The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(12)

“How thoughtful,” Steffi said. “What is it?”

“A cup.” Emmy set the bag on the ground and retrieved an oversize coffee mug that she’d painted—in pinks, purples, and reds—at the local pottery-painting studio. “See the heart? And ‘Dad’ on this side. And this”—she proudly pointed at a giant white-and-yellow flower—“is a daisy because they’re my favorite flower.” She stuffed the mug back into the bag. “He can take it to work.”

“He’ll love it.” Steffi grinned at the mental picture of Ryan sitting at his desk and drinking from a pink-heart mug with its enormous flower. Those butterflies fluttered again as she imagined sitting across the desk from him, his thick brown hair neatly combed, his sincere brown eyes seducing her from over the brim.

Emmy set the bag on the grass and wandered closer, craning her neck to investigate the pile of trim. “What are you doing?”

The kid treated Steffi like some kind of fascinating zoo creature. Steffi didn’t mind her company, although she knew Ryan didn’t welcome her involvement. “Removing the wood moldings so I can take out all these screens.”

She pried the final strip free and tossed it aside.

“Do you get splinters?” Emmy asked.

“Sometimes, if I forget to wear gloves.”

Emmy narrowed her eyes as if trying to judge whether or not this kind of job would be worth risking splinters.

Steffi retrieved her rubber mallet to tap out the screen panels. Emmy wandered to her side and crouched, watching her tap and then nudge the first screen free.

“Can I try?” Emmy looked up, her pleading hazel eyes making it hard to say no. Steffi had warned Ryan that she wouldn’t turn Emmy away. It was up to him to get her to leave Steffi alone, not the other way around.

“How about we make a deal? I’ll let you help with one panel, but then you go inside and help your memaw get the house ready for your dad’s special dinner?”

“Deal.” Emmy nodded like a boss, apparently having inherited her dad’s take-charge spirit. Then Emmy thrust out her hands for the mallet.

“Now, listen, you can’t whack at it. Tap gently around the edges, and then we nudge. Okay?” She held on to the mallet while awaiting agreement.

“Okay.” Emmy took the mallet in both hands and gave it a midair test swing.

“Tap it right here and here.” Steffi pointed to the lower left corner of the frame. “Then I’ll reach the high points, and you can help me push it out.”

Emmy furrowed her little brows and tapped a little too gently at first, but then gave it some more oomph, loosening it from the post. After Steffi hit the high spots, they pushed the screen free, with Steffi keeping hold of it so it didn’t crash onto the stone floor. “Good job, Emmy. Pretty soon you’ll be wearing work shoes and protective eye gear.”

Emmy smiled dubiously. “I don’t know about that.”

Steffi’s phone rang, interrupting their debate. Peyton? She hadn’t called since their last awkward exchange following the mugging. “Hey. What’s up?”

Instead of Peyton’s voice, she heard sniffling followed by a croak. “Steffi, I’m in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Hopefully not the kind that would require Ryan’s professional services. Peyton had always been a bit of a risk-taker—from teenage pool hopping to the occasional billiards hustle.

“I . . . I have . . .” A choked sob came through the line. Steffi’s heart pounded in her ears while she waited for whatever terrible news was coming. “I have cancer.”

“What?” Steffi blinked as if she’d heard wrong, one hand covering her mouth. She leaned against the porch column for support, trying to block out Peyton’s crying so she could think. Cancer. The word never failed to send a cold shock wave through her limbs. The disease had already claimed her mom too young. Now her friend? Her throat closed as she struggled for something to say. “How? When?”

Steffi listened to Peyton ramble incoherently—HER2 positive, chemo, Herceptin, and a string of more confusing medical lingo. She dabbed her watery eyes, hearing herself repeating, “I’m sorry. Oh, I’m so sorry, Peyton.”

“Who’s Peyton?” Emmy interrupted, surprising Steffi, who’d forgotten about her young audience.

She put her finger to her mouth to shush Emmy while she tried to focus on what Peyton was saying. The chirping and buzzing of birds and insects grew annoyingly loud.

“Why are you crying?” Emmy persisted.

“Not now, Emmy!” she snapped. “Go inside.”

Emmy froze for a second before dashing to her gift bag, snatching it off the ground, and bolting inside. Crap.

Steffi smacked her forehead, then pinched the bridge of her nose and refocused on Peyton. “What can I do?”

“Pray, I guess. Not that you and I have been the most religious people.” Wry humor—one of Peyton’s defense mechanisms. Steffi supposed at this point any humor would be better than none.

“Will you be treated at Yale New Haven Hospital?”

“I’m staying with Logan in New York and going to Sloan. At least, that’s the plan now. I know I’ve done things to change our friendship, but I just wanted to bring you up to speed. I know Claire won’t care, but maybe you and I could meet for lunch in the city or something.”