and lost. So busy running after success and a big, special life that I was completely oblivious to the only thing that matters.
The tears come heavy and hard and whatever makeup I still had on gets wiped away.
After a few moments, there’s a soft knock on the door. My stomach flips—half dread, half hope—because for a moment, I think it might be Nate.
But then Mom peeks her head in. “Are you okay, Nikki-Belle?”
I wipe my tears and sit up. Mom comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside me. “No, Mom,” I choke out. “I’m not.”
And even though she’s the one who is sick, she sits down beside me and pulls me into her arms.
I bury my face in her neck, like I used to when I was little, and let myself cry. I don’t know when the last time was that I let her see me like this. A complete mess.
The true me.
“I know, sugar,” she says. “I know.”
For a while, we both just cry as she rubs my back in soothing circles.
“I’m sorry for keeping secrets from you.” Mom’s voice is raw.
“I get it,” I say. Because I do. It sounds exactly like something I would do.
She nods. “I was scared.” Her voice cracks, and I cry harder. “I didn’t want to believe it was real. I’ve never been as brave as you, Nikki.”
I laugh through my tears. “Mom, I’m not brave.”
“Are you kidding me? Putting your heart out there on national television isn’t brave? That’s insane. You’re one of the most courageous people I know.”
I look at her, stunned. A distant burst of laughter floats in from outside—early guests making their way toward the gazebo. Reality starts to seep back in around the edges.
“Oh dear,” Mom says, wiping a hand down her face. “I suppose this wedding was a bit hasty, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe a smidge,” I agree with a watery smile, trying to pull myself together. “But Cooper and Cara were right on board with you.”
Dad, Pete, and Linney, too, I realize—because of course. Because they knew.
“It was lucky they agreed so easily,” Mom agrees. “But I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant I got to be at my baby boy’s wedding.”
The tears start back up. “But you’re supposed to be at my wedding too, Mom,” I choke out. The sobs claw up through my chest.
“I know. I know, love. I want that so much. My whole life, ever since you kids were born, all I’ve lived for is to watch you grow up. And you did such a good job.” She’s crying, too, now. “I know I said it before, but I am so proud of you.”
I crumple into her, and she pats my back as the tears come and keep coming. After a while, the deluge begins to slow, and I pull back. I take a few deeps breaths to try to steady myself.
Mom’s eyes travel around the small cabin—the tidy stacks of tools near the door and the not-so-tidy pile of Nate’s things: the baseball cap tossed on the bed, the protein bar wrapper on the nightstand… the bikini top I’ve spent days looking for, flung on the back of a chair.
For a second, we both just stare at it.
“So, you and Nate, huh?” Mom asks into the silence.
I let out a surprised laugh. Then I throw my face into my hands and groan.
“No, I ruined it.”
“I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. Whatever’s wrong, you can fix it.” Mom rifles through her purse and produces a tube of mascara and some lipstick. “Let’s see if we can both get put back together.”
We go into the bathroom and stand facing the mirror.
In the reflection, I see the lines bracketing Mom’s mouth, the tired circles beneath her eyes.
I should’ve known something was going on.
Part of me wants to dissolve into tears again, but there will be time for that later.
Mom is right that Cooper deserves to have everyone smile on his wedding day.
She turns to me to help me redo my makeup with the few items she has in her matching handbag.
And as I let her do my face, I don’t think about all those times she readied me backstage for a competition.
Instead, I think of her, getting ready for a party as a little kid, and Meema bending over her, lovingly brushing her hair, tidying her bow, making sure it was all perfect.
In the end, I look in the mirror, amazed at her quick work. I manage to look less like an angry raccoon and more like my normal self. Though my nose is still red, and my eyes are still puffy.
“Perfect,” I whisper.
“Not perfect,” Mom corrects, “but beautiful.”