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Beatrice turns to face me. “Are you afraid you’ll get cancer too?”
“Yes.” My stomach twists, and emotion constricts my lungs. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
“They have genetic testing for cancer, you know.”
“I know.”
“Will you get tested to see if you’ve inherited the gene?”
My eyes roam the store, not focusing on anything in particular as thoughts race through my mind. “I’m not sure I want to know. I think knowing makes it worse.”
She nods. “Or it could make planning for your future a little easier, instead of writing off the idea of a family altogether.”
“I’m just ...” I try to speak around the boulder lodged in my throat, and my voice comes out like a whisper. “I’m scared.”
Beatrice pulls me against her, and squeezes me tight. “It’s okay to be scared. Whether you have the gene or not, you should live your life the same. Would your mother have gone back in time and decided not to have a child because she had cancer? I highly doubt that.”
A tear escapes down my cheek. “She’d have made the same choices. I know she would’ve.”
“You’re absolutely right.” She pats my arm, and pulls back. “I lost my son in a car accident. No parent should ever have to bury her child. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever been faced with. But does that mean the time we had together wasn’t worth it because he was taken too soon?” She pauses. “Everything we go through in this life is worth it—the good and the bad. It makes us who we are, and it’s a part of our journey. So, you need to ask yourself how you want to spend the time you have, however long or short that may be.”
Mom’s words are a whisper in the back of my mind. Live your life to the fullest.
I choke back a sob, and smile through my tears. “I’m so thankful I ended up here in Maine with you, Beatrice Holden.”
“Me too, sugar.” She dabs the corner of her eye with her knuckle. “Me too.”
Beatrice makes me model every single piece of clothing she picked out, and I can’t argue with her—they look great. But my favorite is the one I picked out: A short and flirty skater dress with thin straps over my shoulders. The bandeau top ties at my cleavage, and has a small peekaboo cutout under my breasts. It’s black with tiny white daisies all over it, and it makes me smile.
I seem to be doing a lot of that here.
Smiling.
Maybe Jenny was right.
Maybe Stella’s getting her groove back after all.
Bryce
After a long day of sanding, I’m looking forward to submerging my sore muscles in the cool water of the pool.
I pack up my tools, and make my way into the backyard. Charly sways on the porch swing, staring down at a piece of paper in her lap, and the porch light shines down on her like a spotlight.
I hold up my arm like a shield over my face. “I am approaching the porch. Don’t throw any punches.”
She looks up and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
That fact shouldn’t affect me the way it does.
I arch a brow, and gesture to the paper in her lap. “Finally writing down those house rules?”
“No, this is a different kind of list.” She holds it up so I can see. “I made a bucket list for my mother, and we didn’t get to finish everything on it before ...” Her voice softens. “She said she wanted me to finish it without her.”
My heart aches for the loss I’m all too familiar with. “I’ve always thought bucket lists were kind of morbid.”
“They really are. But Mom was excited. Or maybe she was just pretending, for my sake. Either way, we had fun trying to complete it.”
“You’re lucky you got to spend that time with her. To say goodbye.”
