Chapter Five
After Joey walked into the darkened apartment, she glanced out the living room window at the gleaming lights from other buildings and skyscrapers taking over the evening sky. Normally, the lights signaled the end of a busy workday, the time of day to forget your anxiety and stress over writers and manuscripts and just sit back and wind down, Joey thought.
But not now, not tonight.
It was only the beginning of what was sure to be an endless wait.
Suddenly, there was a click behind her and the apartment lights flashed on, making Joey squint, breaking her daze. She turned around to see Pacey standing in the doorway with a faint smile on his face.
He broke the silence by saying, "Well, I have good news. We only got junk mail today." He went to the side table and put down a few envelopes.
Her lips perked up slightly, "At least there's good news about something."
Pacey faced her intently then, but asked casually, "How about I make a quick dinner?"
Her hand went to her uneasy stomach feeling as if her muscles were in a constricting vice. "I'm really not hungry," she replied, "I just want to change and watch some TV."
"I'll put something aside for you then."
"Okay" Joey nodded before heading to the bedroom.
She shut the door and leaned back against it, closing her eyes. She should have felt a bit relieved, Joey thought. The biopsy was over and all she had left over was a little soreness from the needle. She should be relieved that the procedure took less than a half hour and that the pathologist thought that they took enough samples. She should be relieved to be able to go right home.
Why then wasn't she relieved?
Because this was the easy part. The thought pushed forth in her mind. It was something that was always there. Joey always knew that the biopsy was the easy part, but she wanted to feel a bit better after today. The truth was, though, that she wasn't any closer to better.
The results were still an unknown.
Would she be stage 1, stage 2, or stage 4? Would she need a lumpectomy, radiation, or chemo? Or all three?
No, Joey shook herself out of despair. No, she wouldn't crumble and let whatever this was get to her and consume her. As she's told Pacey the other night, life needed to go on. Joey would go to work tomorrow and put her worry aside for a few hours. Tonight she would relax and watch some TV with Pacey and have a good night's sleep.
Yeah, that was what she would do. Joey pushed some wayward stands of hair away from her face and straightened from the door.
Now how could she make herself believe it?
...
At the sound of the bedroom door closing, Pacey sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. He looked over at the package of defrosted chicken legs on the kitchen counter and then he turned toward the sofa. He wasn't in a big rush to eat himself.
After Pacey sat down, he grabbed the remote on the cushion and was about to click on the TV when his gaze landed on the cordless phone. God, he wished it would ring with good news or any news for that matter. It was the unknown that was killing Joey, Pacey knew. At least if they had some answers, they would know what she was facing.
Or maybe that he was just fooling himself.
His mind wandered to earlier in the day…
After the nurse had called her name, Joey squeezed his hand and stood up. Pacey gave a small smile as he gazed up into her uncertain eyes. Her mouth twitched at the corner, trying to become a half-smile, but not quite making it. They'd already gone over what to expect from the procedure with Dr. Greene, the attending physician, and Joey had went through all the paperwork. Now the time was here.
Pacey watched as Joey turned and followed the nurse around the corner. Letting out a weary breath, he'd looked around the semi-circular waiting room of the breast care center. Over to his right a middle-aged couple sat, the woman was reading a People magazine while the man rested his head against the wall, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Why were they here? Pacey had wondered. Was she sick? Maybe they were here for someone.
"Hey."
At the burly voice, Pacey jerked his head around to see a lumber jack of a guy in his early sixties holding out a cup of coffee.
"Here, drink this. You look like you need it more than me."
"Ah," Pacey hesitated before taking it, "thanks."
The man took a seat across from him, "I'm Les."
"Pacey."
"This is your first time here, I take it." It was a statement, not a question.
Pacey nodded, "How could you tell?"
"You've got that scared shitless look."
"I was trying for the supportive look," Pacey's lips tugged up slightly, trying to give his words the air of humor.
Les shook his head, "They can always see through the strong façade."
"What can I do?" Pacey's false bravado crumbled and he found himself asking, "If the results of the biopsy say malignant, what can I do?"
"Just listen and pay attention, get second and third opinions and be a shoulder to cry on. That's all you can do," Les offered before divulging, "Elise, my wife, just wants to remember what home feels like. She's having her second round of chemo this time around, been in remission once. Lately these walls seem more familiar to us than our home," he shrugged and laughed humorously. "But what can you do?
Pacey leaned forward and asked, "How's she doing?"
Les shrugged, "The doctor say Elise has a good chance of beating it again. But you just have to take it day by day," he sighed, slapping his hands on his knees as he stood. "I better go check on Elise." He looked down at Pacey full of empathy, "I hope I don't see you here again, no offense."
"None taken" Pacey murmured even though the man had already walked away.
…
"Is a black screen entertaining?"
Pacey shook himself back to the present and turned his head to catch Joey's smirk. He then gazed at the remote in his hand, "Reruns. Summer hiatus, you know," Pacey joked as his eyes took in her navy t-shirt and navy and white pajama bottoms. "You look comfortable."
Joey shrugged, "Might as well be now when tomorrow will be an extremely long workday." She went to the other end of the sofa and plopped down curling her legs up.
Pacey narrowed his eyebrows, "Are you sure you…"
Joey cut in, "Pacey, I will be fine. I just had a long lecture from Bessie about how I shouldn't push myself, that I don't have to prove a point."
"So you called Bessie?"
Joey nodded, "I promised to call to assure her that everything went okay today. She's still quite pissed that I didn't want her here." Joey lowered her lashes, something Pacey knew that she did when she didn't want to admit the truth.
"Well, I'd be pissed too," his lips curved up slightly.
Her eyes met his and she said, "Okay, maybe Bessie should've come. I know I'm not handling this thing perfectly."
Even though her tone was casual, Pacey could sense that Joey was serious. He knew that she wanted to deal with this with her own preset rules. But the trouble was that there weren't any rules on emotion, especially in this case. As Pacey looked into Joey's vulnerable eyes, the shattering ache that had pierced his chest for the past week became excruciating. "Nobody does, Jo," he said softly. He moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulder.
Joey leaned into him and Pacey felt her body relax like a balloon slowly deflating after a long journey across the sky. And the tension within him eased as he caressed her back.
After a few moments of contentment, her eyes lifted back to his and she asked, "Why don't I smell anything cooking?"
"What?"
"I thought you were going to make dinner."
"Well," Pacey explained, "since you declined my offer, I decided to wait a little while."
Her eyes sparked with amusement "What if I changed my mind?"
Relishing in the bit of normalcy, Pacey grinned, "Then, I'm obligated to serve you."
With that, Joey broke out with her first genuine smile of the day, drawing him in until his lips met hers in a lingering kiss, blocking out the uncertainties, making the evening almost seem like any other if only for a moment.
…..
Pacey was just about to enter Scully's when his cell vibrated. He stepped aside under the restaurant's green awning and checked the number. It was either Joey or yep, it was Gretchen. She'd called every day ranting and raving about how Pacey pushed her blindly into the pits of hell. Their father hadn't exactly made things easy on Mike Potter, as Pacey had expected. But John Witter took his hatred to new levels by shadowing the other manager around, checking the books three times a day for discrepancies, and searching each delivery for drugs.
However, the two men had so far managed to remain professional in front of the diners. The sheriff seemed to take to his new position quickly, for that Pacey was relieved. As for Mike, he remained all business and most people's willingness to not hold his past misdeeds against him seemed to put Mike, and therefore Pacey, at ease.
"Hey Gretch," Pacey answered the call, covering his other ear to block out the rush of New York City traffic "How are you this Friday morning?"
"Let's just cut the pleasantries, little brother," his sister replied, "I just wanted to remind you that I'm leaving tomorrow. Grumpy and grumpier are on their own from here on out."
"Has Pop's attitude toward Mike improved any?"
Gretchen laughed, "Since yesterday? No, Pop's still his suspicious self, but Mike can hold his own. I think things will be fine. They're both professionals," she paused then changing her tone, "How's Joey?"
Pacey sighed, "Same. No news." Wednesday night had been nice. They enjoyed dinner and watched Naked Gun, a comedy that was sure to induce mindless laughter, which was Pacey intention when he'd picked it. Anything to keep a smile on Joey was his priory.
But as the hours passed and still no word from the doctor, Joey became more and more jittery and frustrated. She couldn't sleep, Pacey knew, from the tossing and turning and punching of pillows from her side of the bed.
"Give Joey my love," Gretchen said as their conversion ended.
Pacey then tried to get his mindset on his forthcoming job interview. On Monday, he had connected a few acquaintances that he'd met through the Icehouse and through their connections Pacey had gotten wind of an opening for the head-chef position at Scully's, where, according to one critic in the Post a few months back, you're served the worst authentic Irish-American fare that you will ever know. Pacey wondered what happened to the chef that earned that critique.
Some would say Pacey was taking a step down, but he just thought of it as testing the waters before taking strides to open his own restaurant in the city.
When he walked into the establishment, he was hit right away by the elegant Irish décor. Cushioned intricately designed chairs surrounded round tables that scattered the middle floor while booths filled out the area by the windows, all in forest green.
"Witter?" came a familiar voice through the vacant room.
Pacey jerked his head to the right and his eyes widened, "Drue Valentine."
The once troublemaking teen, who had despised the idea of work, resembled your ever day bartender as he wiped down the counter. The image didn't compute with the cocky, arrogant guy Pacey remembered from the halls of Capeside High. Then again, Drue did like to serve alcohol and other inebriating substances at parties and raves, he thought, grimly.
"You work here?" Pacey asked as he went closer to the bar. "You of all people."
"Incredible, huh?" Drue laughed.
"How long have you been here?"
"About three years," Drue shrugged. "My parents cut the purse strings and I didn't want to end up at death's door, so I thought what the hell-Get a job and go to grad school."
"Grad school? Pacey echoed, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
"In my second year at NYU." Drue threw the rag over his shoulder into a tub.
"How did that happen?"
"It was Jen actually" Drue said, becoming reflective. "A few years ago, Jen came in here, the only time she did, and we commiserated about our lives. She said, 'You're a mighty fine bartender, but don't you want to do something else with your life'," he gave a laugh, but his eyes were solemn. "It was a shock to hear what happened. Jen and I didn't always have the best relationship, but I considered her one of my few good friends."
Pacey dropped his head and smiled slightly, "Jen always had a unique wisdom." As much as you want to, you can't rely on someone else to make you feel alive. It's an inside job, Jen's last words echoed in his head, the words that had propelled him to find some closure, but in return gave him a new start.
"So, what are you doing in the Big Apple?" Drue cut in to his thoughts, "I thought you owned a restaurant in Mayberry."
Pacey just ignored that, and replied, "I do, but it was time for a change."
"And Joey, doesn't she live here now?" Drue looked at him slyly.
Pacey nodded, "She does."
"What does Dawson think of you shacking up with his soul mate Sam?"
"We are…Wait, you watch The Creek?"
Just then, a bald, heavyset guy rushed in through backdoor, which Pacey assumed was the kitchen. "You must be Pacey Witter," the man hurried to shake his hand. "I'm Scully, Scully McAvoy. I heard good things about you, good things. When can you start?"
"Uh," Pacey blinked, "excuse me?"
"Can you start now?" Scully asked a little impatiently.
"I thought I was just coming in for an interview."
Scully shook his head, "There's no time for that, no time when I have a crisis." He practically pushed Pacey toward the kitchen.
"Well," he began, "I just think-"
"Yes, Mr. Witter, we'll talk later, but the beef is burning right now."
The beef was burning? Now that critique made sense. As Pacey followed his new boss through the swinging doors, he heard Drue chuckle and call back, "Welcome to Scully's, Witter, where no day is dull."
…
Joey's gazed at her computer monitor and sighed. She still had dozens of emails and voice mail messages left to return, not to mention a pile of manuscripts waiting for her attention. But it was a distraction at least, she thought glumly.
The last couple days had made her a nervous wreck. Thankfully her boss was very understanding and sympathetic. He'd said that he would accommodate her, meaning if Joey wanted, she could have a reduced workload. But she wasn't there yet. She needed the work, she needed the outlet. Unfortunately, it meant that Joey still had to deal with inconvenienced writers who wanted to know why she had taken so much personal time. Joey didn't feel like she had to tell them specifics, at least not yet. All she had been telling them was that she had a health matter. Most of them were satisfied with that, and that made the day a bit easier.
The phone rang, making Joey jump, her mind automatically going to the results. She took a deep breath and answered, "Hello, Joey Potter speaking."
"Oh, you finally made it in today," Christopher replied dryly.
Joey almost groaned. She should've anticipated Christopher calling. He had left messages for her on Wednesday and even called her cell, asking if she'd read his revised final chapters while leaving subtle little digs. The only reason Joey thought he didn't call her directly at home was that he didn't want to deal with Pacey. Christopher still hadn't moved on from their breakup and he'd began to cross the line "I was also in yesterday too, Christopher, as I believe I mentioned in the message I left for you yesterday."
"Well, I was out of town visiting family. You know them right, Joey? We had Thanksgiving with them last year. I know you're too busy with what's-his-name to remember that or anything else for that matter, especially your Job."
Joey did not need this right now and she lashed out, "This is harassment and I'm beyond putting up with it. If you'd listened to your voice mail, you know I had a doctor's appointment Wednesday and last week I went home to Capeside. And yes, I went over your revisions, but I'm tired of your unprofessionalism. Find another editor, Christopher!" she slammed down the receiver.
Her grip hadn't even loosened when the phone rang again.
"What?!" Joey snapped.
"Joey?" a woman replied, "This is Dr. Gardner."
She froze, her heartbeat racing, "I'm sorry…I…'m sorry."
"I have your lab reports from the Presbyterian Breast Care Center."
Joey's throat constricted and she could only say, "Okay."
"I want you to come in to discuss the report. I can make you my last appointment today at six o'clock. Is that alright? "
"That's fine," Joey replied, letting her pulse drop back to normal. "Ah, can I ask, is this your routine procedure or is it that serious?"
"It's routine procedure for certain cases, but I just called you directly because I have a few free minutes. And I know how stressful this can be"
Once the call ended, Joey didn't know what to think or feel. At this point, she just wanted to know.
….
Joey's glanced at the empty chair next to her, wondering what was keeping Pacey. She had called his cell and left a message to meet her at Dr. Gardner's office and even texted him. He didn't get back to her, but Joey thought he'd be here.
Dr. Gardner took a seat behind her desk, checking her watch, "We can wait a few minutes."
Joey began to shake her head, "N-"
Just then, there was a tap on the door and Pacey poked his head in, "Hey," He walked in and sat down, "I'm sorry I'm late," At Joey's questioning expression, he said softly, "I'll tell ya later."
After Joey introduced Pacey to Dr. Gardner, the Physician looked at her directly and replied, "Joey, the report says that the mass appears to be benign.
The knot in her stomach started to uncoil. Her eyes turned to Pacey and she saw his features start to relax and he squeezed her hand.
"However," Dr. Gardner's continued, making both of them turn back abruptly in her direction. "This benign tumor is called hyperplasia, which is basically the accumulation of abnormal cells in the breast duct."
"What does this mean?" Pacey asked.
"Atypical hyperplasia is a precancerous condition that slightly increases your chances for breast cancer in the future. And for people under forty- five, like Joey, the chances are even higher without treatment."
"What treatment do you mean?" Joey asked nervously
"First, I suggest more testing of the tissue, and then if nothing else's found, there are multiple options. There are medications…The other option that reduces the chances of breast cancer by half for those at high-risk is…a prophylactic mastectomy."