Page 7 of Dancing in the Rain

“I know.” She paused. “Would you like to meet with them instead?”

He actually considered it for about two seconds, but she knew he wasn’t as up to speed as he’d need to be to talk to them tomorrow. “No. Let me know what you work out.”

“I will. I’ll be in touch. Thanks, Gord.”

She gave him a brief smile as she walked out. Nope, not even an expression of concern for Sara, like “Hope your sister’s okay” or “Take care.” But she knew better than to expect that from him.

That was okay. Gord was an intelligent man with many good skills, but people skills weren’t part of his makeup. Peyton had learned a lot from him, but she’d also learned about the kind of leadernotto be. Unfortunately, dealing with him was taking up more and more of her energy when she should have been focusing that energy on her job, the one she’d moved to New York to take, the one that was going to grow her career in reputation management.

She paused at Aaron’s desk. “Thank you for everything,” she said to him. “You’re amazing. I know I can rely on you to keep things afloat this week.” Aaron’s hard work and loyalty were invaluable.

He beamed at her words of appreciation. “Thank you. Whatever I can do, I’m here.”

She stayed late at the office to try to wrap up and reschedule as many things as she could. Her neck was aching as she finally shut down her laptop and slid it into its bag, then walked through the quiet offices toward the elevator of the Park Avenue high-rise.

Outside, traffic had eased somewhat on the Manhattan streets in the fall evening. Eschewing the subway, she hailed a taxi to take her to her Chelsea apartment. She stared out the window as they drove, thinking about Chloe’s call and about her sister.

Life was so fucking unfair sometimes.

Fucking cancer.

Since learning about Sara’s diagnosis, she’d had that thought more than once. She’d already been through a range of emotions that she recognized as grief, even though Sara was still alive. At first she’d been in shock, denying that it was possible her sister could die. It couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. It was unthinkable. There’d been the ups and downs of Sara’s treatment, times when Peyton was sure that Sara would be okay, then times when they got more bad news. Then she’d been angry. She’d questioned her decision to move to New York for her career, leaving Sara and Chloe in Chicago, and wondered if it would make a difference if she moved back. There’d been times she’d been so sad and down, she wasn’t sure she could go on. Things were okay right now, but she wasn’t sure she would say she’d accepted things yet.

In her apartment, she stood for a moment, overwhelmed with it all. She had no idea how long she’d be gone. Was this going to be a short trip to make sure Sara was okay? Or…

Her head dropped. She swallowed through a tight throat.

What if this was the end?

As someone who liked to plan and be in control of things, she wanted to scream and cry and pound her fists against a wall at this uncertainty, this being at the mercy of a fucking brutal disease.

She straightened her shoulders and sucked in a long breath, heading toward her bedroom. She had to pack. It didn’t matter what she took. If she ended up overpacking, whatever. If she ended up staying longer and needing more things, she’d go buy them. None of that was important in the face of Sara’s suffering. And Chloe’s.

She took off her suit and hung it in the closet, changing into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. She threw a bunch of stuff into a big suitcase. Her toiletry bag was mostly already packed, stocked with travel-size containers of her favorite products for the frequent trips she’d recently made home to Chicago.

When her stomach gave a rumble of hunger, she paused in her packing to make a grilled cheese sandwich, watching the news as she ate. She’d have to be up early to get to JFK so she should go to bed, but she knew sleeping was going to be a problem as she worried about Sara and Chloe.

Somehow she managed to get a few hours’ sleep, get herself out of bed, out the door, and to the airport. It was close to noon when she arrived at her sister’s Chicago home, which was the house they’d both grown up in.

She had a key and let herself in. She heard faint voices coming from upstairs, and she left her suitcase in the foyer and climbed the stairs, the voices becoming more audible. Laughter from an audience told her the television was on. She paused outside the master bedroom and gave a slow knock on the door before walking in.

Sara lay on the bed, dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt, on top of the covers, smiling at the TV. Her head, wrapped in a colorful scarf, turned and her eyes widened. “Peyton!”

Peyton smiled and crossed toward the bed, watching Sara try to scramble off it. It was clearly an effort for her. “Stay where you are, you goof.” She bent and hugged her sister. God. She was so thin, Peyton felt only knobs and bumps.

“What are you doing here?”

Peyton sighed. “Scoot over.”

Sara shifted and Peyton climbed onto the bed beside her. She toed off her ballet flats and let them drop to the floor then stretched her legs out in front of her and adjusted a big pillow behind her back. “Chloe called me yesterday.”

“Oh, no, she didn’t.”

“She did. Don’t be mad. She’s worried about you.”

Sara gave a huff. “Hell.”

“She’s eleven, Sara. She’s scared.”

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