Second Chances in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #3)

13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

T he oncologist, Dr. Meskal, was a tall, slender man with gray hair and gray eyes. He did not mince words but took time to answer all their questions. Angie’s mother and sisters had accompanied her to the appointment, insisting on going in with her to see the doctor. One of the nurses had to bring extra chairs into the exam room. Maureen brought a small steno notepad and took copious notes. It was just as well, as Angie would only remember half of what he told her. Luckily, between her mother and Maureen and Nadine, they asked all the questions, even ones Angie hadn’t thought of. Maybe they were right; it wouldn’t have been a good idea to go in there alone.

First there would be a lumpectomy, along with a sentinel biopsy of local lymph nodes to see if the cancer had spread. The results of that sentinel biopsy would determine the course of treatment and whether or not she’d need both chemotherapy and radiation.

The visit had been sobering. Somehow the discussion of surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation had brought it all home. That period between her appointment with Dr. Acker and her appointment with Dr. Meskal had been a time of limbo, but now that she had a date for surgery—a lumpectomy—suddenly, things felt very real.

Her mother and sisters had only dropped her off at home in the last half hour, and as she went over the details of the oncologist visit in her mind, she acknowledged something she’d refused to think about since she’d received her diagnosis: She might die from this. Only forty, this might be the end of the road for her. Coffee Girl, everything she’d worked for, might have been for nothing if she wasn’t around to see it.

What else did she have to show for her life, other than a successful business? Coffee Girl was now a staple in Lavender Bay, but it had come at the cost of any kind of personal life. Nearing forty, children did not seem to be in the cards, more so now with her recent diagnosis. She didn’t travel, and other than her sisters, cousins, and Debbie, she didn’t really see that many people. She hadn’t taken a vacation where she actually left Lavender Bay since before she opened the café.

Had she missed out? In being so consumed by her business, had life passed her by? Should she have had more balance? She honestly didn’t know. There was no regret about the time she’d spent building up her business. But did she regret not doing other things? She wasn’t sure.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. She frowned. Because she was so rarely home, visitors hardly ever graced her doorstep.

Tom stood on the porch, holding a Dutch oven in his hands and a box of Premium saltine crackers beneath his arm. Before she could say anything, he said, “Melissa told me you were home.”

She stepped back to let him in.

“I brought you some of my world-famous chicken noodle soup,” he said.

“World-famous?”

“Yes, in the world of Lavender Bay.”

“I’m glad you clarified that.” She led him toward the kitchen. “But you didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Yes I did. Besides, you won’t get soup that tastes better than this.”

“Actually, your timing is perfect. I was just thinking about what I wanted for lunch.”

“Good.” He set the pot on the stove and turned on the burner.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “Tea, coffee?”

“Nah, I’m good, I’m drinking that stuff all day long at work.”

Angie laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

He leaned against the counter, folded his arms across his chest, and crossed his ankles, a pose that was becoming familiar to her. She sat at the kitchen table and crossed her legs.

“I wanted to see how you made out today with the oncologist,” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wait.”

“It’s all right. I planned to call you anyway, I was only sitting here gathering my thoughts.” She filled him in on what Dr. Meskal had told her.

He nodded. “Has the surgery been scheduled?”

“Yes. Ten days.”

“Are you scared?”

“I don’t know what I am,” she admitted.

“Understandable. It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“Yes.”

She looked over toward the pot on the stove. The soup bubbled and steam rose from it, filling her kitchen with a rich herby aroma “Chicken noodle, huh?”

“Smells great, doesn’t it,” he said. His self-assuredness was attractive.

“Let’s see if it’s as good as you say it is. Will you join me?” she asked, standing from the table.

“Sure,” he said.

Angie pulled down two bowls and set them on the counter next to the stove. From a drawer, she grabbed a ladle and handed it to Tom, who used it to dish out the soup. She pulled a sleeve of crackers out of the box and set it in the middle of the table with the butter dish, then gathered spoons and knives. Tom carried over two steaming bowls and joined her at the table. Angie’s stomach growled in anticipation.

She spooned up some soup, noting the celery, carrots, noodles, and generous pieces of tender chicken. She blew on the spoon to cool it down before slipping it into her mouth.

The soup was delicious. She took a second spoonful, then a third, trying to figure out that mystery spice.

“This is probably the best soup I’ve ever had,” she said.

Tom grinned. “I told you.”

“What’s your secret ingredient?”

“Now if I tell you, it won’t be secret anymore,” he said.

“If you told me, you’d have to kill me? Ha-ha.”

“Nah, you’re too pretty to kill.”

Her spoon froze halfway to her mouth. Had he just said she was pretty? He must have, because he coughed to cover up that slip.

This was interesting.

Glossing over it, she asked, “Do you serve this at Java Joe’s?” She should really go across the street and try some of the items on his menu if the soup was anything to go by.

“No, it’s a family recipe from my grandmother, who was Polish. She was a great cook. She used to watch my brother and me after school until my parents got home from work. We helped her with a lot of her cooking.”

They drifted onto the pleasant subject of grandparents, and over a second bowl of soup, she shared with him how her grandparents had lived with them. After he left, she thought it had been a pleasant way to pass the time: eating good soup and remembering important people.