Her Last Chance (A Rachel Gift FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 2) Page 2

  And then Rachel was crying. Not only that, but the tears seemed to also push another reality to the forefront of her mind. See how easy that was for her? some alien voice told her. She tore that Band-Aid right off and now a loved one knows what she’s going through. You could take an example from this…

  Rachel shut the thought out quickly. This was not about her or her diagnosis—this was not about the inoperable tumor that was currently taking up residence inside of her brain. This was about Grandma Tate. And even if she did want to tell her grandmother about her own diagnosis, now was not the time. She did not drive all the way down to Aiken, South Carolina, to one-up her with cancer diagnoses.

  She sipped from her tea, if only to distract herself. And good Lord, it was about as sweet as she’d imagined it would be—another of those southern things. She eyed her grandmother for a moment and saw that while it had seemed easy for her to get the information out, it looked like it had taken an emotion toll. Grandma Tate had a look on her face that was similar to a driver who was coming up on a car accident in the other lane and was trying to decide if they would keep their eyes straight ahead or if they wanted to catch a peek at the damage.

  “How long do they give you?” Rachel asked.

  “Two years. Maybe three. They say the treatment could cure me, but the chances are slim. And with that treatment, I might get another two years. Might. So I figure I’m going to leave these last few years without chemo muddying it all up. And when the end comes…”

  She shrugged and sipped from her tea. A mosquito darted around her head and when she swatted at it, her aim was true. It went to the porch floor where she stomped it with her Croc.

  Rachel shook her head in disbelief. She reached out and took her grandmother’s hand as she had done so many times as a child, as a teenager, and even as they danced slightly inebriated at her wedding reception.

  “It’s okay, Rachel. Really. I’m at peace with it.”

  Rachel’s own conflicting feelings waged war in her mind. She knew she would not tell her, but the bravery her Grandma Tate was showing made her wonder if she should tell her family. Should she tell Peter and Paige when she returned home, or would it be too much all at once?

  “I appreciate you not telling me on the phone,” Rachel said. “But at the same time, I just drove seven and a half hours and now this…this is going to hover over the entire visit.”

  “Well, you’re staying until tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then nothing changes. I say we finish our tea, head out for dinner, and go bowl a few frames.”

  Rachel couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re still bowling?”

  “Hell yes. My team was second in the spring tournament. Remind me to show you the trophy when we head back inside.”

  And just like that, the bomb had been dropped. They remained on Florence Tate’s patio, drinking tea and swatting at mosquitoes while Rachel shared stories of Paige’s adventures and triumphs from school, and how she was growing up far too fast. They spoke in the heat and finished the pitcher of tea in about half an hour. The entire time, Rachel felt her own news storming around in her head, stomping at the ground of her thoughts like a rodeo bull anxious to be released from its gate.

  She knew then, swatting at mosquitos and trying to wrap her mind around bowling with her cancer-stricken grandmother, that she needed to eventually let it out or it was going to tear her apart inside.

  ***

  Rachel woke up the following morning with the sound of pins clanging musically together and stared at the ceiling for several minutes before getting out of bed. At some point during the night, she dreamed that Paige, her daughter, had been at the bowling alley with her and Grandma Tate that night. And every time Paige asked a question about Grandma Tate’s diagnosis, Rachel would throw a ball down the lane and bowl a very loud strike. The questions went unheard and when it was clear she’d get no answers from the adults, Paige walked away in disappointment.

  Rachel’s phone was on the nightstand and when she checked it, she saw that it was 5:15. Figuring there was no way she was going to get back to sleep, she quietly made her way into the kitchen.

  Grandma Tate was already there. The kitchen smelled of fresh-brewed coffee. She was sitting at the kitchen table, reading from her Bible. Rachel had known that her grandmother believed in God but had never known her to be the type to wake up early to read scripture. Rachel almost decided to back away and leave her grandmother to her quiet time, but she’d already been heard.

  Grandma Tate looked her way and smiled. “You don’t have to snoop around,” she said. Closing the Bible and sliding it to the side, she added, “Grab a cup of coffee and come join me.”

  Rachel did as asked, mixing her coffee the way she liked and taking the seat opposite her grandmother at the table.

  “You always wake up this early?” Rachel asked.

  “Every now and then. You?”

  “Only when work requires it.” Rachel then nodded to the Bible with an uncertain smile on her face. “Is this something you always do or is it because of the diagnosis?”

  “No, I don’t typically pull it out but it has seemed pertinent these last few months, I guess. I don’t even know that it’s providing any comfort. It’s just something to do, you know? A routine.”

  Rachel was certain she was lying but said nothing about it. “How can I help?” Rachel asked.

  “Just by respecting my wishes. I know it’ll get bad at some point. But I don’t want the chemo. I don’t want to go through that. I need you to accept that and be okay with it.”

  It stung because she wondered if she’d ever have a similar conversation with her family. Of course, in her case, chemo likely wouldn’t even work. Her doctor had pretty much come out and said it. The tumor in her head seemed to thrum in response to this thought. She knew it really wasn’t thrumming or moving or speaking, but she sensed it in that moment, all the same.

  “I can do that,” she said as the guilt continued to pierce her.

  “And we can also set up a time for me to come visit to see that great-granddaughter of mine.”

  “Yes, I can help with that, too.”

  Florence sipped from her coffee and got to her feet. “And now, because you’re an early bird like me, I say we get in the kitchen and make breakfast. How about French toast?”

  “I don’t know if I can eat French toast after that second dinner we had at the lanes last night.”

  “I bet you can,” Grandma Tate said, already heading for the kitchen. “Besides, I want you to have a full stomach when you pull out of here in a few hours.”

  Together, they got out all of the ingredients and, just like the night before, there was no talk of Florence’s diagnosis. As Rachel cracked eggs into a bowl, she watched her grandmother mixing up brown sugar and cinnamon, a genuine smile on her face.

  Two years, Rachel thought. That’s longer than I’ve got. I hope she enjoys every day of it.

  With that thought, the only thing that kept the tears from spilling was the smile on Grandma Tate’s face despite the grim future that awaited her. But even that bit of joy was overshadowed by her own wretched secret, a truth that seemed to already be peeling apart her thoughts and dreams of the future while looking for a way out into the light.

  If anything, though, it made her more anxious to get back home to see Peter and Paige. Yes, she was still wrestling with her secret diagnosis, but she also knew that she could take a lesson from Grandma Tate. Maybe telling them would be okay. Maybe she could be brave and strong like Grandma Tate.

  Maybe it was time to tell them after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  She only made a single stop during the seven-and-a-half-hour drive, and that was for a quick snack and to fill up with gas. Perhaps it was the bowling dream or just the overwhelming wait of her own diagnosis now coupled with Grandma Tate’s, but she very badly wanted to see Paige. She wanted to see Peter, too, of course, but her heart ached to see her daughter.


  Because she’d woken up so early and left almost two full hours before she’d originally planned, she arrived home just shy of four o’clock. The house was empty, as it was Thursday and Peter would have taken Paige to soccer practice. It was the one time of the week he intentionally took time off of work to spend daddy-daughter time with her. The routine was soccer, a quick stop for ice cream, and then home to help mommy with dinner.

  Standing in the empty living room for two whole minutes, Rachel almost left the house and headed over to the soccer fields but knew that was silly. They’d be home in less than half an hour. She sat at the kitchen counter contemplating an early glass of wine when she thought of the ease in which Grandma Tate had made her decision to not pursue any treatments. It was a decision Rachel had made in her own mind but had yet to confirm with her doctor. If she truly did only have a year or so left, she’d be damned if she’d spend that bit of time hooked to machines and in a constant state of pain and nausea. More than that, she did not want her daughter’s last vision of her to be a ruin of the woman she’d once been.

  While she had the nerve to do so, she pulled her phone from her pocket and called her doctor’s office, using the number from the business card that had come in the initial packet of information following her diagnosis. It was answered on the second ring by a soft, pleasant voice.

  “Dr. Greene’s office, how can we help today?”

  “Is Dr. Greene available by any chance?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” the receptionist said. Her polite tone made Rachel feel she truly was sorry. “He’s with a patient right now and he has another immediately after that. Could I take a message?”

  Rachel almost said no, but then figured this might be something of an out for her. “Sure. It’s pretty important that he gets it and that it’s accurate, though. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. I’ll type it up right now. What’s the message?”

  “My name is Rachel Gift, and I’ve decided to not undergo any treatments based on my current diagnosis.”

  There was the briefest hesitation on the other line and when the receptionist did speak, she lacked some of the warmth that had been in her voice only moments ago. “Yes, okay, I’ve got that. Would you like Dr. Greene to call you back?”

  “He can if he’d like to, but it’s not necessary. Thank you.”

  “Okay, then,” the receptionist said, still not quite herself. “You have a great afternoon.”

  Rachel hung up, surprised to find just how much freedom she now felt as a result of the call. It was as if vocalizing it—even if just to her doctor’s receptionist—made it more real. It helped her to understand how Grandma Tate had been able to break the news so easily.

  With her phone still in her hand, Rachel opened up her Notes app. She thought of bowling with Grandma Tate and eating that delicious, greasy food. All small things, but enjoyable. It was how Grandma Tate seemed to want to spend the rest of her days. With that in mind, Rachel starting typing, making a list.

  The first item was Paris. Then, without even thinking too hard about it, the next item on her list was reconcile with dad. She looked at that one for several moments, wondering where the hell it had even come from. She’d given up any hope of mending that relationship years ago. And the bastard likely wouldn’t even meet with her or be interested in any sort of reconciliation anyway. It had been over ten years since she’d seen him and as far as she was concerned, it would be the last.

  To get away from those thoughts, she continued the list with a third item: Disney trip for Paige. She was thinking of what other items to include in this written record of what she wanted to get done before she died when she heard the front door opening. She closed the app and pocketed her phone as she walked into the living room to meet her family. When she saw Paige enter through the doorway, she got choked up and did her best not to rush the girl and sweep her up in a dramatic embrace.

  Instead, she knelt down and opened her arms as naturally as possible. Paige came rushing to her in her soccer outfit while Peter came in behind her. She wondered if they’d ever looked more perfect. Paige was the spitting image of her father, their dark hair and slightly pointed chins hard to miss. As Paige came in with her bright smile and her short-cut hair bobbing up and down, Peter trailed behind, carrying his briefcase as well as Paige’s school bookbag. As he watched his daughter and wife hugging, he said, “You’re home earlier than I expected.”

  “I left earlier than I’d planned,” she said. She released Paige and then hugged Peter. As she kissed him softly on the cheek, he whispered in her ear. He asked a question and even though it was not about her, she felt guilty. And she knew exactly why.

  “How is she? Is everything okay?”

  “Come in the kitchen with me, would you?” she asked. They broke the hug and Rachel instantly looked to Paige. “You got homework?”

  “Just a little bit. One worksheet.”

  “Okay. Listen…I need to talk to Daddy about private grown-up stuff for just a few minutes. Can you go ahead and knock that worksheet out while we talk in the kitchen?”

  The frown on her face indicated that she was not a fan of this idea, but Paige nodded. She took the bookbag from her father and unzipped it, rummaging around for the worksheet. Rachel took Peter by the hand and led him into the kitchen. She could see by the grim expression on his face that he pretty much already knew bad news was coming.

  Rachel leaned against the kitchen counter and Peter stood close to her. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  “I am, yes. But Grandma Tate found out that she has breast cancer. They caught it on the late side and she’s made the decision to not get any treatments for it.”

  Peter looked baffled for a moment but did a good job of keeping his voice low when he said, “No treatments? Why did she make that decision?”

  “She doesn’t want her final days muddied and messy by medicines that might only give her another year or so.” She smiled thinly and added: “She truly seems at peace with it.”

  “So how long does she have?”

  “A year and a half. Maybe two years at most.”

  “Oh my God,” Peter said. He looked back into the living room, making sure Paige had not decided to play spy. “Does she need anything?”

  “Not right now, no. Just our support and to help plan a weekend or so when she can come up and see Paige for a while.”

  “Do you think we tell Paige? Or should we leave that for your grandmother?”

  “I think we leave it to Grandma Tate. And we could be there to help answer questions about what it all means.”

  They both looked out to the living room then, where Paige was obediently filling out her worksheet at the coffee table. “Well, when it gets to the…to the end, we’ll do whatever we can,” Peter said. “Anything we can do to make her comfortable, you know?”

  Rachel nodded, wondering what his reaction would be if she came forward with her own diagnosis. The stress, the worry…it would be terrible. And then there would be trying to explain it to Paige. The idea of it broke her heart and she had to look away from her.

  “You’re okay, for real?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah. Like I said, she seemed to be in a really good place with it.”

  “Well, if it’s too heavy and the drive back was too much, we can cancel our plans tonight. What do you think?”

  “Plans?” But as soon as she said it, she remembered. “Shit, that’s right. Terry’s birthday party. I totally forgot.”

  “I’ll call him and tell him we can’t make it.”

  “No, let’s go. And maybe you can drive. I think a few drinks with friends might be exactly what I need right now. Do you think you can call the sitter?”

  “Yes, I can drive. And I’ll call the sitter.”

  “And maybe order pizza for dinner?” Rachel said. “I think I’d like to spend the evening with Paige before we go. I missed her quite a bit while I was in Aiken.”

  “It was just two days. You’re
gone longer on bureau trips…a lot longer sometimes.” There was concern in his voice, and a bit of warmth. Peter always liked it when Rachel was verbal about how much she missed them when she was away for a case. She wasn’t the most vulnerable of people, and he latched on to this show of emotion whenever it raised its head.

  “I know,” she said, struggling with tears. “Maybe it was just the news, or Grandma Tate focusing on trying to spend some time with her.”

  Peter leaned forward and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Do what you need to do. I’ll call the pizza in.”

  Rachel walked slowly back into the living room, giving herself time to regroup. She sat on the couch by Paige and saw that the worksheet was for counting by fives. Paige was nearly done, her little tongue sticking out in concentration.

  I won’t be here much longer, kiddo, she thought as she watched her work. You deserve to have a mother, but you don’t deserve the pain of learning that you’re going to lose her far too early. I don’t know what to do and I’m so afraid you’re going to suffer because of my cowardice.

  She kept it all inside, though, sitting on it as if she were hiding a bomb that might very well explode at any moment. She knew it would blow at any given moment, but her concern was keeping her family safe when it did.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Peter! Rachel!”

  Terry McCreedy greeted them as they came in through his front door. “Drinks are in the kitchen, food is on the counter, and the last thirty-five years of my life are…” He stopped here, looked dramatically behind him, and then shrugged. “Well, I don’t know where the fuck they went!”

  Terry did not look thirty-five. He looked closer to twenty-five, the type of guy who looked like he might be on his way out the door to go surfing in Maui or cliff diving in South America. Tonight, his long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, as if to ward off the northern end of the thirties, keeping forty as far away as possible.