Chapter 7

SEVEN

Marry me.

The memory of Lennon's voice hasn't faded since he said those words to me two days ago.

Depositions and court filings- you name it -I've poured over nearly every legal document in my office in the hopes of getting my mind off Lennon. His touch. The way his voice sounded when he said the words ‘ when you're my wife,' and the way it made my thighs instinctively clench.

Even his scent still lingers in my office. I haven't been able to get rid of it. I've even gone so far as lighting a few candles and buying a few plug-in air fresheners. Either they haven't worked, or I subconsciously bought ones that smelled exactly like him.

Although I haven't been able to rid my office or mind of his presence, I'm thankful for the certain relief the weekend will bring. It took all I had not to think of Lennon working three floors above me. Since learning Lennon remembered our night about as well as someone suffering from amnesia, it's been difficult knowing he's only a short elevator ride away. Not that I planned on seeing him after his outrageous proposal, but I'd be lying if I didn't imagine what life as Lennon Harding's wife would look like. Even if his reasons are purely for corporate gains versus his actual feelings toward me.

The sun peeks through the windows, and the scent of banana muffins fills every corner of my small, one-bedroom apartment. The brick interior and piles of books on every bookshelf are a stark contrast to the corporate life I lead. Between the apartment and the muffins, I think of my mother. We may have come from a rich family, but my mother never let that stop her from baking.

Muffins, cookies, breads.

You name it, my mother baked it. Luckily for me, she taught me as best she could, and ever since, I've found it's a great stress reliever.

I'm sliding my tray of banana muffins out of the oven when the lock on my front door twists and clicks. Roe struggles with her key before finally yanking it out. Her hair is tied in a tight ponytail. The end swishes across her back as she dramatically closes the door behind her.

"Just in time!" I yell over my shoulder, turning back to my creation. "Muffins just came out."

"You really need to get that lock adjusted. My key always gets stuck," she says, dropping her keys on the counter.

I crack a smile and turn off the oven. "I should have left it unlocked since I knew you were coming over."

It feels like it's been ages since I've seen or spoken to my sister. Despite her text message the other day, she didn't bother to call me back until last night. With quick hands, I pop two muffins out of the pan and place them on a plate. After grabbing a knife and the tub of butter from the refrigerator, I spin around to face Roe. She's sitting on the opposite side of the counter with her arms resting on the top. The space under her eyes is slightly darker than the last time I saw her. I think. It's been a while so I can't be certain.

"You're either stressed or you're seeing someone."

I hold my knife mid-slice. Steam billows through the crack I've created in the bread. The heat wanders up to what I'm sure is a suspicious expression on my face—one my sister most likely can read.

"What makes you say that?" I laugh.

"Because…" She holds up three fingers and points at each of them. "You only ever bake when you're stressed, sleeping with someone new and you don't know where you stand with them afterward, or you're dating someone."

I roll my eyes. "Not true."

"It is." She cracks a smile. "So, which one is it?"

I dig out a clump of butter and spread it across the muffin, watching it disappear. Shaking my head, I hand Roe her muffin, then cut into mine.

Once I'm finished with mine, I put the butter back into the refrigerator and look at Roe. The story of Lennon's surprise proposal sits on the tip of my tongue. I played over this moment, imagining the look on her face when I tell her the richest, most eligible bachelor in Boston has asked me to be his wife. I also imagined the expression on her face when I tell her I turned him down.

Because for me, I know a marriage with Lennon would develop as more than transactional on my part, and the possibility of never being more to him solidified my decision in saying no.

It isn't until this moment, as I'm biting into my butter-soaked banana muffin, do I realize my fake marriage to David has done more damage than I thought.

Baking truly is therapeutic.

"It's neither." I swallow my bite. "Everything is fine. I was simply in the mood to bake."

"Does this have to do with the other day at work, after that meeting you told me about? The one with Mr. Wright?"

Goosebumps prickle down the back of my neck. I comb over mine and Roe's texts, wondering if I somehow accidently let it slip about Lennon's proposal.

His hand on my wrist. His deep voice begging me to be his wife.

Marry.

Me.

I inhale a shaky breath and open my mouth to begin my denial, but she stops me.

"Frederick is going through a lot right now with the firm." She places her elbow on the counter and cradles her chin with her hand. "I'm sure he didn't mean it when he said he might have to let you go."

Relief washes over me.

"You may be right." With all the uncertainty of Frederick's law firm, I have considered why I haven't left yet. It's almost as if I see it coming down the line. I'm standing on the tracks, watching as the train comes barreling toward me, blasting its horn a thousand times in warning. But still, I stay.

I stay because of my family name. I stay despite the way my uncle undermines my ability to be a good lawyer more times than he's placed his faith in me. Maybe I'm staying in the hopes I can somehow turn the eyes of the city back onto us with admiration instead of pity.

While swiping my mouth with my napkin, my eyes fall to Roe's untouched plate.

"What's going on with you?" I ask her, tilting my head to the side. "Are you and Steven okay?"

She blinks and her eyebrows rise. "Of course. What made you ask?"

I shrug. "I just haven't seen him in a while."

"Oh." She frowns, picking at her muffin. "Right. He's just been busy traveling, looking for new works and exhibits to buy for the museum." Her eyes remain focused on her muffin.

I dip my head lower to pull her attention back. "What's up, Roe?"

When she swings her gaze up to mine, my heart cracks and splinters. With two large, glassy eyes, tears line her lashes, spilling over the second she blinks.

She hiccups as she inhales a splintering breath.

My heart drops. When we were eight, I sat with her as she cried after her best friend told her she didn't want to play with her at recess anymore. When we were sixteen, she'd climbed into my bed in the middle of the night, sobbing, telling me she'd just given her virginity to her boyfriend, and immediately after, before they both re-dressed, he broke up with her.

But the pain in Roe's eyes then is a different depth than the one I see now.

"I need to tell you something." She sniffs. Her chin quivers, and I hold my breath.

"Okay," I whisper.

"I, um…" Her voice trembles. "I have cancer."

When the main character in nearly every novel I've read hears devastating news or tragedy strikes, they always describe it in great detail. Unsteady and knocked off balance; the world crumbles at their feet. Their vision grows blurry, and the ringing in their ears is so loud, it feels as if they've been submerged under water.

But none of it is true.

The world falls silent. Painstakingly silent.

I don't hear my shallow, ragged breaths. I don't hear Roe's uncontrollable sobs climbing from her chest.

There's only silence. Seconds pass before I'm able to hear again.

"What?" I manage to ask. "What do you mean you have cancer?"

"I went to the doctor a few weeks ago." She's sniffing as she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "My back had been hurting and I couldn't think of anything that might have caused it. After they took a scan and ran some tests, they found cancerous cells in my cervix."

"Isn't that treatable?"

"Normally, it is. But the cells have spread, and they found a tumor attached to my lung on the scan."

Next thing I know I'm wrapping my arms around my sister and pulling her to me. She rests her chin on my shoulder, then shifts her head to bury her face into it. Her tears soak into my shirt, but I don't care. I hold my sister, thinking of all the moments in the past few weeks when I've noticed a shift in her appearance. In her mood. I hold her and think of all the times we've been there for each other.

After a few minutes, she loosens her arms around me, pulling away.

"So, what's the treatment plan? I'm assuming they have one, right?" I've gone into planning mode. My tears haven't exactly dried, but the initial shock has faded enough for me to start asking questions.

"I'm supposed to start the first round of chemo next week, then after eight weeks they want to do surgery to remove the tumor on my lung. Combined with the size and where it's sitting, it's too dangerous to remove it without shrinking it first."

I nod and digest what she's telling me. It's hard to concentrate on her every word when my heart is still breaking with her news.

"Okay," I tell her, lifting my hand to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. I slide onto the barstool next to her. "I'll be there for you. Whatever you need."

"Thank you." Her bottom lip begins to wobble again and another tear spills from her eye. "But I won't be able to do the treatment."

"What do you mean? Of course you're doing the treatment."

"Well, since I started working freelance, only selling my pieces one at a time, I have no insurance of my own. I only have Steven's medical insurance. And after my diagnosis, I found out they will only cover twenty percent of the chemotherapy and none of the surgery."

"What the fuck?" My skin burns with anger.

"Yeah," she chuckles. "Turns out our medical insurance isn't that great."

"I'll give you what I can." I don't hesitate, trying to remember the amount of money I currently have sitting in my bank account. "It isn't much, but it has to be worth something."

With my uncle keeping me as junior lawyer at the firm, and with our brother tarnishing our family name, my income hasn't exactly been up to par for a Harvard Law graduate.

"Treatments are thousands and thousands, Laurel. Not to mention the surgery alone will be insane. If Steven and I hadn't used my trust that Mom and Dad left me to buy our house and pay off my tuition to pay for my master's degree, we'd be able to afford it. But there's simply nothing left." My sister swipes at her cheeks. "I can't ask you to pay for it, Laurel."

"You're not asking me. I'm offering."

"No. I won't allow you to go broke because of me."

"It's not as if you're asking me to buy you an expensive purse or pay for you to go on some ridiculous trip," I cry. "I can't sit by and do nothing. We'll figure out a way. What did Steven say? Surely he or his family can help."

"His family never agreed to our marriage. We haven't spoken to them in years." She looks right at me. "We can't ask them."

"Okay." I slap my hands on my lap and run my hands along my thighs. "We'll talk to Frederick. Maybe he can?—"

"No," she cuts me off. "I'm not asking him for money. The law firm is losing money by the week. Plus, I don't want anyone else to know. At least not yet."

"You have cancer, Roe." My vocal admission makes me want to vomit. Somehow saying it out loud makes it even more real, as if that makes a difference. The cancer is still inside her, threatening to consume her.

"I'm aware," she clips back with watery eyes. "That's why it's my decision on who gets to know and when."

I'm falling apart. Maybe what they write in novels is true.

The pain swirls and transforms in her eyes. With the way our brother effortlessly ruined our family's reputation, it's difficult for Roe to trust. Same could be said for me.

"Of course." I swallow the rock in my throat.

"Please. The last thing we need is for a rumor to spread about how one of the Branford daughters is sick and they can't afford treatments. After the publicity covering Kellan's case, and Mom and Dad's death years ago, this will only make it worse. I refuse to be the victim in a family already suffering from greed and grief." She wraps her hands around mine and squeezes them. I feel absolutely helpless. I want to take her pain away. I want to wake up and realize this is all a very, very bad dream. But it isn't.

Her hands wrapped around mine are real, and the drying tears on her cheeks are cold, hard evidence.

Resentment and rage bubble to the surface. I don't often think about Kellan. After his sentencing, I made a promise to myself to never think about him or talk to him again. The sting of what he did only worsened our parents' deaths. He'd taken the legacy our father had built and completely destroyed it.

"I know it isn't fair to ask you," Roe continues. "But you and Steven are the only ones who need to know. At least for now."

"But what about the money?"

"I told you." She gives me a weak, reassuring smile. "I'll figure it out. Don't worry."

"But what happens if you don't?" I'm not entirely sure I want to know her answer. Or maybe I already know it. I just don't want to hear it spoken out loud into existence.

"I don't know." She shrugs and runs her thumb across the back of my hand. "The probability of me surviving the chemo and surgery is low, Laurel. It might not even work."

"Don't say that!" I cry, pulling her close. I cradle her head in my hands and hold her against my chest. Her small arms wrap tightly around me. I've never seen Roe this vulnerable. This scared.

I hold my sister until her tears have dried and her shoulders have stopped shaking. Insistent on going home, Roe eventually leaves my apartment an hour later. She never did eat her muffin. I toss it in the trash and slide the plate in the dishwasher. The echo of our conversation vibrates against the walls, and I find myself crawling into bed before the sun has completely gone down.

It takes me longer than usual to fall asleep.

I lie curled under the safety of my sheets, but when I close my eyes, all I see is Roe. I see all the times she was there for me growing up. I see her teaching me how to write my name. I see her placing flowers in my hair for prom. I even see her positioning my matching birthday crown on my head the night of my nineteenth birthday.

But amidst all the memories rolling through my mind like a movie reel, worry and reality nestle in between each clip. My stomach wobbles with the uncertainty of the future, and thinking about the future makes me think of my mother, then thinking about my mother makes it a struggle to breathe.

Unable to stop my thoughts, I scramble out of bed looking for a solution and check my bank accounts. Every single one. There's enough to help Roe with her surgery, but it would take all the money I have. Fiery anger burns in my chest, my hate for my brother Kellan growing. It's been two years since he was convicted, but the pain and agony he caused our family hasn't waned. The damage he left behind hasn't faded. If only Kellan hadn't stolen my inheritance, Roe would have all the money she would need.

When my eyes feel like they're about to pop out of my head, I slap my laptop shut and climb back into bed. I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling, replaying the movie of today in my mind. But when my brain finally decides to shut off, and the movie comes to its climactic end, my eyes grow heavy. And before my mind completely fades to black, one more thought creeps in.

No matter what, I'll find a way to help Roe. Because I'll do anything for those I love.