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I stumble into my apartment and drop everything where I stand. Without stopping, I stride straight into my bedroom and put my phone on its charger. I grab the stack of mail that my neighbor bundled and left on my kitchen table along with his copy of my spare key.
I’m dying for a hot shower and for the soft mattress on my bed. But I need to check my messages, open my mail and call my woman.
I grab my phone from the drawer in my bedside table and plug it in. Three months of lying dormant has left it completely dead and it takes forever for it to even register that it’s charging. I stare at it, willing it to turn on.
When I knew I couldn’t use it, I didn’t once yearn for it. Now that I’m seconds away from being able to communicate again, each minute that I stare at that black dead screen for what feels like eons. I know a watched pot never boils, so I turn away from the phone and walk over to the stack of mail. I see the big envelope at the bottom and recognize Regan’s handwriting in the corner reserved for return sender’s information.
I’ve been writing to her every day, sending the letters whenever we crossed paths with a courier or stopped in a village that had a post office.
In the last one I sent, I asked her to send me a copy of the new Tom Clancy. This must be it.
I trace the outline of what is clearly a book through the envelope. I feel the impression of something else inside. My dessert after dinner rule is still in place, I make myself wait until I’ve opened the rest before I open that.
I open each bill. The only exciting piece of mail there is the letter from Baylor College of Medicine. My start date for the fellowship in Houston has been set. I glance at the calendar on my wall, and smile.
Only two more weeks. A year ago, I was sure that heading to Houston would feel like the end of an adventure. Now, I have Regan to look forward to. Just as I reach for her package, I hear the vibrating tell of my phone powering on. And then, the phone’s staccato vibrations turn into one long buzz as my messages start to download.
As a compromise, I walk over to the phone while I rip open the envelope.
I pull out the smaller item first. It’s a stack of notecards tied together with a delicate gold silk ribbon like something precious and cared for.
But even before I read the small note stocked into the top of the stack, I know that they are, in fact, the exact opposite of precious and cared for.
The handwriting on all of them is mine.
The sinking sensation seeps all the way to my bones. The sense of loss and doom infuses my marrow.
I wondered if she was getting them. At least now, I know.
I pull the book out of the envelope and the letters were also stuffed into and stare unseeingly at the worn edges of the dust cover.
With my heart thundering like the ominous rumble of thunder before a storm breaks, I open the messages on my phone.
Even in the swirl of all my confusion and panic, when I see her name pop up, I smile.
I start reading her texts. There are twenty-two of them.
The first one reads “I love you, too.”
The first twenty are a variation of “I love you” or “I miss you” or both.
The twenty first is a link that opens to a newspaper story. When I read it, I understand everything. Or at least I think I do. It was published two months ago, while I was busy pursuing an opportunity most doctors only dream of, she was waking up to this.
I don’t want to read her final message. I can’t imagine that whatever it says is going to do anything less than gut me. But I force myself to open it.
Stone,
I’m sorry that you came home from your trip to find that so much had changed.
By now, you’ve seen the news, and you know what’s happened. I’m sorry that my recklessness resulted in that picture being shared with the world. It has completely changed the landscape of my life, and I have got to focus on my children and myself. I won’t drag you into this. Nobody knows it’s you, and I want it to stay that way. Things are bad enough, without adding another log to this fire. When you’re back here, distance would be best. I’m so sorry. You deserve so much happiness, Stone, and I hope you find it. Thank you for taking me on the most glorious adventure I’ve ever known. I hope one day, we can find a way to be friends, again. We’re so very good at that.
Yours,
Regan.
No
Regan
