Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition

by Callie Anderson

  We traveled to Seattle to see my parents and Mama for Thanksgiving. Emilia decided that she and Lyra should stay a whole week with them while I headed to New York with the guys for a radio show and some meet and greets. It seemed like a smart idea at the time, but staying away from my girls for four nights had me itching to get home.

  The first week of December, we transformed our house into a winter wonderland. Emilia pointed while Pete, Axel, and I hung all the decorations. There were three full–sized Christmas trees in our house, including a pink tree in Lyra’s room. When I asked her why we needed so many, her response was simple.

  “When I was going through chemo, there were days I thought I wouldn’t be here for Christmas. So now that I’m here, I plan to celebrate every part of it.” I smiled and pulled her into my arms. This was what you realize when you’ve survived cancer. You learn to live each day to the fullest. You understand that the simplest moments are worth every second.

  Christmas morning, I woke up to an empty bed. It was more like the middle of the night than morning, but the fear of losing Emilia still had not left me. Frantic, I jumped up and went to find her. My heart raced with each passing second, my mind expecting the worst. I found her in the living room, tucking Lyra’s gifts under the Christmas tree.

  “What are—?”

  “Shh!” She raised her hand. “You’ll wake her.”

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “We forgot to put these out last night and I didn’t want to ruin her Christmas,” she whispered and shoved another gift under the tree.

  I sat on the couch and Emilia joined me once she was done. The tree had been decorated with green and red glass balls, the white LED lights illuminating around each branch. I had held Lyra up so she could put the star on the highest branch of the tree.

  “Merry Christmas.” I placed my arm around Emilia and brought her closer to me.

  “Merry Christmas.” Emilia kissed my cheek. She pulled an envelope out from under the couch cushion and handed it to me.

  “What’s this?” I asked, turning over the white legal–sized envelope.

  “Your Christmas gift.” She smiled, her eyes bright.

  My fingers slid inside the envelope and pulled out the few pieces of paper. Adoption Package for Prospective Parents was typewritten at the top. “Em?” I looked over at her. “Is this our application?”

  “If you want to adopt a child, I’m on board.” She turned to face me. “Of course, it won’t be overnight, and who even knows if we’ll get approved, but I figured we could try.” She bit her lower lip. “I want a house filled with rugrats.” She leaned over and kissed my lips. “We can be the next Brangelina and have a ton of kids.”

  “I think Lyra would like that very much.” I framed Emilia’s face. “We’re going to be parents again.”

  “Hopefully.”

  77

  WESTON

  March

  Everything seemed perfect.

  But not everything was as it seemed.

  Emilia had been cancer–free for six months. She was stronger, the color in her cheeks was finally returning, and little stubbles were starting to form on her scalp.

  I had my girls.

  I had my family.

  I had it all.

  Until the rug was pulled out from under us.

  I woke up on a sunny morning as I had done for the past few months to find Emilia peacefully sleeping. Mornings were still hard for her. The chemo lingered in her body, making it hard for her to awaken early enough to get Lyra to school. I rolled over and kissed her bare shoulder. Her soft snores were barely audible.

  After I’d showered, I brewed a fresh pot of coffee and packed Lyra’s lunch. Lyra’s little feet stomped across the wood floor as she joined me in the kitchen. She’d dressed in her school uniform and carried her hairbrush for me. She yawned and stretched her arms above her head.

  “Morning, princess.” I walked over and cradled her in my arms. I would be heading off on tour in late June and I wanted to be there as much I could for them both.

  Lyra giggled as I spun her around. Strolling into the guest bath, I sat her on the sink as I began to brush her hair. “Daddy, is Mommy still sleeping?” Her big eyes looked up at me through the mirror.

  “Yes, sweetie, is everything okay?” I pulled her tendrils back into a ponytail.

  Lyra took a deep breath and shook her head slowly. “Is Mommy always going to be tired?”

  “No, soon she’ll be strong again.”

  “When I’m sick, Mommy tells me she loves me and a few days later I feel better. Maybe if I tell her I love her more she’ll get better, too.” Her eyes were wide with hope.

  I laced the hair tie around her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I think that’s a great idea. Why don’t we make Mommy a card after you get out of school today?” Lyra beamed up at me. “Now go eat your cereal. We don’t want to be late.”

  I drove Lyra to school, walked her to class, kissed her goodbye and then headed straight home. I’d followed that same routine for months. Most days, when I walked through the door, Emilia would be sitting in the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee.

  But it wasn’t an ordinary day.

  My keys dangled from my fingers as I strolled into the kitchen. To my surprise, Emilia wasn’t sitting at the kitchen table. My gaze scanned the room. The coffee hadn’t been touched.

  A chill ran up my spine.

  There was something wrong. I could feel it.

  “Em?” I called out. I jogged up the stairs two at a time and pushed open our bedroom door. “Em?” I said softly. My voice was lodged in my throat.

  The bed was empty.

  “Emilia?”

  My feet felt as if they were stuck in quicksand as I walked toward the bathroom and pushed the door ajar.

  Her frail body was on the tile floor surrounded by a pool of blood.

  “Emilia!” I cried and dove to her side. Turning her over slowly, I brought my face to hers. She was still breathing. I dug my free hand into my pocket and yanked out my cell phone. My fingers trembled as I dialed 9–1–1.

  “Stay with me. Please, Em!”

  “9–1–1, what’s your emergency?” The dispatcher’s voice echoed in my ear.

  I blinked through my tears and tried to focus. The blood swooshing through my ears made it hard to hear anything but my rapid heartbeat. “I need an ambulance! She’s unconscious. She’s twenty–seven years old, she had uterine cancer and I found her on the bathroom floor. I think she’s hemorrhaging.”

  With shaky hands, I brushed Emilia’s hair off her soft cheek. “Please stay with me,” I begged.

  “Sir, help is on the way.”

  Please, God, don’t take her.

  Please, God, let her live.

  Please.

  Please.

  It took the EMTs seven crucial minutes to arrive at our house. Four hundred and twenty seconds. Each second felt like a lifetime.

  When I heard the sirens outside, I gently laid her back on the floor and rushed to open the door. I wanted to cradle her in my arms and bring her to them but I didn’t want to damage anything else.

  I stood to the side as the EMTs strapped her on a stretcher and rolled her out. My fists were locked at my sides, my fear laced around the muscles of my body. I hopped in the ambulance with her. The EMTs connected a heart monitor and oxygen and took her blood pressure.

  Adrenaline coursed through my veins shielding me from what was really happening. It was my body’s way of protecting me and controlling the fear that radiated within me.

  “What do we have?” A doctor in blue scrubs shouted when the ambulance doors were swung open. I moved to the side waiting for them to pull her out and wheel her inside.

  “Twenty–seven, female, unconscious, BP is one ten over fifty,” the EMT stated.

  I followed behind them. Three other doctors walked with us. One placed a stethoscope over her heart as they wheeled her into a trauma room.

  “Sir,
you’re going to have to stay here.” A male doctor placed his hands on my shoulders, not letting me go any further. “Let us do what we have to do and I’ll come get you as soon as I know anything.”

  Resting my hands on the back of my neck, I felt paralyzed from the waist down. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to do something, but at that moment, I couldn’t move.

  Everything became a blur.

  I don’t know how I got to the waiting area.

  And I don’t know how long I sat there, waiting for some type of answer.

  “Weston?” A nurse called out in the waiting room.

  I rushed off the chair.

  “She’s stable and asking for you.”

  I exhaled. “Do you know what caused this to happen?”

  “Dr. Marino will be here soon to discuss the details with you.”

  He led me through the hospital and to Emilia’s room. Her head was turned to the side, her gaze focused outside the window. As we approached, she wiped her tears away but wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Doctor Marino will be in shortly to see you both.”

  “Thank you.”

  When he left, I dragged a chair closer to her bed. Reaching for her hand, I bowed my head. She was alive, she would be okay, but the image of her lying seemingly lifeless on the bathroom floor would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  Emilia gripped my hand. She sniffled and brought her free hand to my head. “I’m okay, Weston.”

  I nodded. She was okay. She was still here with me.

  A tap on the door startled us both.

  Dr. Marino walked in with his long white coat and a kind face. “How are we doing?” He gave Emilia and I a soft grin.

  “I’ve had better days.” She shrugged. “What’s the verdict?” Her eyes were glued to Dr. Marino. She was trying to stay strong.

  “There’s a tumor on your right ovary.”

  Emilia rested her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes as he continued to speak. “We caught the uterine cancer at an early stage, but ovarian cancer is harder to detect because it shows no symptoms. At the time, there was no reason to remove your ovaries as there was no indication that you would develop ovarian cancer. Unfortunately, the mass is rather large and has spread into your pelvis.”

  My world was crumbling.

  Dr. Marino continued to talk but all I could hear was muffled sounds. God and I had an agreement. He wasn’t supposed to do this to her.

  We had made a deal.

  Emilia tugged on my hand and I shook the nightmare away. Dr. Marino had been talking to me. ”I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “I want to see her in my office first thing tomorrow morning. We can discuss in further detail the best plan of action.”

  “Thank you,” Emilia whispered. Her face was wet with her tears.

  “I’m going to get your discharge papers together and I’ll be back shortly to walk you out.”

  Dr. Marino walked out of the room, taking all my hope with him.

  Emilia sat in the hospital bed as we waited for her to be discharged. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. Her mind was somewhere so far away that only her body remained in that room with me. I held her hand, hoping that she would confide in me. She inhaled slowly and looked over at me. Her eyes were dull, and I knew they matched mine.

  She released her grasp on my hand and ran it over my cheek. “Can you make sure Lyra follows her passion? I want her to go to school, but overall I want her to be happy, you know?” Her voice sounded robotic.

  “I know,” I lied. I wanted to jump out the window because breaking every bone in my body seemed less painful that what I was feeling.

  “Travel.”

  “What?” I shook my head, confused.

  “I wish I’d traveled more.” She swallowed and closed her eyes.

  “Em . . .”

  “I’ve never been to the Great Barrier Reef or been to the Sydney Opera House. I’ve never been to the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary in Bali, or had really good whiskey in Scotland.”

  I brought the back of her hands to my lips. “We will do all of that.” I kissed each one of her knuckles. “This is a bump in the road, but we will get through this.”

  Emilia looked at me and smiled, and her eyes filled with tears. “I love you so much.”

  “And I love you more.”

  78

  WESTON

  Denial.

  I refused to believe that Emilia was sicker than before.

  I refused to believe that we had spent months going through chemo for her only to get worse.

  The following morning, I got out of bed early to get Lyra ready for school before I had to take Emilia to Dr. Marino’s office. I tossed and turned the majority of the night, my mind on overdrive as I recalled what the doctor had said.

  This illness couldn’t have her. I wouldn’t allow it. They had caught it early. Emilia was young and we were going to fight.

  We had to fight.

  Later that morning, Emilia and I sat on the leather chairs in the doctor’s office. Her eyes were hooded as she focused on the carpet. My thumb ran over her knuckles, calming my nerves. Dr. Marino walked in and greeted us, a manila folder tucked under his arm as he took a seat across from us. With heavy hearts and desperate for air, we listened to his plan. He wanted to start intraperitoneal chemotherapy right away.

  “This treatment allows a more concentrated dosage to go directly into your abdomen. We will have another port implanted in your stomach. This treatment works well, but the side effects will be more severe than your regular dose. It’s an uphill battle, but it will let you live longer and give a better chance of survival.”

  Emilia blinked rapidly. “What are my chances?”

  “In my professional opinion, I’d say you have a sixty–five percent chance of survival. But we don’t know much about this cancer. When you were first diagnosed this was never a concern. We have to look at this as a day–to–day, week–to–week case. Look how much has changed in only a few months.” He paused and Emilia nodded. “I’ll schedule you for another scan in a month and we can discuss more options then.”

  That wasn’t terrible odds. Sixty–five percent was a fighting chance, and Emilia was a fighter. We got through chemo, we would get through IP chemo.

  We left Dr. Marino’s office and headed straight to the chemotherapy center where she would get a new port installed in her body and have her first round of a stronger dose. Emilia didn’t speak, her face never changed from the blank stare. In the course of twenty–four hours she was notified that her cancer was back, she would be starting stronger chemotherapy sessions that would make her incredibly sick and had a sixty–five percent chance of survival. I was exhausted for her and it wasn’t even my body.

  The world around us was moving at a rapid speed but we were stuck.

  We were at the mercy of her treatment.

  Emilia returned from her port procedure on autopilot and sat on the recliner. Last time she was put under for her first port things were different, this time everything seemed rushed and urgent as they tried to get the chemo inside of her as quickly as possible. Timing was everything.

  She reached out for my hand when the nurse hung the new bag of IP chemo and it began to drip into her IV, Emilia did not say a word.

  Denial.

  This wasn’t happening. We didn’t go from just having six beautiful months together to sitting here in the cancer center . . . again.

  This wasn’t happening.

  This was the world playing a cruel fucking joke.

  We arrived home later that evening, and though Emilia had been sick in the car, she was in good spirits. She sat at the kitchen table helping Lyra with her homework as I prepped and cooked dinner.

  After dinner, I was washing the dishes when I heard Emilia reading to Lyra in the bath. Her soft voice embellished certain parts of the story and Lyra giggled.

  Tapping on the door, Lyra gasped and dipped under the water. Emilia sat on the edge of the
tub, her eyes hooded and I knew she was getting tired.

  I gave her a sideways grin. “Why don’t I finish up in here?”

  Emilia pushed off the tub and kissed Lyra on top of her head. “I’ll tuck you in once you’re all set for bed.”

  “Daddy!” Lyra called my name. Her book rested on my legs. “Did you fall asleep?”

  “No, I’m sorry.” I exhaled and wiped the sleep from my face. Emilia said she would be back to tuck Lyra in, but we had already moved on to the third book.

  Needing to go check on her, I finished Lyra’s bedtime story, sang her the lullaby I had written for her, and tucked her into bed.

  “Sweet dreams, my little princess.” I kissed the top of her head.

  “Good night, Daddy.” Lyra turned and hugged her HoHo. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Flicking the bedroom light off, I walked down the hallway to where our bedroom door was now shut. I tapped lightly and pushed it open. “Em?”

  She sat at her computer desk in the corner of the room. Startled, she gasped and swiveled the chair toward the door.

  “I’m sorry.” I rubbed my palm against my facial hair that had passed the five o’clock shadow mark. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s okay.” She pulled down her laptop screen, but the GoPro camera was still hooked on in front of her. “I was just looking something up real quick.”

  I gave her a small smile and nodded. “I’m gonna go downstairs and watch some TV. Come down when you’re ready.”

  Emilia nodded. When she was ready, she would come and tell me what she was doing. I pulled the door shut and waited a few seconds to see if my suspicions were right. Through the closed doors, I heard her speak.

  “Happy Birthday, my sweet little girl! I can only imagine how big you’ve gotten. I’m sorry I’m not there to spend your day with you, but I wanted to tell you about the day you were born and the love that I never knew existed until they placed you in my arms.”