35. Sloan #2
She knew nothing about Dad’s day-to-day life. And, for the first time in a long time, that fact made her gut twist.
“Hey,” she said, smiling at him as naturally as she could. She kissed his cheek lightly. “Come on in.”
“Do you have company?” Dad said, gesturing back at Kyle’s truck in the driveway.
“No, that belongs to my roommate.” She stepped to the side to let him through.
Dad’s brown eyes swept over the space as he wiped his feet on the front mat, even though it wasn’t raining outside. “I didn’t know you had a roommate.”
“As of a month ago, yeah.” Sloan pointed up the stairs. “Actually . . .” She sucked in a breath, a bubble of nerves fluttering up her spine as she followed him up to the main level. “It’s Kyle. His apartment wasn’t ready yet, so I invited him to stay with me in the meantime.”
Dad gave her a sharp look. “Kyle Winnick?”
She nodded.
“Is that wise?”
Don’t get defensive.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, you’re aware of what Evan intimated during that fiasco over the winter.”
“Yes, but he was lying. Kyle and I weren’t together back then. And we hadn’t seen each other in eight years.”
Dad’s lips curved into a frown. “And you’re together now?”
“We’re”—she thought back to what Cheyenne had said—“figuring it out. I love him, Dad. And I know he cares about me. So, yeah. We’re together.”
He gave her a doubtful look. “It doesn’t sound like you’re together.”
She shook her head, not wanting to extend the conversation any further than necessary.
“Why don’t you come sit in the living room?
” Thank God for Kyle’s furniture and Liddy’s foresight in suggesting it.
“I’m really more interested in discussing Penny than I am in my relationship status.
Do you want a glass of water? Tea? Coffee? ”
Dad shook his head. “No, thank you.”
She led him into the living room and then took a seat in one of the armchairs facing the couch. He settled across from her, the distance feeling large and uncomfortable, like he was a lawyer here in an official capacity, rather than her father.
“So . . . Penny found out three months ago she has leukemia?” Sloan started, anxious to break the silence. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She’ll have to tell you that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“This is Penny’s private information. If she didn’t want to share, I felt honor bound to respect that.” Dad cleared his throat, then reached up and loosened the knot of his tie. “But actually, the more truthful answer is that she found out three months ago that her cancer was out of remission.”
The room seemed to come to a stop, and Sloan gripped the cushion beneath her.
Out of remission?
Wait.
How long have Penny—and Dad—known about this?
“When . . . did she get diagnosed?” Her voice was tight. Scraped. Her knuckles hurt from clutching the chair.
Dad adjusted his glasses. “She was first diagnosed three years ago—around the time you were in the hospital. I think that factored significantly into her decision not to tell you.”
Sloan felt the blood drain from her face.
Oh no.
No, God, no.
And then a memory, long meaningless and inconsequential until now , resurfaced.
Penny calling and asking her to lunch because she wanted to talk to her about something in person.
A lunch that had never happened, because instead Penny had arrived at the house and called the ambulance to take Sloan to get her stomach pumped.
Sloan covered her face with her hands, her heart slowing, all her anger at Penny melting away.
This . . . was why Penny hadn’t told her.
I’m . . . awful.
The worst sister in the world.
Tears swam in her eyes, and she brushed them away with the backs of her knuckles. “Is she okay?” Sloan asked, voice trembling. “If she’s out of—”
“The doctors are optimistic. Unlike your mother, who had acute myeloid, she has chronic myeloid. The rates of survival are much higher.”
Sloan clasped her hands in her lap, letting the tears flow freely down her cheeks now.
Mom.
Penny.
. . . why?
Dad shifted on the couch. “The reason I’m here is because the doctors told me yesterday that the best chance Penny has is a donation of stem cells.
Other treatments aren’t working. And if she can get a donation from a good match, she might even be cured.
Siblings, it turns out, are often the best match.
So, I’m here on her behalf to ask you to come to San Francisco with me and get tested.
See if you can donate stem cells to your sister. ”
Now she understood why he’d come in person.
Not just to tell her about the situation . . . but to ask for her help.
He blinked at her as she stared at him, trying to process everything.
“. . . is that something you would be willing to do?” Dad finished.
Sloan’s throat went dry. “You want me to donate stem cells?”
“Well, you’re young and healthy. And you take care of your body. You don’t have any tattoos or use drugs. And you’re her sister—potentially the best match.”
Tattoos. Sloan closed her eyes.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Are tattoos . . . not good for donors?”
“They can be an issue.” Dad’s eyes landed heavily on hers. “Why?”
Sloan groaned inwardly. “Of course I’ll go help Penny. If I can. But . . . I just got this last night,” she said, reaching over and peeling the bandage from her arm.
Dad’s gaze traced over her arm, his mouth twitching, jaw hardening.
And this time, he didn’t even have to say anything.
Yup. I’m a screwup.