“You should!” Peter’s eyes widened. “I’d love to see you on stage again.”
Olivia ripped around to look at Ada. “You’re going on stage?”
Kade turned to follow Olivia’s gaze. “Huh?”
Ada laughed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to do it, gang. My performing days are over. I’m just glad I can use my voice again.”
It had been a terrible road. So many years after the fact, Ada could still hear the doctor’s voice in her ear, telling her that she’d never sing again.
It’s over, she’d told Quinn, sobbing.My career. My life. It’s all over.
Across from her, Quinn had looked—frankly—pleased. Finally, Quinn had been able to take over Ada’s position as lead.Finally, Ada was no longer “the one to watch” in opera. Ada was no more.
But Ada was so much more than her opera self. She’d proven that.
The following morning, Ada woke up at dawn in the music room. Since she and Peter had agreed to break up officially, she’d begun to “nest” in the room, to decorate it with little paintings she’d purchased from art stores downtown. There was even an old photograph of her from her opera days, hung by the doorway. In it, she wore a gorgeous, ornate costume, lined with fake jewels that glinted in the hot opera house lights. Ada no longer fully recognized the woman in the photograph, but she recognized the fire in her eyes.There’s so much life left, she thought.
Since Peter agreed to take the kids to school today, Ada left early to get some work done at the office before her first patient. After an hour of note-taking, she perused divorce lawyers online and sent a few links to Peter, who read the messages but said nothing. Maybe Marilyn was right about Peter. Perhaps he was getting cold feet, divorce-wise.
That afternoon, after two patients had come and gone, Natalie entered Ada’s office to deliver the mail. One was a dark red envelope addressed to Dr. Ada Wagner, but it looked informal and friendly. There were several stamps in the corner that Ada didn’t recognize, until she spotted a stamp that read: THAILAND. Who did she know in Thailand?
Ada opened the envelope and found within it a beautiful postcard of a Thai island called Koh Lanta, featuring turquoise waters and dense dark-green jungles. She’d heard that monkeyslived on islands like this. Tucked next to the postcard were several lined pages.
Dear Ada,
I’m writing to you from a beach. It feels like all the dark problems I came to you with earlier this year are still with me, but I can carry them better. I don’t think it’s possible to run away from your issues, necessarily, but a drink on the beach can’t hurt. More than that, I’m starting to like myself more. I’m beginning to see myself as part of the world more, a part of the air, the water, and the sky. Maybe that’s just a poet talking. I don’t know. I can get pretty sappy when I want to.
I hope this letter isn’t out of bounds. I’ve been thinking of you and that night at the wine bar and hoping that your autumn has been all right, all things considered. I know we both miss our daughters. But more than that, I felt a kind of kinship with you that I haven’t felt in ages.
I know it’s a cliché to feel something for your therapist, or to ask for friendship from said therapist. I also know the rules: no friendship for the first two years after your professional relationship with a patient has ceased. For this reason, I know better than to expect a message back. In fact, I’ll go further than that and never tell you where to reach me. Provided you’re still in your office on that beautiful island off the coast of Massachusetts, I’ll always know where to send my frantic, poetic-leaning messages.
All the best,
Nick Willis
Ada reread the letter twice, folded it up, and put it in the first drawer of her desk. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing until the room began to spin. When it did, she inhaled sharplyand got up, trying not to picture Nick Willis on that beach in Thailand, wearing a pair of swimming shorts, writing with a beautiful pen. Why had he reached out to her? Why had he said such wonderful things?
It was true what Nick said: that people often felt overly close to their therapists. But what about the therapists? Sometimes, they felt the same toward their patients. Ada was only a person.
Ada was a person, preparing to go through a divorce, searching for meaning and love. But she knew her meaning and love couldn’t come from Nick.
Still, she ached, wondering when the next letter would come, if it ever would.
Ada left the office that evening at five thirty and swung by the school to pick up Kade and Olivia. They burst into her car, all smiles, and cried out, “Happy birthday!” in unison. Ada grinned and threw her head back. Only Natalie had celebrated her today, and she’d done it with flowers, balloons, and a birthday cake that the two of them had shared early afternoon at the office. Natalie had thought the letter from Nick was a birthday card, clean and simple. It was a miracle that such a beautiful letter had come on her birthday. There was no way he could have known.
“How was your day, Mom?” Olivia asked.
“It was great,” Ada admitted, surprised that she felt that way.
“It’s only going to get better,” Olivia said. Her eyes were alight.
Ada pulled into the driveway, opened the garage, and got out of the car, her mind already turning to thoughts of dinner. Probably, Peter was making something, another of her favorites. Probably, she needed to find a way to make him stop that soon. But before she could open the door between the garage and the house, it sprang open, and Hannah flung herself into her arms. Ada gasped and gripped her daughter hard. Tears filled her eyes.
“Hannah?” Ada cried. “You’re here?”
Hannah cackled and squeezed Ada back. “It was my idea. I took the bus, and Dad picked me up.”
Ada gazed over Hannah’s head to find Peter in the kitchen, opening big pizza boxes and waving hello. There was a bouquet on the counter and a gorgeously decorated cake. Ada guessed it was a carrot, her favorite, and she proved to be right. Her family had thought of everything.
