Bret, her ex, he was not a breast man, not by a long shot. Bret was a man’s man, as it were, and while it ruined their marriage, it never ruined their love for each other. Bret, her ex, had been there for her just like Siena had.
The only one who wasn’t there was Viv. She was outside of this body. She was hovering on the margin of her vitality. Her life.
Life. She was sure it was over. She agreed with everyone’s affirmations. She played the role of a positive thinker. But inside, things weren’t so sunny.
She was Vivian Blackwood of Vivian Blackwood Designs. They told her to try to hold on to her creativity during her treatment. But try as she might, the ideas weren’t coming. The joy she used to feel in her career, in her life, was gone.
She sat at her drawing table, and nothing came.
She walked outside with her sketch book and wound up scrawling random shapes.
Viv had been the queen of great clothes for career women. She built a business that had suited women from board rooms to courtrooms. She used to have a fire for it. Had the radiation fried her creativity and the cancer? It felt like that.
Viv hadn’t said it to anyone, but in her mind, even though she was “fine,” it felt like she needed to get her affairs in order. That was the bottom line.
She was the artist. Siena was the organizer. Bret was the cheerleader and number cruncher. But none of it worked without Viv’s designs.
She needed to wean them from depending on her creativity. Poor choice of words, she supposed. But that was it. She had no inspiration. She barely had the strength to get out of bed. She’d been faking it every single day since her diagnosis.
Viv knew her daughter and Bret would be okay without her to lead them. But that "okay" state seemed far away for her, unattainable. How did people do this? How did they shake off the worry?
During the doctor visits, the things they said about her prognosis echoed in her mind.
“Of course, we’re going to want to do a monthly check, then six weeks. And then after that, every three months, and then six, and so on as we get further down the line.”
Siena had written down all the information, as usual. Viv had nodded. Four weeks, three months, six months. Why not no more checks? Why not just say you’re fine? Go forth and live your life. They didn’t say that because that wasn’t possible.
It was autumn when this had started. Eight months ago? Was that right?
She’d spent more time in hospital gowns than in her own clothing designs this year.
She was lost in her thoughts as Siena took the wheel on the way back home.
As Siena drove, there was a lilt in her voice and a smile on her lips. Viv stared out the window. She noticed the buds on the trees. It was spring. She’d made it to spring. That was something.
When they got back to the house, Bret and his partner, Travis, were waiting with champagne. They hugged her gently. She was still sore.
But it wasn’t really soreness. It was numbness. Her chest felt numb where her breasts used to be.
But deeper in, where no hug could reach, it wasn’t numb. It was pulsating fear.
ChapterTwo
Siena
“Honey, I promise you, this is the best place! We cannot wait to get you here.”
“Aunt Goldie, I appreciate it. You can’t know how much.” Siena was doing everything she could to keep the business going in the wake of her mom’s cancer.
This idea was her best and most risky. It had to work.
Aunt Goldie was Goldie Hayes to the world. She was Siena’s biological mother. Aunt Goldie was like Santa Claus to her. Aunt Goldie was always the vacation, the surprise under the tree, the sunny day. They needed Goldie right now.
Last year, Aunt Goldie had done something shocking.
She’d moved from Hollywood back to Michigan. In the middle of a P.R. crisis, her aunt had taken control and shocked everyone with her next move.
Along with being a movie star, she was now running a lakeside hotel, of all things. Her main base of operation had moved from Beverly Hills to the Irish Hills.
