So when I heard my name, it was easy to think that I was dreaming. But when I heard it again, I turned toward it.
“Natalie,” Zach called, and I saw him moving closer.
“Hey,” I said softly.
“Hey yourself,” he said back.
“Lila told me what happened. I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I wasn’t sure if I was. But I called Sally Thursday night, and she convinced me. So I hopped on a flight early today.”
“Lila was pretty wrecked,” I said, as I circled my right foot in the sand.
“I’ve noticed that she’s recovering just fine,” he said dryly. “But enough about her.”
“But enough about her,” I agreed.
“I thought it was a rule that no one could be more beautiful than the bride.” He leaned down to roll up the hems of his pants as the water lapped on his feet.
“Really? I’ve never heard of that one.” I grinned.
“Oh yeah, it’s true. Friendships have been known to be lost over that sort of thing.”
“Hey, when you have it, you’ve got to flaunt it,” I said, raising my hand to pat my invisible hair. “After all, haven’t you heard? Bald chic is in this year.”
“Too bad yours will be growing back.” He looped his elbow in mine.
“Well,” I considered. “Maybe I’ll keep it short anyway. Maybe it’s the start of a whole new me.” I paused and glanced sideways at him. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
And it was true. In fact, in his crisp blue suit and perfect pink tie, I could barely believe that I’d managed not to throw him down on the beach and climb on top.
I took a few steps backward and sat down in the sand, sweeping my dress underneath my legs. Zach followed and plunked down beside me.
“So,” he said.
“So,” I said back, staring out across the vastness.
“You no longer have cancer.”
“I no longer have cancer,” I agreed.
“Knocked that fucking disease right out of the park.”
“I did indeed.”
“So I guess that this no longer makes you unavailable?” We both kept gazing out on the rolling water.
“I guess that as of this moment, I am, in fact, officially and totally available.” I smiled.
“In case I should be interested.”
“On the off chance that you know someone who’s interested.” I smiled wider.
We sat there until the band stopped playing its set. Zach wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close enough that I could inhale the crisp smell of his skin. We sat, and we stared out into the ocean and listened as the waves ushered in the sea of change. At one point, I put my head on his shoulder, and he ran his fingers down the nape of my neck where tendrils of hair used to lay. And then I realized that we’d come full circle. That after six months of horror and of fear and of, in many ways, liberation, we sat on the beach, miles away from the lives that we’d come to occupy, and once again, just like back on the night in his living room when he made me a chicken and I smoked too much pot, he let me lean. Of all the things that were beautiful there in San Juan—the tide, the stretch of beach, the love that was rising up inside of me—this was what I found most breathtaking. He let me lean.
When the music stopped, he helped me up, and we turned to head back inside.
“Hold on,” I said, and let my feet sink into the cool sand. I reached up to the back of my neck, undid the clasp on my four-leaf-clover necklace, and clutched it tightly in the palm of my hand. Then I took a step closer to the waves and with every ounce of strength in my body, I hurled it out into the vast sea.
“What was that for?” Zach asked. Rather than answer, I stood on my toes and leaned closer to him, pressing my body against his and tasting the salty aftertaste of beer on his lips. Finally, I pulled back, interlocked my fingers into his own, and walked toward the hotel.
“Who needs a good luck charm?” I said. “When you’ve figured out how to make it all on your own.”
REMISSION
July
TWENTY-SIX
Dear Diary,
I know, don’t hate me. It’s been over three months since I’ve had time to write. The thing is ever since Sally’s wedding, I’ve barely had a chance to catch my breath.
We’ll start off with my health. I had my three-month appointment with Dr. Chin this week, and the news was smooth sailing. It was strange going back there. I missed it at first—the order that it provided—but now, it was like revisiting high school. And what I mean by that is as I walked down the sterile corridors, the halls brought back nothing but skeletons, memories of a time I’d rather leave behind and a person who had nothing to do with me at all.
I swung by Janice’s office while I was there, too. She was out to lunch, so I wrote her a note.
Janice,
I was here for my checkup and wanted to say hello. Really, what I wanted to tell you is that you were right: that we’re not so different from trees after all. What I really needed was some water, and happily, I’ve quenched my thirst.
Thanks again for all of your support. I’m sure that I’ll see you soon.
Love,
Natalie
Work? Well, that situation isn’t quite as robust as my health. When I got back from Puerto Rico, Senator Dupris called me in.
The senator asked me to sit down and wondered if I’d had time to think about “the incident.” She even formed quotation marks with her fingers. I told her that I had, indeed, had time to think about it, but that I didn’t have much to say. She attempted to furrow her overly botoxed brow, and said, “Natalie, rethink this. You’ve been very loyal right up until ‘the incident’ (there go those fingers again), and if you apologize, of course, I’m prepared to move beyond it.” I told her that was very big of her, and she agreed. But then I told her that I had no such plans to say I was sorry because, in fact, I had no regrets whatsoever. That I’d gotten into politics to truly make a difference, and it seemed to me that I’d clearly lost sight of that. She peered at me like she didn’t understand, so I sat up in my chair, looked her in the eye, and said, “With all due respect, Senator, I followed behind you because you were my mentor, someone whom I wanted to emulate, but now you’re hardly a role model, and you’re certainly not mine.”
She curled up her lips like she’d just sucked on a lime, and I stood to leave. “I appreciate the opportunity,” I said. “I’ve learned a lot, and much of it I enjoyed. But I can’t follow blindly behind anymore, not when I’ve finally learned how to see.”
So now, I’m trying to figure out my next move. Susanna Taylor has asked me to come work with her, so I’m mulling it over. Maybe I can get back to where I started—to being a good man. I think I’d like that.
Oh, other news. My hair is growing back! It’s strange: It’s coming back with curls. I told my mom about it, she said that my grandmother had hair like Shirley Temple, so we laughed that maybe this was a sign from above.
I’m sure that you’re reading this and are thinking, cut to the good stuff. Give us the real skinny, ergo, Zach. Okay, so I will. That night, the one on the beach when I put my head on his shoulder and stared at the stars, we stayed up talking in his room until the sun came up. And then we went out on the balcony and watched day break over the horizon. And not to get entirely too cheesy, but I couldn’t help but think it was somehow symbolic.
When we got back to New York, I broke the news to Lila. Diary, it’s entirely understandable that she didn’t take it so well. But three days later, she sent me an e-mail saying that if she couldn’t have him, she was happy that someone she loved could. And anyway, that gorgeous groomsman just moved here last month, and Lila’s been absolutely glowing.
As far as Zach and me, there’s not so much more to add, other than I feel like I’ve finally met my alpha. We talk about our future sometimes. Dr. Chin says that I might be able to have kids—we’ll wait and see—so I’m hopeful that I can. But even if the c
hemo has withered my ovaries I think we’ll be okay. “We’ll adopt,” Zach says. “Or just live with a hundred dogs. Either way, we’ll make it.” I know that he’s probably right.
We also sometimes talk about the past. About my cancer, about how without it, we might never have found our way toward each other. We occasionally talk about my remission, about how I need to outwit the disease for five years until we can exhale and feel like I’m truly not on borrowed time. But as Sally says, studies show that positive attitudes extend the life spans of cancer survivors. So I try to focus on sunny skies.
Oh, before I wrap up, I want to say that Jake left me a message three weeks ago. I e-mailed him back because he was on his way to Tokyo, and it seemed like the simplest thing to do. For more than one reason. He wrote me the next morning and said that he was happy to hear that I was healthy. And happier still to hear that I was happy. Then he said that the real reason he was calling was because that song he wrote for me, well, they were releasing it as a single. He said that he regretted never playing it for me, so should I one day flip on the radio and hear “Letting Her Let Go,” to think of him. I didn’t think he was being selfish to ask, in case you were thinking that, Diary. I suspect he just wanted me to know that he finally came through on one of his promises. I guess he thought that it counted for something. And I suppose that it does. I haven’t heard the song yet, but I’m sure that when I do, I will indeed think of Jake. And then I’ll think I’m so glad that sometimes promises are broken, that sometimes promises aren’t enough.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” I said to Zach last night. “Who’d ever have thought? Cancer didn’t just change my life. It gave me one instead.”
He didn’t answer. Rather, he stretched out beside me on his rich leather couch and slung his arm around my waist, pulling me into him. “That’s the thing about second chances,” he said after a while. “If you learn from your mistakes and spin the wheel right, you just might win the whole damn house.”
PS—Zach and I are headed to Fiji next week, thanks to Bob Barker. I wrote him a thank-you note, and he sent an autographed headshot back to me. Sometimes when I’m feeling lost I’ll take it out of my desk and smile. The price is right, indeed.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If I were to thank everyone who has ever nurtured my writing and my aspirations, this would undoubtedly turn into the world’s worst and never-ending Oscar speech. So, with as much restraint as I can muster, I will limit my thank-yous to those who have helped me along the way with this specific project.
That said, I must first thank my indefatigable agent, Elisabeth Weed, who offered to represent the book less than twenty-four hours after receiving my e-mail, and whose endless passion and efforts have earned both my gratitude and friendship. And I have nothing but sincere adoration for my crackerjack team at Morrow: my editor, Lucia Macro, who has been a tireless cheerleader, and Samantha Hagerbaumer and Tavia Kowolchuk.
Before anything else professionally, I am a magazine writer, and I must, must, must thank the countless editors who have sent work my way over the years. Every time you call or e-mail or pick my brain, I am both flattered and amazed, and with all of you (okay, with 95 percent of you), it’s been a true pleasure.
I would be nothing more than a solitary writer sitting in a lonely office if not for my friends at FLX. You are my home away from home, and I am constantly touched by your support and loyalty. Specifically, the NST Fiction group. To say that I literally would not be writing this without you does not say it clearly enough. Specifically, heartfelt thanks to Lauriana Hayward, Rachel Weingarten, Tricia Lawrence, Marie Karns, and Diana Burrell. To my early readers: Michelle Kroiz Winn, Andrea Mazur, Shannon Hynes Salamone, Todd Shotz, Randy and Tamara Winn, thank you This book touches on sensitive, painful subjects, and I’m humbled by the women who shared their stories with me. I cannot even hope to have done justice to the insidious disease that is breast cancer, but I also hope that I haven’t misrepresented it by too much either. For the women who have stared down cancer, you have my admiration for your courage. Thank you for allowing me to tell this story, as a way of working through my own grief, when breast cancer robbed me of a dear friend. Thank you also to the Prostic and Lundblad families, as well as the board of Meta-Cancer.org, for understanding the reasons that compelled me to write the book. And a big, hearty thank-you is sent out to Dr. Pamela Munster at the University of South Florida, for advising me on medical facts and treatments.
I must reserve my final thanks for those who are forced to tolerate me on a daily basis. Should I become a best-selling author, I will, no doubt, prove to be even more insufferable, and yet they love me still. Mom and Dad, thank you for bestowing me with the confidence, creativity, and freedom to ever dream of making it as a writer. And to my family: my husband, Adam, for becoming and being the man I needed, and to my children, Campbell and Amelia, for whom my heart beats every day. For you, everything and always.
About the Author
After losing a close friend to breast cancer at the age of thirty-one, Allison Winn Scotch cathartically set out to write a story with a happier ending. And while Allison is the first to point out that her protagonist Natalie and her friend share very few similarities, her friend’s resilient spirit and courage in the face of an illness that took her life are felt throughout the novel.
Winn Scotch has contributed to Family Circle, Glamour, InStyle Weddings, Men’s Health, Parents, Prevention, Redbook, Self, Shape, Woman’s Day and Women’s Health, among others. She lives in New York with her husband, her son and daughter, and their dog. To find out more, visit www.allisonwinnscotch.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
PRAISE FOR
THE DEPARTMENT OF LOST & FOUND
by Allison Winn Scotch
“Funny, touching, tender, true…. I loved it.”
—Pamela Redmond Satran, author of Suburbanistas
“Allison Winn Scotch is the real deal and The Department of Lost & Found is one you absolutely won’t want to miss. Sweet, funny, and totally endearing—this book grabbed me from page one and didn’t let go.”
—Johanna Edwards, author of The Next Big Thing
“Allison Winn Scotch’s thoroughly engaging and optimistic debut novel simply sparkles!”
—Claire Cook, author of Life’s a Beach
“Real, honest, engrossing, and funny, too. Plus any book with a Bob Barker cameo is aces with me.”
—Valerie Frankel, author of I Take This Man
“Smart and engrossing…so real and raw I’d have sworn it was a memoir.”
—Jen Lancaster, author of Bitter Is the New Black
“A story about strength, courage and finding your own way…a smart and moving book.”
—Cara Lockwood, author of I Did (But I Wouldn’t Now)
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE DEPARTMENT OF LOST & FOUND. Copyright © 2007 by Allison Winn Scotch.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © MARCH 2008 ISBN: 9780061865787
FIRST EDITION
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (
PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com
Department of Lost and Found Page 24