The Letter

by Mary Crawford

  Mallory shakes her head. “Nope, according to Candi, they spelled out hate in no uncertain terms.”

  “Wow! I wonder how many unintentional messages I’ve sent to people over the years.”

  Mallory looks at me skeptically over the top of her roses. “Really? Send a lot of flowers do ya?” she teases.

  I feel my face heat as I admit, “Mostly to my mom and my grandma. I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not much of a Casanova.”

  “Says the guy who won the kissing contest,” she quips.

  I grin. Inside, I’m practically throwing down cartwheels. The fact that Mallory can joke with me tells me she’s made a complete turnaround from yesterday.

  I clear my throat as I try to change the subject. “So, do you approve of the message I sent with my flowers?”

  She struggles to lean forward to get the vase off the bedside table. I lift them for her and let her smell them. Unlike most flowers from floral shops, these still smell like the roses from my mother’s garden. She breathes in deeply and looks up at me with a beautiful smile. “I never expected to say this. But yes, I approve. I didn’t believe in love at first sight until I met you. I wasn’t even looking for it. I was a diehard career woman chasing the next story. I thought maybe some hard-hitting news organization might find me. I wasn’t looking forward to relocating to one of the big cities like New York, Chicago or LA, but I figured that was the only way to make my mark on the world. As much as I like my job at Word Soup, I always figured it was a steppingstone to something bigger. I never expected life to throw me the biggest curve ball ever.”

  “Am I the curve ball or just a happy side effect?” I ask, only half kidding.

  “I’m not sure,” Mallory confesses. “At this point, does it really matter? I wouldn’t have one without the other.”

  Dr. Blumenauer peeks his head around the corner. “Good afternoon, Ms. Yoshida. The nurses tell me you are doing much better today. I understand you are voiding appropriately and you’ve kept down some soup and Jell-O. Your vitals look much better today. Would you like to go home?” When he sees Mallory nod vigorously, he takes out his stethoscope and checks her breathing sounds and her heart rate. After he listens for a few moments, he nods. “Everything sounds great. I’ll review your chemotherapy protocol and see if I can find something that’s a little less harsh on your system. I’d like you to rest for the rest of today and start chemo again tomorrow. I’ll give you more anti-nausea medication. Please try to stay well hydrated. I’d like you to have some cushion in case the next round makes you ill as well.”

  He turns to me. “I take it you understand how important hydration and nutrition is?”

  “I do,” I reply, feeling as if he can see all the way into my soul.

  He just smiles and shakes my hand. “Good! I love it when the spouses are supportive.”

  “I will issue the discharge orders right now.” Dr. Blumenauer reaches into his pocket and hands me a business card. “Call me if you need anything.”

  My stomach flops over nervously. Something tells me this may not be the only crisis we face during this process. With trembling hands, I take his card and tuck it into the special place in my wallet where I keep lucky lottery tickets and the picture of my friend I lost to Leukemia when I was in elementary school. The idea that Mallory’s picture could join his gives me nightmares. Even though all the signs point to a positive outcome, after a night like we just had, it’s hard to stay hopeful.

  After Dr. Blumenauer leaves the room, I crawl up in bed next to Mallory and cuddle her to my chest. “Did you hear what he said? We finally get to go home. Let me tell you Chevy Chase misses you like crazy. I am no longer his favorite person.”

  “I told you if you let your cat come visit me, he might never leave. Edna feeds him like he’s a celebrity.”

  The corner of my mouth lifts as I concede, “Edna feeds everybody like they’re a celebrity.”

  “I think I tried to warn you. Why do you think I run the bleachers at the high school? It’s not because I like it. It’s simply a defense mechanism.”

  I pat my stomach. “I am beginning to understand why. When you’re feeling better, we’ll have to run together. I don’t want to get so chubby I can’t lift gurneys.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MALLORY

  I’M SO NERVOUS, MY STOMACH is in knots. Weirdly enough, it’s not because of the chemo. It probably should be, but it’s not. I know I’ll likely be spending the night hunched over a puke bowl. I resigned myself to the fact that there’s nothing I can do about it — it’s my life now.

  There are a couple of married reporters on our team at Word Soup. In the past, I’ve heard them talk about how difficult it is to keep confidential stories away from their spouses. I remember rolling my eyes in irritation. As reporters, we keep things confidential all the time. How different could it be? Now I understand how shortsighted I was. For two days, I’ve been dying to tell Rocco about the development in my story. But I can’t — I promised.

  I was so anxious to get here this morning; I asked Mindy to drop me off before she went to the studio for rehearsal. Of course, I didn’t have to say anything to her. She already knew. As I was getting out of the car, she put her hand on my arm and said, “Remember to judge her choices by the shoes she was wearing, not the ones you would’ve worn.”

  For such a young woman, Mindy talks like an old sage from a fairytale book.

  I’m trying to leaf through a gossip magazine and look casual when Gemma comes into the treatment room. When she notices me sitting there, she looks startled. “Oh okay… I can’t say my patients are usually anxious to come back for a second round.” She double checks her watch. “You know you’re early, right?”

  I nod. “I figured I’d better show up before I lose my nerve, I got pretty sick last time.”

  “Don’t worry, Dr. Blumenauer left us some notes and adjusted your medication. Hopefully, this time won’t be quite so rough. Give me a few moments to go get it drawn up. We’ll give you a slightly different cocktail of anti-nausea meds. These are a little stronger.”

  I hold the tabloid magazine up. “Go ahead, take your time. I’m always curious to know what’s going on with the royal family.”

  “Oh, girl — you know you can’t believe half the stuff you read. If that stuff were true, William and Kate would have four dozen kids by now.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I don’t usually take the time to read this stuff, so I find it fascinating.”

  Gemma shrugs. “To each his own.”

  When Gemma comes back to give me my medication, I summon the nerve to ask her a question. “I know I’ve been warned that I might not feel up to working. But if I did, is there a private space I might be able to work?”

  Gemma bites her lip. “We have a small overflow room we sometimes use for patients who get bad headaches. I suppose you could use it — but, I’d have to kick you out of it if we get a patient who needs it. Is that all right with you?”

  “Not a problem — I totally understand.”

  “You have to promise me you’ll use your call light if you start feeling sick.”

  “I will. What if I interview another patient?”

  “Is it about the treatment they receive here? You’re not doing an exposé on our medical facility or anything are you?” Gemma asks with wide eyes.

  I shake my head vehemently. “No, nothing of the sort. You all have treated me brilliantly here. That’s part of the reason I want to pursue this project. It is completely unrelated to my breast cancer. I’m trying to get my life back in order and have a semblance of my normal life. This will help me pass the time and remember the person I was before I got cancer. Who knows, I may not even be strong enough to do it — but I’d like to give it a shot.”

  Gemma looks uncertain, but then she sighs. “I suppose if you have the releases and all the legal stuff in order from the other patient, it seems like a good idea — maybe the other person will be distracted too.”

/>   “Thank you so much for being flexible. We’ll try not to get in your way.”

  “Just remember, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask. The medical staff is here to help you.” Gemma says as she wipes off the end of my port and starts to inject medication.

  By the time Sheila arrives, I am practically jumping out of my seat with anticipation. I’ve already done all the mundane tasks I can do on my computer. I’ve sorted my email, cleaned out my junk mail, and deleted duplicate files. Heck, I’ve even gone through my pictures and sorted them into logical folders so someday I can print them out into memory books. I sent Andre some funny jokes and even sent my parents a thank-you letter for coming out to be with me during my first surgery.

  After a while, I get desperate and take a few weird selfies to send to Rocco. I guess I should’ve known he would reciprocate and send me his own strange selfies with his partner. I can’t wait to meet his partner, Raylene. We’ve talked over FaceTime several times and she seems like an incredibly fun person.

  I am about to jump out of my skin when Sheila taps me on the shoulder and says, “If you’re done messing around on your computer, I’m ready to talk.”

  “Thank you so much. I’m grateful you trust me with your story —”

  She holds up her hand to stop me. “Don’t start with the mushy stuff or I’ll lose my nerve.”

  “Okay, I arranged a private place to meet.”

  “Great, I was planning to ask them to put us in the headache room. But I guess you already thought of that. Let me tell Gemma where we’ll be. You might want to grab your quilt. It’s colder than a polar bear’s behind in that room.”

  “You’ve been in there before?”

  “Yeah, one day Mike was nice enough to hide me out there when my family brought a bunch of people to see me.”

  “You were hiding from your own family? Wow! I thought I had a rough relationship with my parents.”

  “You have no idea. I would hide from them every day of the week if I could. Unfortunately, this stupid cancer has made it so I have to interact with them. If I could, I would move to Alaska.”

  Gemma sees me gathering up my stuff. “Ready to go into 102A?”

  I look over at Sheila. “We are.”

  Gemma looks alarmed. She pulls the fabric curtain around us before she abruptly asks, “You’re going in there with Sheila Taylor?” she whispers.

  “I am. Is that a problem?”

  “Well, she has a reputation for being … unpredictable,” Gemma answers in a breathy voice.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve interviewed someone like that.” I murmur from behind my hand. Louder, I say, “Thank you. We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

  Sheila and I march down the hall in weird synchronization while we push our IV poles. She smirks. “I bet you don’t always get warned off of your interview subjects.”

  I smile. “It happens more regularly than you might imagine. My assistant is a bit of a worrywart. He screens nearly everyone I talked to, including my trainer at the gym and the barista down the street.”

  We sit down in big beige chairs. As I take out my computer and set it up, a video from Rocco pops up. I take a moment to sip on some Gatorade while I watch Rocco and Raylene lip-synch to a Bruno Mars song.

  “What does your assistant think of the guy who sends you funny pictures?”

  “Remarkably, Andre likes Rocco.”

  “Are you serious? Those are their names? Do you realize your life sounds like it came out of central casting from some cheesy 80s soap opera?”

  Sheila’s comment makes me almost choke on my Gatorade. “You don’t even know the half of it. One of the other reporters is named Winston and one of our interns right now is Harmony.”

  “Oh man, where are the reality cameras when you need them?”

  “You haven’t heard the best one yet. Our chief financial officer is Drake Edward Andrew Drysdale, the Third.”

  Sheila snorts. “Umm… I’m pretty sure someone has pointed out to him that his initials spell dead.”

  “Probably every single day of junior high, which might explain his personality. It’s dead on,” I reply with an unladylike peal of laughter.

  “I thought my initials were bad. Since my mom remarried, officially, I’m STD.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know your parents got divorced.”

  Sheila adjusts her IV tubing. “I might as well tell you this in order, because it’s all related.”

  “Okay, give me a second to get organized.” I shut down my computer and pull out a small recorder. “Do you mind if I record this for my own records? I know you mentioned I might get spacey and I don’t want to miss anything. If you start to feel bad, we can stop too.”

  “No, look … I haven’t felt like myself for like four years. I’m running out of time. I have to tell somebody the truth — the whole truth. Not the story other people want me to share, not the story my lawyers would like me to say, not the story which might be in my best interest to tell. For once, I want to tell somebody the real, ugly God’s honest truth. Who knows, it may be like the preacher said, it may set me free. I might be able to die in peace.”

  “Okay. I want you to have peace with your decision, whatever happens with your health.” I open a file and pull out some paperwork. “First, I have to take care of some legal stuff. You know, my bosses like to know I didn’t hold you at gunpoint or trick you into divulging secret information. This is simply an acknowledgment that you are talking to me of your own free will and I did not coerce you into talking to me, nor did I pay you for this information. If you initial here, it means you consent to having our conversation taped.”

  “Yeah, I looked up your stuff after we talked the other day. You write legit stuff. You’re not any junk tabloid reporter.” Sheila takes the pen from me and signs it. Then, she initials the form so I can record our conversations.

  “Thank you,” I say as I put the paperwork back in the file and grab a legal pad to take notes. I set my recorder on the desk and press record.

  I state the date and the time. “This is Mallory Yoshida and Sheila Taylor discussing the case of Marshall Todd. This is interview one.”

  I pause to take a drink of water.

  “Let’s talk about the very beginning of the story. How did you and Marshall meet?”

  “My dad had gotten a new job, and we had to move from Idaho to Oregon. I didn’t want to come. I wanted to stay behind with my friends from high school because who wants to switch schools in the middle of their freshman year? I knew I would be instantly unpopular. I was always a weird kid. I used to like poetry and music — but I wasn’t particularly musical. I was a terrible athlete, so I didn’t fit in with the jocks. I wasn’t a girly girl so I didn’t fit in with the chicks, but I wasn’t a gamer so I didn’t fit in with those guys either. My parents were so afraid I was going to get caught up in drugs and alcohol, they policed my every move. They treated me like I was in the sixth grade instead of the ninth grade.”

  “I can relate. My parents were a little overprotective.”

  “The constant supervision ticked me off. I started evading them and acting more wild than I actually was. I hung out with this dude who had pierced ears and tattoos. I knew he was the kind of guy my dad would hate — but that was the point, really. It was all fun and games until Axel backhanded me hard enough to send me into the lockers.”

  “Oh wow!”

  I definitely saw stars. Afterwards, I puked in the bushes outside of the school.

  “Marshall Todd happened to be walking by while I was throwing up. He didn’t see what happened earlier, so he assumed I was throwing up because I’d been drinking. He said, ‘You need to take better care of yourself. You’re too smart and pretty to throw your life away like that.’”

  “Ouch,” I mutter under my breath.

  “I got right up in his face and screamed at him that he had no idea what he was talking about.”

  “Good for you.”

&nbs
p; “He just smiled and said, ‘I don’t know what your deal is, but most girls around here like it when I throw them a compliment.’ I was so angry — but mostly embarrassed. Even though he thought I was fall down drunk, he helped me get cleaned up and safely home. To this day, I have mixed emotions about the encounter. He was having fun at my expense, yet he was still remarkably kind and tender.”

  “I can imagine,” I murmur.

  “A few months later, I started dating one of his teammates. I was hiding Tyrone from my parents because I wasn’t even supposed to be dating- I wasn’t sixteen yet. I told my parents I was on yearbook and had to go to all the school events. They were thrilled because they thought it meant I was finally fitting in at a new school — for the first time in my life. I bought a cheap digital camera at Walmart and was showing my family all the pictures I was taking of the athletes and cheerleaders at school — you know, like at pep rallies, basketball games, and the soccer players playing on the field. My parents ate my lies up.”

  “Impressive amount of deviousness; my teenage self is jealous of your thoroughness.”

  “In the meantime, I was playing the role of a lifetime with Tyrone. For once in my life, I was a popular kid hanging out with the jock. It was like a dream come true.”

  “As a former band geek, I can totally relate.”

  “I thought everything was perfect, but Marshall knew something I didn’t know. Apparently, Tyrone had a list of girls he was planning to sleep with during the school year. There was some weird scavenger hunt game in which the guys got points for ‘bagging’ as many chicks on the list as they possibly could. I was one of many. Unfortunately, I found out in the middle of a party after I had just slept with Tyrone. The more popular girls at the party were taunting me mercilessly.”

  “How awful for you,” I commiserate.

  “Oh, you have no idea. Because during this same incident, my parents learned how to turn on the tracking features on my cell phone and decided to track me down and haul me home. Unfortunately for Marshall, he was in the middle of breaking the news about the scavenger hunt and Tyrone’s nefarious plans when my dad burst in and caught Marshall giving me a hug and trying to comfort me. They hauled Marshall down to the police station. I wanted to go to the hospital to have a rape kit done, but my dad refused. I knew it would have shown Marshall didn’t touch me, but it didn’t matter to them when I told them Marshall hadn’t done anything to me. Of course, my credibility was immediately called into question after I admitted I’d recently had sex. When they searched my phone, they found the snarky messages I had sent him. I was fifteen, he was eighteen, I was at a party without my parent’s permission and I had been drinking. I was powerless.”