Dear Meredith

by Belle Kismet

  This conversation came flooding back to me on one of my long, aimless walks, shortly after the doctor's diagnosis.

  Because there are no secrets between us, I will be honest with you here, the way I couldn't fully seem to be in person. I was furious, Meredith, furious at this damned disease which swooped in from nowhere and suddenly shattered our lives. I was so angry, so blinded with resentment that I needed those walks as a way to regain some measure of rational thought back.

  I didn't want you to see that part of me - this was very important to me. I didn't want to give you more pain than already necessary. So I pounded the pavement, just walking and thinking. And during one of those walks, I passed by a little bookstore on the corner. It's a dark, dingy sort of place with lots of paperbacks and hardcovers piled up into uncountable stacks. There were yet more books in the window display, with a layer of dust so thick that I could see it from six feet away.

  I wouldn't have given it a second thought, except I had noticed a little sign pinned to an ancient easel right in front of the entrance. "Used and new books for free/all-time low prices. Stock clearance, Closing sale."

  That little grubby note didn't make much of an impact on me until a few days later. Everytime I walked pass that shop, I found my eyes automatically pulled towards that easel, my brain mulling over possibilities, that conversation we had earlier now front and centre in my mind. And I thought, why the hell not? After all, you'd been thinking about getting a job again in the past year. To cut the story short, I walked into the store about a week later and offered to buy over the business from the very astonished Chinese old man who had been snoozing behind the counter.

  You knew nothing of course, but I could see your relief that I had been coming back from my walks looking less and less moody. Of course, sneaking in time to write you these letters also went a good way towards helping me accept the fact that I was dying. Because I knew I would go without leaving you cast adrift like a balloon floating helplessly in the wind after its string has been cut.

  I've gone through Mr. Chin's book inventory - it's quite extensive and I think you'll find it a good starting point. I've taken the liberty of storing the books in a warehouse, because I strongly suspect you'll want to do a bit of redecorating.

  So that's the first surprise. I have no idea how you're gonna swallow this idea that you now own a bookstore - as I write this, my stomach is cramping in anxiety! But I hope you will love it as much as I think you will.

  I love you so very much.

  Your biggest fan,

  Michael

  p.s. Call Daniel for the bookstore details. For the second surprise, check my study table, first drawer on the right. Remember, you can do it.

  I feel a bit faint. As I set the letter down, his words swim around in my head. Whoa. I own a bookstore.

  This feels unreal. And yet incredibly right. My husband had suddenly transformed into a sort of Santa Claus, presenting me with gifts I hadn't even known I needed.

  So that's what he had been up to during his long, mysterious walks. He was right, I had noticed a change in him towards the end of the second week since the diagnosis. He seemed a little easier with himself, and had regained some animation in his character.

  I close my eyes in self-recrimination. I had had no idea he had been so angry with himself, and I kicked myself for not noticing.

  When Laney gets back fifteen minutes later, fairly bursting with curiousity and bearing gifts of a pepperoni pizza (extra cheese) and buffalo wings, I numbly hand her the letter.

  I start chewing meditatively on a slice as I watch her eyes get rounder with every word.

  She looks up at me. "My God, this is incredible. Mike sure has a flair for the dramatic. You can't make this stuff up. How amazing is he? This story wouldn't look out of place in The Daily Mail."

  I can't help a giggle. The UK tabloid is one of our greatest vices and I love reading every single trashy article on it. Besides, its reporters really did have a talent for digging up wonderful human interest stories and I occasionally found myself near tears after reading some of them.

  "Yeah, it wouldn't, would it? I think I'm still in shock. But oh, Laney, I own a bookstore!" Even as I say it, I feel a surge of wonder welling up in me. Suddenly, I cannot wait to see this little corner shop that my husband had bought for me and explore every nook and cranny of it.

  Laney shares my excitement. We've been friends since we were in first grade after chumming up together to avoid being left the odd one out during games.

  As the letter's contents sink in deeper, I feel a stab of anxiety. "Do you really think I can do it? Run a bookstore? I mean, I know practically nothing about it although I'm a self-professed bookworm."

  "I'm sure you can," she says immediately. "Mike clearly thinks so and I agree with him. Anyway, you'll never know until you try, right? A bookstore isn't exactly the most risky operation," she laughs. She's right - Mike has handed me this chance to live my dream and I'd be a fool not to take it just because I don't have faith in myself. But I don't want to do this alone.

  Impulsively, I ask her, "Laney, would you like to run this bookstore with me? I know you travel so much but it'd be wonderful to have a partner I trust."

  "Are you serious?" she breathes, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth.

  "Yes, I think Mike would love the idea of you doing this with me. And I can foresee a lot of work cut out for me if his description of the bookstore is spot on."

  She gives me a blinding smile and it hits me again how beautiful she is. "Oh, Meredith, I would love to be your partner! I'm fairly certain I still have that drawing we did in sixth grade of how our bookstore would look like."

  I laugh. "You would! You don't throw away anything."

  "And see why? You never know when you might need them," she says triumphantly. Suddenly she frowns, looking down at the letter again. "Hey, have you checked the study table drawer?"

  "Oh, I completely forgot about that after he dropped the bomb on me. I'll be back in a second." I move towards Mike's study, a vague sense of foreboding filling me.

  I have two surprises for you. One I know you'll love, and the other, well, let's just say I'm glad I'm not in the same room as you when you find out.

  What the hell sort of warning is that? As I stare down at the drawer, I try and guess what could possibly be inside. Something that I wouldn't like, that's for sure. But it couldn't be that bad, could it?

  I yank it open. And stare. If I thought I had been speechless before, well now you could knock me over with a feather and I don't think I'd be able to get up.

  No way. No freaking way.

  Because what was nestled there snugly was a gorgeous, emerald green bikini and a receipt for... swimming lessons.

  "Laney," I call, my voice thin and breathless. Miraculously, she hears me and I hear her light, rapid footsteps coming over.

  As she appears in the doorway, still clutching the letter, I hold up the bikini and receipt wordlessly.

  To my amazement, she starts to laugh after a full ten seconds of startled silence. She laughs so hard that tears shine in her eyes, while I begin to feel distinctly disgruntled.

  "Hello, paging for empathy from my best friend?" I say grumpily. This sends her into another laughing fit as she holds up her hands in apology. Finally, she recovers enough to speak. "I'm sorry, Mer, but Mike is such a gem. Genius, to sneak it into the letter like this. I mean, swimming lessons! God knows we've tried before. You need them and nobody has been able to drag you to the pool or beach, ever."

  I cross my arms defensively. "I nearly drowned, remember? I think I'm well justified to have a phobia of large bodies of water!"

  "Mer, you can't go your whole life avoiding such places," she says, putting on her best reasonable voice while I frown down at the offending swimwear. "Besides, we were ten when it happened and that was because that idiot boy - what was his name? Brendan - ducked under you and held onto your leg. Man, he got the hiding of his life from his parent
s. I remember he sported red stripes down his thighs for a week after that."

  I shudder. I still remember that day clearly. The pool had been filled with screaming, playing kids during our summer break. I was treading water one minute, feeling triumphantly buoyant and the next, I was swallowing water as my whole head abruptly submerged into the pool. All the time, I could feel something clamping down onto my right leg, dragging me deeper into the depths.

  It was Laney who had screamed for the lifeguard but my brother Jamie had gotten there first.

  By the time he had dragged me towards the edge, I had been unconscious. They told me the lifeguard had given me CPR and that I had spewed out an amazing amount of water.

  For days on after that, I had tasted the chlorinated water in my mouth and I had never been able to venture into anything bigger than a bathtub since, not even if wild horses dragged me. Mike knew all this.

  "How could he do this to me?" I blurt out in disbelief. "He knows how much I fear the water."

  "Well, maybe that's just it, babe. Mike hopes you'll be able to overcome your fear," she says gently, coming over to me. "Think about it, you can't let this hang over you for the rest of your life. What if a tsunami happens? Or a flood? Mike's just looking out for you, like he always did."

  I am silent. Mike had tried coaxing me before, as had Laney. I had refused, point blank, once even growing so hysterical that he promised me he would drop the subject. Deep in my heart, I am still that little girl who lay at that poolside, vomiting water, the shock of nearly dying never leaving me.

  "I don't know if I can," I whisper, taking the letter from her.

  For the second surprise, check my study table, first drawer on the right. Remember, you can do it.

  I hear Mike's voice in my head, warm, strong and confident. My biggest fan.

  Bandit's head peeks in the doorway, her fur all dry and fuzzy now from her tanning session. She ambles over to me and drops into a sit, her mouth open in a contented grin.

  Bandit. The bookstore. Mike's gifts to me. And now, swimming lessons.

  Laney's voice in my head. Mike's just looking out for you, like he always did.

  I sigh. "I guess I can try."

  Chapter 6

  I stand six feet away from the edge of the pool, eyeing it suspiciously. It's the nearest I've ever gotten to such a big body of water in eighteen years.

  It's just like that day when I was ten. Even though that pool is now thousands of miles away, this pool is filled with the same rowdy children, clambering out continuously to dive back into the deep end.

  "Is it just me or does the water look a bit rough?" I anxiously ask my instructor, who is a bronze Adonis with the incongruous name Milo, and who would not look out of place in a Grecian vase.

  He laughs, with what I feel is an utter lack of concern for my apprehensions. His voice is a little high for his size and I'm secretly glad he isn't perfect. "No, the water in the pool stays the same every day. There's one more person coming but we can begin first."

  Milo heads over to the shallow end and looks back at me expectantly.

  I stare back at him with wide eyes, feeling like a trapped mouse facing a grinning cat.

  "Come on, Meredith," he says encouragingly, holding out a hand.

  Most girls would swoon, I suppose. His biceps do ripple wonderfully when he does that. I, however, feel distinctly nauseous.

  "I don't think I can," I squeak through gritted teeth, sweat breaking out on my forehead.

  To his credit, he doesn't lose his toothpaste-commercial smile. Taking one step closer towards me, he says, "Okay, let's just deal with moving two steps towards the pool. Don't think about getting into it yet, okay?"

  I look at him, decide he isn't going to trick me by grabbing me and throwing me in. I edge another two steps closer.

  Just then, motion at the side of my eye makes me turn my head. It's a little blonde-haired girl skipping towards us, clad in a polka-dot pink one-piece. She looks to be about five or six. She must be the other person Milo was talking about.

  Great. I'm about to make myself look like the world's greatest wimp in front of a pre-schooler. Because she looks absolutely thrilled to be here and is staring at the water as though she can't wait to dive in. "Hi Milo!" She waves at me. "Hi, I'm Genevieve Maple Harrison, but you can call me Ginny."

  Charmed, I wave back at her. "Hi, Ginny, you can call me Meredith."

  "Hello, little Ginny!" Milo says happily. "Ah, welcome to your first class," he continues, but I realise he isn't looking at her any longer. I turn again and notice a man making his way towards us.

  Though no Adonis, his body, which I can't help but notice, still cuts a fine figure with his broad shoulders and muscled arms. As he gets closer, I realise with a jolt that he has green eyes like mine, just slightly darker, and thick, straight brows.

  In fact, they are the exact colour of my bikini. He suddenly glances at me, a swift, inquisitive look and I turn away quickly.

  What the hell? I could feel myself turning red as I realise with disbelief that I had been checking him out.

  "Welcome, Grant. This is Meredith, it's her first lesson too. Now, don't worry, we will be taking things slowly, at your own pace," Milo says, as I reluctantly face them again, hugging myself self-consciously. Ten minutes of my swimming lesson has already elapsed and I can't wait for this to end. And by the look on Grant's face, he feels the same.

  We exchange small smiles and I relax a little as he gives the water the same suspicious glance I did.

  "Daddy, soon you'll be able to swim with me!" Ginny pipes enthusiastically and I see him give a visible wince.

  "Go on then," he tells her, "but stay in the shallow end."

  She nods and slips into the water lithely, like a little dolphin. I can't help but envy her. The water looks like a horrible, hungry monster just waiting to drag me in.

  "So," Milo says, with a clap of his hands. "I understand that the both of you have a little phobia of the water, is it not? No matter, I'll have both of you swimming like fish in five weeks," he promises, while we stare at him apprehensively.

  To my surprise, despite my initial misgivings, Milo turns out to be quite a reassuring teacher. He sits us down and walks us through his curriculum, breaking down the various swimming strokes we will be learning throughout the course.

  They sound absolutely impossible to me, of course, though I keep quiet and listen dutifully.

  I can't help but glance over occasionally at Grant, because I find it fascinating how his expressions seem to reflect exactly what I'm feeling.

  Finally, Milo announces that there is just five minutes left to the lesson. But that changes quickly to horror as he says, "Okay, let's end this by actually getting ourselves wet, shall we?"

  This time, Grant and I exchange real glances, united by our fear.

  "Only up to your knees, guys," Milo adds quickly as he observes our faces.

  Suddenly, and quite without warning, I hear Mike's voice in my head. Baby steps, Mer, baby steps.

  Okay, Mike. I breathe in and out, trying not to sound like a woman in labour.

  Somehow, he manages to coax me into sitting at the water's edge and the cool water laps softly under my butt as we dangle our legs in the water.

  I stare at my legs, which are distorted in the water as I wiggle my toes. I can't believe it. I'm actually doing this and my mind isn't screaming that I'm about to die.

  A surge of happiness wells up within me as Milo and Ginny shout encouraging things from where they're bobbing gently several feet in front of us.

  Feeling a gaze on me, I turn my head to find Grant smiling at me and I read the same triumph in his eyes. It is a shared moment and I tip my head in acknowledgement of it.

  "So how was it?" Laney ambushes me when I get home, Bandit prancing joyously at my side before rolling onto her back, all four paws up in the air as she demands a tummy rub.

  "It was surprisingly okay," I admit, while she gives a whoop of triumph. I scr
atch Bandit's tummy, getting at her favourite spot, which makes her left hind leg start pumping up and down in a scratching movement.

  "Yeah, go Mike! Tell me all about it," she demands, flopping down onto the couch. Her laptop is open on the table, where she had been writing her latest article while babysitting Bandit for me.

  Two empty bottles of Corona stand neatly beside it. "I write best when I drink," Laney has proclaimed often. It's a mystery to me how her stomach stays so amazingly taut.

  "Well, for starters, my swimming instructor is a bronze Adonis called Milo. I think he has an eight-pack and he looks like he can bench press the both of us together."

  Her eyes widen. "And the cons?" she demands.

  "His voice doesn't match his god-like body," I confess with a giggle. "And I suspect he's gay."

  She falls back onto the cushions dramatically. "Why are all the good men taken or gay?"

  Or dead, I add silently, the pang in my stomach a familiar friend by now.

  "I don't know if he's gay," I say aloud. "I just think he might be. But you never know."

  She perks up slightly. "Is his voice girl high, or just less manlier than normal high, but definitely a manly voice?"

  I consider the question seriously. Laney and I had fine-tuned our system of rating men since high school, which employed liberal use of celebrities as measures.

  "I'd say, his voice is like Ewan MacGregor's in Moulin Rouge, when he's hitting some of the high notes," I say at last.

  Laney thinks about it for a moment then groans. "Ugh, I just can't imagine it. Maybe I'll come along for your next lesson."

  "No," I blurt out before I can help myself. "No, don't. I wouldn't be able to dip a toe into the water if you were there," I add quickly, although I feel a flush colouring my face. Bandit is lying down beside me, and I lean down to kiss her so I can hide from Laney. Somehow, I don't want her to know about Grant but I can't quite explain why.

  However, Laney fortunately doesn't seem to notice, lost in contemplation about Milo's lack or not of a manly enough voice. "But how else am I going to meet him?"