Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition

by Callie Anderson

  I wrapped my arms around her body and pulled her close as she cried. Kissing the top of her head, I spoke, “You want to be angry, babe, let's be angry. You're pissed off, you want to throw things, so let's do it.” My hands ran up her back. “I love you, Em. And I'll do and be whatever you need.”

  Emilia looked up at me with teary eyes, her lower lip quivering. Framing her small face in my hands, I lifted her face to mine. Slowing brushing my lips on hers, I hoped the world stopped for her as it had done for me. It was the first time I'd kissed her since she left my hotel room that one day so many months ago. She pulled back from the sudden touch, her eyes scanning mine for some type of question or answer. Exhaling, she closed her eyes.

  “Kiss me again,” she whispered.

  My hands framed her face, then moved back to coil her hair around my fingers. Gently, I pressed my lips to hers. The mixture of salt from her tears and the sweetness from her strawberry ChapStick mixed together. It was what we both desperately needed. It was tender at first, but my body threw caution to the wind when my mind remembered her taste. Our kiss grew hungrier and she opened her mouth, letting me in.

  Heaven.

  In the midst of all the fear and tears, this was heaven. A taste of better days to come.

  I gently bit down on her lower lip and she moaned. The soft whimper sparked a fire deep inside of me, a fire that had been dormant. Her frail arms laced around my neck in a vice grip. Opening her mouth wider, she deepened our kiss.

  In one quick movement, I wrapped my hands around her thighs and lifted her around my waist, pivoting so she was pressed between me and my car. My dick grew harder as she pushed down with her pelvis and her fingernails ran through my hair.

  A car horn startled us both.

  “Get a room,” the driver shouted as he passed us.

  Emilia laughed and lowered her head to the crook of my neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I lowered her to the ground and waited for her to look up at me. Her lips were swollen, bruised a shade of red. I couldn’t resist and kissed them once again. “If this is how you want to get rid of your rage, that’s fine by me.”

  “Thank you.” She lifted on her tippy–toes and kissed my cheek.

  I winked at her and pulled the car door open. “Come on, let’s see if we can fix some of that anger.”

  Emilia climbed into the car with a smile on her face and her head held high.

  66

  WESTON

  I hopped in the car and pulled my sunglasses out of the cup holder. Sliding them on my face, I looked over at Emilia with my best sexy grin. “You ready?”

  “Let's go!”

  She reached for the radio and turned it up as loud as it would go. I pulled out of the hospital and headed toward the one place I knew could help her. If she wanted to throw things, there was only one place to take her.

  “Where are you taking me?” Emilia asked when I pulled onto the freeway.

  “Huh?” I joked.

  “You heard me!” She shouted over the top forty music blasting through the speakers of the car. “Where are you taking me?”

  “You'll see, babe.” She scrunched her nose at me. I reached over and brought her hand to mine. “You trust me?”

  “Always.” She beamed.

  Within the hour, I parked in an empty street parking spot and lowered the music. Emilia looked around the busy street and then back over at me. “Honestly, Weston, you're starting to confuse me.”

  “Clearly, you have a lot of pent up frustration. I can still feel your lips hungry for more. She reached across the center console and hit me. I chuckled and brought her hands to my lips. “Okay! Okay. I'm joking. I kissed you.” I held her hands together and rested my lips on her knuckles. “You said you trusted me and I'm going to make sure that, by the time we leave here, you feel like a new person. Come on.” I cocked my head to the side, hopped out of the car, and met Emilia on the sidewalk.

  “You're angry. I know you are. I am too. I figured this can help.” I rested my hand on the lower part of her back and led her into what looked like a pottery store. Smash Shack had bookshelves of plates and glasses neatly organized on display. The walls were painted a bright red and the floors were painted like a checkerboard.

  I gripped Emilia's hand as we walked further into the store. “Can I help you?” a middle–aged woman asked. Emilia looked up at me and then around the room. One side had the words Break Shit painted across it.

  “Yes, we are here to break a lot of shit.”

  “So, we just throw these things?” Emilia asked and looked at all the vases neatly displayed on the top shelf. Her mind was finally putting two and two together.

  “Yep,” the sales associate said. “You can smash anything you want from that wall.” She looked over at us and smiled. “I’m Linda, by the way.”

  Emilia released my hand to reach out to Linda, but stopped and winced.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. Linda’s eyebrows furrowed as we both waited for Emilia to respond.

  “Yes… Let’s smash some shit,” she said eagerly.

  Linda quickly explained our options about building our own custom box to smash. Some pieces required more force than others when throwing. I guess she realized Emilia was in pain. Emilia and I filled a cardboard box with plates, mugs, glasses and vases. Linda led us to a smash room in the back that was semi–sound proof. She instructed us to put on safety goggles, gloves, and a thick jumpsuit to avoid getting hit by the shards of glass.

  “If you guys need anything from me—” Linda walked to the door, “Just turn this switch and a red light will go on in the hallway.” She closed the door behind her.

  “You said you were violently angry.” I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and uploaded a random playlist that I used when I needed to clear my head. Connecting my phone to the surround sound for the room, I hit the play button. “You wanted to throw things. In here you can scream and smash shit against that wall until you feel better.”

  The bass of the rock 'n' roll song started pumping out of the speakers. The music was loud, matching her mood. I watched as she held a white plate in her hand. I picked up a Sharpie from the cup next to the surround sound and handed it to her.

  “Write it out.” I looked down at the plate. Her frail fingers gripped the Sharpie and I watched another smile grow on her face.

  Fuck cancer! She wrote on her first plate. “Now I just throw it?” she questioned.

  “Throw it with everything you have. Take all your anger and pent up hatred and put it into that plate.”

  “Fuck you!” she shouted to the wall. Standing tall, she threw the plate across the room. It shattered into tiny pieces.

  “Ahhhh!” she screamed. She didn't wait for me to suggest another one. The second plate hit the wall with more force than the previous one. Emilia screamed louder. She tossed another plate across the room. “Fuck you, cancer!”

  This was working. The fighter that lived inside of her was back. I grabbed a vase from the box and joined her in the madness.

  Emilia left Smashed Shack with her head held high and with a new outlook on what was happening to her. Or, at least, that was what I kept telling myself.

  We were halfway back when my phone began to ring. “Hello?”

  “Where the bloody hell are you, mate?”

  Closing my eyes, I remembered that I had plans with the rest of the guys to work on a new CD. Fuck. “Shit, Ax, I completely forgot.” Emilia gazed down at the phone and then back to me.

  “What the hell is going on, Weston? I’ve tried calling you the past couple of days. You say you’re going to call back, but you don’t.”

  I scratched my scalp, trying to orchestrate another lie.

  “Axel,” Emilia leaned forward and spoke clearly into the phone. “Can you come by later, say after six? I have something to tell you.”

  “Emmy?”

  “Yeah, and bring Sally too.” She gave me a sideways grin.

  “We’ll
be there.”

  I hit the off button and Emilia looked out the window. “You okay?” I reached for her hand.

  “Yeah.” She leaned her head back on the seat. “I need to admit what’s happening to me. I need to tell people.”

  “I called my mom. I figured we could use the help.”

  Emilia pulled my hand to her chest and placed it over her heart. “Thank you.”

  Later that night, Emilia ordered a few pizzas. Axel explained the drum solo that was developing in his mind. Lyra was watching a new DVD we had picked up on the way home and the four adults sat on the patio.

  Sally chatted with Emilia about how baby Edward was almost walking as Axel explained how he had been working on the bridge for our latest song. I half–listened to him, agreeing periodically. My focus was on Emilia.

  “Dude, when are you two just going to come out and admit that you are back together?” Axel whispered.

  I looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

  “Her wedding ring is gone, you’re here, Jeremy isn’t, and you can’t take your eyes off of her.”

  Emilia stopped speaking and looked over at us. Her smiled faded. She filled her lungs with air and I moved from my seat to stand behind her. I laid my hands gently on her shoulders.

  “I uh… asked you both here…” Emilia paused. Her hands reached for mine. She looked up at me and then back at Axel and Sally, who seemed as though they were waiting at the edge of their seats. “I have cancer,” she whispered.

  Sally gasped, her hands rushing to her mouth. Axel looked down to the ground and shook his head. “Fuck!” His fist slammed the table. Emilia jumped with shock.

  “Axel.” Sally reached across the table for him.

  “No!” He stood and walked away from the table. “This is fucking rubbish.” He walked to the edge of the deck and returned. His head hung low and his eyes were hooded. “Emmy.”

  Emilia lifted from her seat and rushed to his side. His large arms enveloped her in a bear hug.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she reassured him. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, Sally stood and walked over to Emilia and Axel. Her hand rubbed Axel’s shoulder until he let Emilia go.

  “I’m sorry,” Sally said, hugging Emilia after Axel had let her go. “Whatever help you need, please let us know.”

  “Thank you.” Emilia’s voice cracked. She’d been so strong.

  “What kind of cancer?” Axel asked.

  “Uterine.”

  Emilia explained to Sally and Axel how she had found out about the cancer, her treatment, and her prognosis. She was positive, hopeful that she would beat this.

  But I felt helpless by her side.

  Cancer was hard, not only on the people living through it, but also for the people who were alongside you.

  67

  WESTON

  Saturday night, I lay on the couch with Lyra curled into my body as we watched another Pixar movie. She had fallen asleep, but she looked like an angel and I refused to move her.

  Emilia was scheduled to start chemotherapy on Monday, so we had spent the past few days as a family. We took Lyra for day trips and spent hours together playing with her. We still hadn’t decided when we were going to tell her, but we both agreed that we wanted her life to stay as normal as possible.

  After Emilia had told Axel and Sally, she decided it was also time to call Leslie. I gave her the space to make that phone call while I watched a movie with Lyra in the living room. It was close to eleven at night when Emilia returned. Her eyes were puffy and she had a sad smile on her face. I didn’t ask her how her conversation with Leslie went.

  Emilia carried a manila folder in her hands. Placing it on the coffee table, she sat beside me. “This is for you.” She brushed Lyra’s wild hair away from her face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It contains everything you need.” She gnawed on her lips. “It’s a copy of the funeral arrangement that I’ve made. And a copy of Lyra’s trust. The deed to the house. My will.”

  “Em, I don't want this shit.” I went to sit up, but Emilia’s hand pushed on my shoulder.

  “Don't get up. You’ll wake her,” she whispered. “I know you don't want to deal with this, Weston. I don't want to deal with this. But the fact is, I have cancer and I can die and you need to be prepared.”

  “You're not dying. Don’t say that. We're going to get through this. You’ll get through chemo. You’ll get through radiation and you'll be fine.”

  “Weston—”

  “No, Emilia.” I sat up slowly so as not to disrupt Lyra. “I don't want your paperwork. I don't need it. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  “Daddy?” Lyra spoke groggily.

  Emilia stood and reached across me. “It's okay, sweetie. Come on. Mommy will tuck you into bed.” Emilia scooped Lyra into her arms. She winced from the pain and pivoted when I reached to help her. She began to walk out of the living room but paused and looked back at me.

  “I may survive cancer, Weston, you’re right. I can beat it and I can be fine, but I can also walk across the street and get hit by a bus and die. So those documents, whether you want them or not, are important.”

  She marched out of the living room and toward the bedroom. I heard the door slam shut. I kicked my feet off the couch. My hands rested on my knees as I stared at the folder in front of me. Her funeral arrangements? She had planned her funeral and expected me to be okay with this? I just got her back. I’d forced myself into her life and made her fight to live for our family.

  I peeled open the folder. On top was the contract with the funeral home. Unable to look at it, I slammed the folder shut.

  In the past week, I’d become a very religious man. When I had no one else to turn to, I bowed my head and prayed. It was something that I had never done before. This was one of those times I reached to Him.

  “Please, God, don't let me lose her,” I whispered. “This world needs her. Lyra needs her mother. And I need her. Please, I'm begging you to let her get through this.”

  I sat in that position for a few minutes. I heard Emilia close Lyra’s door and then head over to her bedroom, so I got up and walked toward her room. I pushed the door open without knocking. Emilia had her eyes shut when I walked in, the only light from the nightstand lamp.

  I needed to be close to her, so, discarding my T–shirt, I crawled into bed with her. Her body faced mine. Her eyes were closed peacefully, her hand tucked under her chin, making her look angelic. I gently rested my hand on her shoulder and she rolled over, turning back to me. I laced my fingers around her stomach and pulled her flush against my body. She fit perfectly.

  “I can see Lyra gets her fake sleep look from you,” I whispered into the crook of her neck.

  “I am sleeping.”

  “I don't want to fight.” I inhaled the scent from her hair.

  “I'm not fighting. But you need to have those documents. You don't—”

  “Shh…” I kissed her neck. “You're right, I know. I'll put them away, but I don't want to talk about them.”

  She turned back toward me and lay her head on my chest. Her words were barely a whisper, “I’m scared.”

  “There’s no need to be scared. I’m right here to protect you.”

  My body tightened. I needed to be strong for her but it was getting harder. That was the thing with cancer . . .

  You were always scared.

  Emilia was strong, stronger than me on most days. She carried a smile on her face and I never heard her cry.

  Not until the night before she started chemo.

  I gently tapped the door to her bedroom. She sat on her bed, staring out the window. Her room looked out onto the ocean, just like her favorite spot on the beach. With the windows wide open, she had the ocean at her feet. It was rare for her to stare into nowhere with worry lines on her face. She always looked out into the ocean with such happiness. Quickly, she brushed t
he tears from her cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as I walked into her room.

  She didn’t answer.

  She didn’t move from her seat.

  She lowered her head as I approached, her fingers coiled together. I knelt down on the floor next to her, grasped her hands in mine and peered up at her. “Em, talk to me.”

  She closed her eyes and tears dripped down her cheeks. “I'm scared,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling with fear. “I don’t know how to feel anything but scared.”

  I grabbed her hands tighter. I willed my body to pull any strength I had and give it to her. “Everything's going to be okay.” I brought her hands to my lips and kissed each of her knuckles. “You hear me?” I lifted her chin.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. The look that reflected back at me scared me deep down into my soul. It was a look she had never given me before. She was broken, terrified, and I didn't know how to protect her. I didn't know how to take the pain away from her.

  I cleared my throat. “It's normal to be scared. It's normal to worry. Just know that I'm right here with you and I will be with you every step of the way. We caught it early and the doctors are hopeful.”

  “I have to be strong for Lyra.” Her voice was mousy. “I want her to see her mother be strong. If she’s not going to remember me, I want her to remember that I tried.”

  I rose from the floor and cradled Emilia's small body before I climbed into bed. She rested her head on my chest, and I pressed my lips into her soft curls as she whimpered.

  “How about right now, at this very minute, you don't try to be strong? You let me worry about being strong. Let me be brave for you.”

  Emilia tucked her head into my chest and let out all of her pain. Her cries pierced my heart like a sharp razor, but I was brave for her. I held her frail body as she cried with fear and trembled in my arms. Closing my eyes, I prayed to God. I asked him to give me the strength to fill her with the bravery she needed. I kissed the top of her head, my lips refusing to pull away. Rocking her slowly, I sang the first song that came to my mind.