Whispering Rock (Virgin River #3)(79)

“Sure,” Tom said, dropping the debris at his feet and pulling off his gloves. “What’s up?”

“I talked to you about some parties a while ago and—”

“Look, I told you, Mike—I dropped into a couple, just out of curiosity. What’s going on here?”

“I’m looking for something,” he said with a shrug. “Drugs.”

“Drugs?” Tom asked. “I saw a couple of joints passed around. I cut out. You know my dad. I’d be in some military academy if I’d been caught around that stuff. Maybe a penitentiary. I’d be history. He’s not a liberal kind of guy.”

“Yeah,” Mike said with a smile. “I figured that one out all by myself. Actually, I was looking for something else. Something you don’t see every day.”

Tom’s chin dropped and he looked down. “I didn’t see anything,” he said.

“Son. Look me in the eye and say that.”

He lifted his gaze. “Seriously, I left when I saw a couple of joints come out. I got myself grounded for going somewhere they had beer. My dad, he’s not the strictest dad on the books—I’ve had a beer with him. Innocent beer, no driving, no going out to a kegger in the woods, though. But…”

Mike waited. “But?” he finally asked.

“I was already on my way out, and I suspected something was going on.” He shrugged. “Couple of kids breaking from the crowd, doing something a little sly, not gone long. You know?”

“What did you suspect?” Mike asked, his radar up.

“Have no idea. Ecstasy, maybe? Meth? I don’t know. Something sneaky. Man, I wanted no deeper than a beer, seeing a joint from a long, safe distance. I’d be—”

“History,” Mike finished for him. “Who threw the parties where you saw this?”

Tom lowered his gaze again, shaking his head. Then before Mike asked him to look him in the eye, he raised his eyes and said, “Look, I wouldn’t mind getting the little shit in trouble—I’d love that. But really—I have absolutely no idea what might have been going on. If I knew something and thought someone might get hurt, I’d tell you everything, but I can’t rat out a guy for drugs if he might’ve just been exchanging phone numbers. You know?”

Mike was quiet a long moment. Then he said, “I know. Let’s go over who was at those parties again, okay?”

“I can do that,” Tom said.

Twelve

Of all the people in Virgin River Mel could have imagined having a positive mammogram, Lilly Andersen, who had borne and nursed seven children, was the last. Lilly, who was so dear to Mel. But there it was—the radiologist called and said the X-ray was significant. Lilly should see a specialist immediately.

It didn’t sit well with Mel that in addition to this probable diagnosis, Lilly had lost a great deal of weight recently. She hoped and prayed the weight loss was from chasing one-year-old Chloe around.

Chloe. Only four people knew the truth—Mel, Doc, Lilly and Buck Andersen. Everyone thought Chloe had been an abandoned newborn whom Lilly had been fostering since Chloe was three weeks old. But Chloe was her flesh and blood. Lilly’s own child.

Now she had to tell this woman that she might have breast cancer.

“I’m sorry, Lilly. But at least we caught it, and if it’s not good news, you can concentrate on the treatment. I’ve got you set up in Eureka for tomorrow.”

“So soon?” she asked nervously.

“The sooner the better. Can Buck take you over there, or do you need me?”

Lilly, so typical, smiled that gentle, comforting smile of hers, touched Mel’s hand and said, “Don’t worry, Mel. I’ll make Buck take a day off.”

“Want me to talk to him? Because this is important.”

“No, I can handle Buck. But they won’t do anything like operate on me right away, will they?”

“No—but they’ll do a biopsy. They might try to aspirate a lump or do more X-rays and blood work. If surgery is in order, I think they’re going to get to it soon, however. The radiologist described the presence as significant. Have you felt a lump or lumps?”

“Not really—but I’m large and kind of lumpy anyway.”

“Lilly, you’re going to need help with Chloe. I really think you should tell your family the truth about Chloe. Your kids.”

“We’ll get by, Mel. I don’t want you to worry.”

“I’m not worried. Treatment now is good—the survival rate for breast cancer is great. But if you have to undergo treatment, you might not feel well. It seems like they deserve to know. And they’re all wonderful, to the last one. They won’t hold it against you.”

She laughed and said, “If you don’t hold it against me, I guess no one would!”

“You have to remember—if there’s a reaction, it’s only a reaction. And temporary, until the facts settle. Don’t be afraid of them, Lilly. They adore you.”

“I’m lucky that way,” she said.

But that was where Lilly’s luck ended. Her breast cancer was advanced, aggressive and had spread to the lymph system and lungs. After a bilateral radical mastectomy, performed within a week of her visit with the surgeon, her new oncologist put her on a very strong regimen of radiation and chemotherapy. Chloe was living with her oldest sister, Amy, because Lilly was weak and ill.