Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition

by Callie Anderson

  Weston wasn’t like my father. I realized that the moment he found out about Lyra. He’d dropped everything to be near her. Lyra was number one for Weston. She’d never have to grow up without him, or know what it was like to have a father who didn’t care.

  The sun rose and warmed my skin as it peered through Lyra’s bedroom window. I’d been up most of the night holding her close to me, soaking in as much time with her as I could.

  After I had made Lyra’s breakfast and she got ready for school, we sat out on the terrace to enjoy the gorgeous weather as the soft waves crashed below us.

  “Mommy?” Lyra asked after she took a sip of her orange juice.

  “Yes, sweetie?” I folded my hands under my chin and waited for her to respond.

  “Can I go over Susie's house later?” Her eyes were wide with plea, and I couldn’t help but notice how much she looked like her father. It made my heart ache.

  I slowly nodded. "Yes."

  As much as I didn’t want to spend a second away from my daughter, I couldn't say no to her. Not now. She clapped her hands with excitement.

  “You can go over after school, and since it’s your dad's day to get you, I’ll tell him to pick you up there.”

  A few hours later, I sat in my living room—alone.

  That word haunted me.

  I’d been by myself most of my life. Yes, my aunt had done everything she could to ensure I would have a normal upbringing, but I didn't have many friends. I didn't have cousins or siblings to play with or even fight with. It was just me.

  I had no support system.

  I had absolutely no one.

  Was this what it was like to die in solitude? To not have a hand to hold when all you needed was that tiny embrace letting you know you weren’t alone.

  Sliding off the couch, I lay on the cool hardwood floor, my hand resting over my heart as I tried to calm the anxiety attack that was coming.

  Alone.

  Isolated.

  Deserted.

  The words continued to taunt my already foggy mind. Dr. Marino wanted me to have a support system, but I had no one.

  Tears streamed down my face as I blinked up at the ceiling. I sucked in long pulls of air and filled my lungs before slowly exhaling, trying to ease my heavy breathing, but the fear of dying refused to leave my stressed thoughts. The thought of leaving Lyra all alone like I had been had my heart racing. I didn't have it in me to fight because the fear exhausted me.

  I was drained.

  Needing to black out the voices and chaos in my head, I stood and slowly made my way over to the bar. With a shaky hand, I grabbed a cobbler glass and the bottle of vodka. Filling the cup a quarter of the way, I poured my first shot.

  One to take the edge off.

  Two because the first one had worked so well.

  Three because the tears wouldn't stop coming.

  Four because I had fucking cancer.

  At some point I stopped taking shots and gripped the neck of the bottle, pouring it straight down my throat and allowing the raw liquor to coat and burn every inch of my insides. My pain had been temporarily numbed, and the urge to dance came over me.

  Stumbling to the radio, I cranked up my favorite Aerosmith album. I let the beat bump out of the bass and channel through my body. The alcohol coursed through my veins my body from the pain that I felt. I let it take over, my feet moving across the floor where I danced to forget it all.

  64

  WESTON

  I didn't know how long we sat in that position. Minutes, hours, days . . .

  But I refused to move an inch until she was ready.

  Her whimpers grew softer, her grip around me loosened. She picked her head up and looked up at me. Her nose was runny, her cheeks crimson, and she was as beautiful as the day I met her.

  My heart.

  My other half.

  The reflection of my soul.

  “I told you not to hug me.” She pushed off the ground and tried to stand, but woozy from the vodka, she stumbled.

  “What are the doctors suggesting?” I asked as I followed her into the kitchen.

  She stood on the other side of the island. “When you took Lyra to Seattle, I had a partial hysterectomy. They removed a small part of my uterus. Since they caught it early, the oncologist suggested not removing the whole thing since I'm still very young and I need the hormones in my body. The plan is a round of chemo and radiation.”

  “So they caught it early enough?”

  “Yeah.” She sounded defeated.

  I reached across and grabbed her hand. “That’s great news!”

  “This took my mother from me. It took my grandmother from her.” She shook her head, her eyes closing as she began to cry again.

  “Don't say that.” I rushed to her side to hug her, but she pulled away from me.

  “It's true. And who knows the damage I’ve done to my body with all the hormones I shot myself with because Jeremy wanted to get pregnant.”

  “Is that why you won't let him see Lyra?”

  “I don't want to talk to you about this.” She pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge.

  “No, you have to. We have a child together, so whether you like it or not, I'm in this with you.”

  “This is all Jeremy’s fault.” She looked out across the ocean and her eyes glassed over with tears.

  “You can't say that.”

  “Why not?” She shrugged. “He wanted a kid. I took every type of hormone out there and out of nowhere I have cancer. I was fine. I was fine after Lyra and my scans had been coming back normal for years now. And the second I go on hormones I have cancer?” I knew Emilia was speaking out of anger. She wasn't thinking straight.

  What is the prognosis?” I asked quietly.

  “They’re hoping that surgery and chemo will cure it, but they are doing radiation as well.”

  “I want to be there, through everything.”

  “Yeah, sure. Me, you, and Chelsea.” She threw her hands in the air sarcastically.

  “Chelsea and I broke up the day you got married.” I leaned back on the countertop. Emilia snapped her head up at me and I shrugged.

  She shook her head slowly. “You never said anything.” I watched her eyes as she tried to remember the past year.

  “You never asked.”

  “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” She inhaled a calming breath and let it out slowly. “Weston, you don’t need to do this for me.”

  I walked over to her and brushed a loose tendril away from her face. “I know I don't have to do anything, Em, but I want to, that’s the difference. You’re the mother of my child and I want to be there for you.” She turned her face and closed her eyes. My fingers lifted her chin back to me.

  “Promise me you'll fight?”

  “Weston.” Her voice was shaky.

  “Promise me, for Lyra, you'll fight.”

  I promise.” She bowed her head and took a deep breath. “This is karma.” She pulled away from me.

  “No, it's not.”

  “I kept her away from you, and this is my punishment.” She bowed her head and the tears dripped onto the countertop.

  I reached for her wrist. “Come here.”

  “Don’t touch me.” She swatted my hands away. “I don’t need your help.”

  “Yes, you do.” I reached for her. She tried to fight me but then stepped forward. I draped my arms over her and kept her flush against my body. Her soft whimpers grew louder and it broke the last few fragments of my heart.

  “I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. I'll be here through everything.” I pulled away and lifted her chin. “This time, I'm not going anywhere, you understand?”

  She shook her head slowly as her lips quivered. I wanted to kiss those lips. I desperately wanted to wash the pain away from them, but Emilia turned her head and rested it on my chest. Her small hands held me like a vice grip. I would be her protector, her guardian, the person she could count on to get her through this.


  Because at the end of the day we would beat this.

  We would.

  The side effects of the alcohol and the crying had made her exhausted and she fell asleep on the couch as I brushed back her hair. Two hours later, I walked out of Emilia's house. My heart ached with pain and I needed to let my frustration out. I couldn't hold on to the pent–up anger I had in my chest.

  Mama and my mother went to church every Sunday. I wasn't a religious man. I didn’t feel I needed to go to church to speak to God. I left Emilia's house with my heart lodged in my fucking throat. The lump was so massive it made it impossible to swallow. She had cancer. Fucking cancer. The same kind of cancer that had taken her mother from her. My teeth gritted together as I pulled back my car door. This couldn't be fucking real. How the fuck was I supposed to believe in God when he had given her cancer?

  The pain in my chest was more than I could tolerate. Closing my eyes, I screamed until my throat was sore. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Tears dripped from my eyes. I could no longer hold back the pain. Emilia had cancer. If anything happened to her, my world would be over. She was my everything. Her and Lyra were the reasons my world made any sense. Resting my head on the steering wheel, I closed my eyes and did something I hadn't done since I was a little boy.

  I prayed.

  “God, you've taken so much from me. My father walked out on me. You took my brother when he was just trying to defend our country. Through all of that, I’ve never asked you for anything. I didn’t come to you when I wanted to be successful. I didn't come to you when my mother worked late nights and I wanted her close to me. Never have I asked you for anything. I'd like to believe that we all have that one favor we get to ask you. Well, this is mine. You can't take her. I'm begging you. Please, don't take her away from me. Don't let there be a world where she is no longer in my life. Take my fame, take my money, but please don't take her. She has so much to give and Lyra needs her mother. Please, God. Take me instead.”

  I didn't recall how I’d got home after I left Emilia. I didn't remember turning my car on or pulling out of her driveway. My brain didn’t snap out of autopilot until I dangled my keys to the front door of my house. Why had I come home? I needed to be by her. She needed me.

  I looked down at my watch and noticed that I had twenty minutes to go before I had to pick up Lyra from her after school play date. I climbed up the steps inside my house two at a time and walked straight into my closet. Pulling out my duffle bag, I tossed in a few pieces of clothing and then brought it with me into the bathroom.

  She couldn't be alone. Not during chemo. I packed my toiletries and headed out the door. Whether Emilia agreed or not, I was moving in with her.

  I pulled up to Miranda’s home. Her daughter Dena was in the same class as Lyra and every other week Emilia had them schedule a play date. Through the shrubs, I spotted Lyra and Dena playing in the backyard. Lyra's face was filled with bliss. She knew no real sadness in the world; she didn’t understand what pain was. She didn't understand loss. If something tragic happened to Emilia, how would I explain that to her?

  I needed to be strong for both of them.

  I quickly hopped out of the car and knocked on the front door. Miranda smiled brightly when she pulled the door open. I thanked her for staying with Lyra and tried not to drag out the conversation. Miranda chatted about what Lyra had done during their play date, but my headspace was somewhere with Emilia. Lyra said good–bye to Dena and I rushed to fasten her into her booster seat.

  “Daddy!” Lyra shouted from the back seat. I’d been so focused on getting back to Emilia that I must have tuned her out.

  “I'm sorry, princess, what did you say?”

  “Where are you going?” She pointed to the duffle bag I’d thrown on the back seat.

  “I . . . uh . . .” I looked at her through the rearview mirror. “I'm having some work done on the house, so I'll be staying with you and your mom for a bit.”

  Lyra's face beamed at me. “Oh, goodie!” She clapped her hands with excitement.

  Life had a funny way of making things work. For the first time in her little life, Lyra would have both parents under the same roof.

  “How was your play date?” I asked, changing the subject. Lyra went into full detail, telling me everything that had occurred during her time with Dena, and continuing her story until we arrived home.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Lyra shouted through the house. I'd taken Emilia's keys when I left earlier. One, I wanted to be able to walk inside without waking her, and two, I didn’t want her driving under the influence. Though the first part didn’t help since Lyra’s vibrant voice bellowed throughout the house.

  Emilia was still in the same spot I left her. “Sweet Pea.” She opened up her arms for Lyra. “How was your play date with Dena?”

  “We played dress up.” Lyra tugged on her shirt as she described the princess dress she had on during her play date.

  I grinned as I walked into the kitchen and pulled out another bottle of water. I knew Lyra was going to explain to Emilia in full detail about her dress up outfit. When I returned to the living room, Lyra had moved on to her crown and accessories. Emilia, who must have had a million things running through her mind, stayed attentive and listened to her every word. I sat next to Emilia.

  “Oh!” Lyra threw her hands in the air. “Daddy said he is staying here while he has work done on his house.” She pointed to the duffle bag that I’d left in the foyer.

  Emilia’s head snapped my way. I gave her a boyish grin as I tried to contain my chuckles. “You're staying here?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

  “Yes.” I matched her sarcastic tone. “Like I said to Lyra, I'm having some work done at my house and I'll be staying here for a while.”

  Emilia inhaled slowly and smiled wide at Lyra. “Honey bunny, why don't you go wash up so you can help Mommy cook dinner?” Her voice was soft and tender when she spoke to Lyra. We both watched as Lyra skipped out of the room and headed toward the bathroom.

  “You're not moving in here,” Emilia barked at me in a low whisper. Her gaze was like daggers digging into me.

  “Yes, I am.” I sat back on the couch and kicked my feet up on her coffee table.

  “Weston . . .”

  “Emilia . . .” I bobbed my head like Lyra had done dramatically before. “Here's the thing, babe. You need someone here with you. What you're about to go through is hard enough, and to do it alone is impossible.” I took my feet off the coffee table and turned toward her. “I'm here to help with Lyra, chores, cooking, school drop off, and whatever else you need. We both know how much chemo is going to suck, so take your pride and place it somewhere else because I'm not taking no for an answer.”

  “You're not sleeping with me.” She crossed her arms at her chest and I couldn't help but grin. It was good that she seemed to joke about it.

  “This house looks like it has a few extra guest rooms, not to mention this couch seems very comfortable.” I brought my mouth close to her face. If she wanted to play, I was going to play back. In a low husky whisper, I added, “Too bad you won't let me sleep with you. Our bodies always seemed to fit like a puzzle.”

  Emilia swatted my arm. “Weston! You can stay but in your own room. I'll lay out new sheets in the guest room.”

  I brushed back her hair and looked deep into her deep brown eyes. “I'm here, Em, for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Also . . .” I paused and contemplated whether this was the best time to talk to Emilia, “I know this is sudden, but what are we going to tell Lyra?”

  Emilia inhaled deeply. “I have no idea how to cross that bridge. I've been so focused on making sure her life wasn't affected by it. I wanted you to meet her doctor and have her spend more time with your family. You know, in case something . . .” I brought my fingers to her lips.

  “Nothing will happen to you. I promise.”

  “Mommy!”

  We both turned when Lyra screeched. Hop
ping off the couch, we ran to Lyra, who was waiting in the kitchen with her apron tied around her waist.

  “Lyra Skye, you scared me half to death.” Emilia rested her hands on her waist.

  “But I'm ready to start cooking,” Lyra said innocently.

  “Okay. Let me wash up.”

  “I can cook dinner,” I offered as Emilia pulled back the sleeves of her shirt.

  She giggled. “You? Cook?” She began to really laugh. Lyra joined her.

  “What's so funny?”

  “You can't cook.”

  “Says who?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Weston, when we were together you never cooked. Ever. Mama and your mom even bought your groceries.” Emilia smiled at me smugly.

  “Yes, but have you forgotten I was a struggling musician in London for four years? I had no choice but to learn to cook.” Once the words were out of my mouth, the air between us shifted. The reference to London would always be a trigger for us.

  Emilia's laughter faded and she swallowed it back. “Okay, you two cook. I'll go make up your room.” She touched my shoulder as she passed and patted Lyra's head.

  One day this wouldn't be hard, but we were still in the process of learning who we were in this new life. Lyra pulled her step ladder open and climbed up so she could see the counter. “What are we cooking, Daddy?”

  I looked at Lyra and then at the state of the art kitchen. Crap. I scooped up Lyra in my arms and sat her on the counter top. “I need you to be a sous chef today.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My right hand.” I circled the kitchen. “I have no clue where your Mom puts anything, so I need your help looking for it? Deal?

  Lyra crossed her legs and raised her thumbs at me. “Deal.”

  I opened every cupboard and scanned her fridge for something to cook. After pulling out pork chops, I quickly realized Lyra also had no clue where Emilia kept anything. Dinner took longer than usual that night but when we sat at the dining room table to eat, even I was impressed with how good everything tasted.

  Lyra’s hair had a few splatters of sauce in it when Emilia came to join us at the table. “Wow.” She bit down on her lower lip and looked at the table and then towards the kitchen.