Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

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      I had to strain to make out the words. I’d been sixteen during my first illness and I hadn’t known what I do now or even what I did the second time. The day I learned the tumor had grown back was the worst of my life. I was well aware of what lay ahead and in some ways death seemed preferable.

      I knew what this could mean to my sister, and I couldn’t hide my reaction. “I was frightened, too,” I told her.

      Her grip on my hand tightened briefly.

      “How long have you been keeping this to yourself?” I asked and gently smoothed the hair away from her face.

      “Five days,” she whispered and then added urgently, “I want you to promise me something.”

      “Of course,” I assured her. Margaret had never asked anything of me before and I was willing to comply, no matter what.

      “Don’t tell Mom.”

      I hated keeping secrets from our mother but in this case I agreed with Margaret. It was useless to upset Mom until we had the facts.

      “Thank you,” she whispered, clearly relieved.

      “Anything, Margaret. You know that.”

      Her gaze held mine. “Would you …” She hesitated. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but would you go to the doctor with me?”

      “Of course.” I’d been planning to offer.

      She seemed shocked. “You’d do that?”

      I nodded.

      “You’d have to close the shop.”

      “I won’t let you face this alone.”

      Her eyes swam with tears and I reached for a box of tissues and handed her one. Then, because I’ve always regretted that Margaret and I aren’t close, I put my arms around her.

      “I’ll be with you, Margaret.”

      “Thank you.” She sobbed against my shoulder for a minute before she regained her composure. Breaking away from me, she blew her nose and sniffled. “I’ll do what I can to get the appointment on a Monday—but if I can’t …”

      “It doesn’t matter what time of day it is or even what day,” I insisted. I intended to help my sister through this, no matter what.

      Margaret seemed about to speak when the bell above the door chimed. I wanted to groan at the interruption, but I was in business and my job was to serve my customers. Even at quarter past five …

      The friendly whistle told me it was Brad Goetz, my UPS deliveryman. He wheeled in three large boxes and set them next to the cash register. “How’s it goin’?” he asked as he handed me the computerized clipboard, leaning against the counter.

      “Really well,” I said and quickly signed my name, eager to push him out the door.

      “Every time I come by I see women in the shop, especially on Friday afternoons.”

      “I’ve got a class then.”

      “That explains it.” He seemed oblivious to my efforts to steer him toward the exit. “I bet you’re pretty beat at the end of the day.”

      “Some days,” I agreed.

      He grinned then, as if he’d made his point. “So why don’t you relax and have a drink with me?”

      This was his second invitation and of all the bad luck, he had to ask me in front of my sister.

      “You should go,” Margaret said from the back of the shop.

      “Yeah,” Brad said, eagerly leaping on Margaret’s encouragement. “We can stay right here in the neighborhood. There’s a nice bar maybe two blocks away. No commitments, just a few minutes to relax and unwind.”

      “I appreciate the offer, but I’d better not.” I walked over to the door and all but opened it. He still didn’t take the hint.

      Brad raised his hands in frustration and glanced in Margaret’s direction. “Is it something I said?”

      “No … no.” I didn’t want him to think that.

      “Then what is it?”

      “It’s not you,” Margaret called out. “It’s my sister. She’s afraid.”

      I wanted to shout at Margaret to kindly keep her trap shut, but I couldn’t. I much preferred to tell him the truth in some other way and at some other time, but the choice had been taken away from me. Rejecting him over and over again seemed cruel. Although I didn’t want to do it like this, I owed him my honesty.

      “I’ve had cancer,” I said bluntly. “Not once, but twice, and furthermore I don’t have a single guarantee that the tumor won’t grow back again and the next time I might not be so fortunate.”

      “Cancer?” he repeated and from the shocked look on his face I knew it was the last thing he’d expected me to say.

      “The big, ugly scary kind,” I said, unable to hide my sarcasm. “You don’t want to make an emotional investment in me because it might not pay off. That’s the problem with cancer.”

      “I … didn’t know.”

      “Of course you didn’t. How could you? I appreciate the offer,” I said again, and I was sincere about that. “In fact, I’m downright flattered. But I’m saving us both a lot of grief, so please just accept my refusal and leave it at that.” I walked away from him and went to the back of the store where I sank down next to my sister.

      Margaret glared at me.

      I heard the door close as Brad walked out of the shop. “Why did you do that?” my sister demanded.

      “Do what?”

      “Turn him down! What harm would it’ve done to have a beer with the guy?”

      I covered my face with both hands, unwilling to admit that it’d been so long since I’d been on a date, I didn’t know how to act around a man.

      “He’s cute and he’s interested.”

      “I know,” I whispered.

      “You said you started this shop as an affirmation of life.”

      I nodded. “I did—” Margaret didn’t allow me to finish.

      “Then live. Get involved in life, Lydia. You should be thanking your lucky stars a man like that wants to date you. Good grief, what is it with you?”

      “I … I …” I was so disconcerted I couldn’t put two words together.

      “Live, Lydia,” she said again. “Get out there and find out what life’s all about. And do it before you shrivel up—or die.”

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