“Mom!” Linney and I shout at the same time, both of us lunging toward her.
She’s already blinking, thank god, trying to push herself upright, dazed but conscious. “I’m fine,” she insists, breathless.
In that moment, I hear the echo of everyI’m finethat either of us has ever said through gritted teeth, when in fact the exact opposite was true.
“You’renotfine,” I snap, adrenaline buzzing under my skin. “You just collapsed.”
“It’s the heat.” She waves a trembling hand. “I just got a little lightheaded.”
Dad and Linney each take an arm, helping her sit up. She’s pale—too pale—and sweating through her makeup. The photographerand bridal party hover for a moment before Cara gently tells them we need a minute, and they all drift toward the house. Nate backs up, too, giving us space, but he doesn’t go far.
We manage to guide Mom onto one of the benches inside the gazebo. She keeps trying to bat our hands away, muttering that she’s embarrassed, that she just needs a sip of water, that we’re all overreacting.
“Mom…” Linney says quietly, worry pinching her voice.
“Itisjust exhaustion,” Mom insists again, more sharply this time. “It has nothing to do with—”
“With what?” Cooper asks, stepping closer.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. “I’m f—”
“Joan,” Cara says softly, stepping forward for the first time. “I think you have to tell them.”
I freeze.Tell us what?Why does Cara sound like she already knows something?
“What are you talking about?” I demand. “Mom, what is she talking about?”
Mom looks at Cara, and something passes between them—something heavy, resigned. And in that gaze, I feel it—I feel the heaviness of whatever this secret is.
I glance over at Nate, and I see it in his eyes too.
My heart plunges into my gut as Mom exhales, as if she’s been holding her breath for weeks. Maybe months.
Her eyes come back to mine. They’re full of apology. And fear.
Oh no.
Oh no.
“Mom?”
“I’m not—I’m not well, Nikki.” Oh no. Tears are already springing to my eyes, ruining my makeup, as she admits: “I’m sick.”
I look from her to Dad. He opens his mouth to say something, but can’t get anything out. It seems like the scaffolding holding him up is about to cave in, but I watch as he steels himself. He curls an arm around Mom protectively and manages a nod.
From beside me, I hear Linney ask Graham to take the kids back to the house. Once they’re out of earshot, Mom clears her throat. “I have cancer again. It… it came back.” It’s almost a whisper, but it tears through me just like that fine tear in Cara’s veil, and I feel ripped in half instantly.
A soft keening cry goes up from Linney, and Pete wraps an arm around her.
Mom takes a deep breath and continues. Her tone is matter-of-fact, like she’s explaining how to read a recipe. “We’d been optimistic about a trial treatment, but their funding got cut off, and…” She falters, but presses forward. “And the diagnosis isn’t great.”
Nausea washes over me. All the moments when Mom hasn’t been herself since I’ve been back. The fainting spells. The long looks.Oh my god: and the obsession with getting this wedding together. It all falls into horrible and stark relief.
Dad clears his throat. “We’ve been looking for a short-term rental in Atlanta while your mom is in treatment,” Dad says.
More pieces of the puzzle come together: the short conversations with the Musgroves, the real estate listings.
“So you aren’t selling the house?” My voice cracks on the question. I feel like a fool for being so concerned about the house. I’d sell ten thousand houses if it meant Mom was well.
