Swearing Off Stars

by Danielle Wong

  I remained seated long after the sun disappeared. My sleeveless dress left my exposed shoulders chilled, but I was lost in something else. I couldn’t stop thinking about the medicine and Scarlett’s diagnosis. Normally, I would have rushed to her side and asked her what was going on. But the tiny piece of pink paper made her condition perfectly clear: cancer.

  I was sad of course. But more than anything, I was stunned. And as time passed, that shock turned into confusion. When did she find out about this? It felt like the biggest secret of all had been right under my nose all along, hidden in an expensive suitcase.

  As the rest of the town slept peacefully, I became more restless. My racing thoughts and the cool evening breeze kept me awake. I stood up to fetch a sweater, but paced around the patio instead. As it got darker, the worst thought of all hit me. Everything that Scarlett had said and done recently was out of fear. It was the cancer. She hadn’t made a grand gesture in Times Square. She just didn’t want to die alone.

  I woke up to the sound of eastern bluebirds scurrying around on the ivy above me. They delicately perched atop the arch and sucked nectar from its tiny flowers. I realized my exhausting mental rant the night before had sent me to sleep before I could make it back inside. I shifted in the cushioned wicker chair and massaged my tight neck muscles.

  The atmosphere was heavier and more humid than it had been the previous day. Morning dew clung to the courtyard’s tropical plants as the scent of sweet blossoms filled the air. I stood up and felt tingles in my legs from sitting for so long. My hair was matted and sticky with sweat.

  I walked inside for a morning shower, closing the patio door quietly behind me in case Scarlett was still resting. My heart stopped when I saw her sitting near the table, staring at the glass bottle of pills. She looked at me with empty eyes.

  “Hi, Lia.”

  I nodded slowly, lost for words.

  “I see you found these,” she said, picking up the bottle and giving it a little shake. “And my doctor’s note.”

  The sound of the pills clanking together made my ears hurt.

  “While I was sleeping?”

  I nodded again.

  “I found out while I was in Hong Kong.”

  I stared at her, wondering what to say.

  “It was after you left,” she continued. “I started having odd symptoms on set. My dad took me to a well-known clinic on the other side of the city . . .”

  I pictured Mac forcing Scarlett to go. She had always been resistant in that way.

  “They tried so many things in such a short period of time. Different tests and treatments”—I sat down next to Scarlett as her voice broke—“Nothing worked.”

  I looked at her gaunt face and wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before. To me, she looked as healthy and vibrant as ever. The more I stared, though, the more I noticed. Puffy bags under her tired eyes contradicted the hours of sleep she’d just gotten.

  I knew that I should comfort her, but my skepticism from the night before still had control. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know how,” she whispered.

  “You could have written me.”

  “After the way things ended in Hong Kong?”

  “You should have been honest at the hotel in New York,” I said curtly.

  “Lead with that news? I wanted to win you back, not make you feel sorry for me—”

  “Yeah? Well, your grand gesture seems a little less impressive now.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “It’s obvious that we wouldn’t even be here if you—”

  “Please, Lia,” she interrupted. “I did the press conference because I realized what a mistake I’d made.”

  I stared into her green eyes, searching for the truth.

  “You were always so sure of everything,” she said, smiling. “And I . . . well, I wasn’t. It took me this long to figure out that happiness has been here the whole time. I just needed to accept who I am . . . who we are.”

  I put my hand on hers and spoke again. “I’m proud of you for that. And announcing it to the world . . .”

  “I know.” She laughed. “We’re public news.”

  “Regardless, we should get you to an American clinic—”

  “I’ve already been to see the best doctor in New York, Lia. He says there’s nothing they can do . . .”

  My heart sank as I looked at her fragile expression. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, I understood her tone.

  “I’m sorry.” She leaned closer.

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to be.”

  My cynicism dissolved as I realized that it was pointless to stay angry. Scarlett loved me like I loved her. No matter what happened, we always found a way back to each other.

  Chapter 52

  SCARLETT

  I fade more every single day. It’s a defeating process, this illness. It breaks your spirit as it sucks the life out of you. Sometimes I wonder if I should be trying harder. I did at first, visit after visit. But nothing worked. Every single doctor said the same exact thing: “There’s nothing to be done.” I wanted to be angry—to scream, cry, and yell. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. The truth is, I don’t fault them at all. This is beyond their control.

  Most days, I just feel exhausted. I want to keep up with her, but I can’t. It’s frustrating, to say the least. But I’m too tired to get frustrated these days. So I just smile. It’s so easy to smile when I’m around Lia.

  I understand why she got upset. I didn’t tell her, and then she found that stupid bottle in my suitcase. She has every right to be furious, but the anger didn’t last. She’s incredible, my Lia. As difficult as this is for me, I think it’s even harder for her.

  Chapter 53

  LIA

  The pills. There were so many pills. Blue gel, brown syrup, grainy beige, canary yellow. As it turned out, that clear glass bottle I found was just one of many. And she had to take them at specific times throughout the day, tying us to a rigid schedule of medicating and monitoring. Scarlett calmly explained that the pills weren’t treating her cancer but rather the pain that came with it. She’d chosen the only option available, allowing the disease to intensify until it ended her.

  We tried to enjoy the rest of our time on the island as much as possible. The moist air and healing sea were good for Scarlett. But there were also days when she couldn’t get out of bed. Initially, I’d try to wake her and make her eat something. I took my job as her stand-in nurse very seriously. I’d deliver her two yellow capsules in the morning, and then I’d bring fruity yogurt or scrambled eggs and sausage. It was a futile effort; nausea usually got the best of her before she could get anything down. I quickly realized that I needed to let Scarlett rest whenever possible.

  We made it to the beach on Friday afternoon. The whole thing looked like a postcard. Olivewood trees, sapphire waves, not a soul in sight. I laid out towels and set up an umbrella to shield Scarlett from the harsh sun. Her striped bathing costume peeked out from underneath a white robe. She was covering up as much as she could, probably to hide her increasingly bony figure.

  I tried desperately to convince her that there was still hope.

  “Don’t you want to go back home?”

  She sighed and shook her head decisively.

  “It might be smarter to return to the States. We could—”

  “There’s no cure, Lia.” She spoke softly and looked at me through her dark sunglasses.

  “I’m going to die.”

  There was an odd acceptance in her voice that made my stomach turn.

  “I’m sorry it’s all so sudden for you,” she said. “I’ve had time to mourn this—”

  “Well, I haven’t,” I said, tears pricking my eyes. “And I can’t.”

  “I’m happy here. With you. I know it’s not ideal, but we can spend the rest of—”

  “Please don’t,” I whispered.

  Her face fell. “Lia. You don’t have to go through this, you know.
I would understand if this is too hard.”

  “Don’t be cruel,” I said. “Of course I’m going to stay with you. I just wish you would fight this—”

  “I don’t want to fight this,” she said defensively. “It’s a futile effort. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “I just don’t understand. We’re finally together after decades, and . . .”

  “I know, my love. It’s not fair.”

  “It’s not.”

  She put her hand over mine. “This is going to get very bad very quickly. I want you to remember the girl I used to be.”

  “I think pretty highly of the woman you’ve become.” I smiled.

  “But I—”

  “You don’t get it, Scarlett. I love all of you. Every. Single. Piece. You’re more beautiful now than the first day I met you.”

  A shy smile crept across her pink lips. I rolled over and curled up next to her, warmed by the golden sand beneath our towels. I took her face in my hands and kissed her slowly.

  “You’re so much more than I deserve,” she whispered.

  As I ran my hand through her thinning blond hair, I knew she was completely wrong. We deserved each other more than anything in the world.

  Chapter 54

  The weeks passed much quicker than I hoped they would. It was officially May now, although Bermuda’s weather made it feel like summer year-round. Scarlett’s unwavering positivity tested my occasional pessimism. I tried to be strong for her, but most challenging moments ended in defeat.

  We both knew that she was fading at a quicker rate each day. Despite the pain pills, cancer was winning. We could no longer leave the villa or make it to the beach. I went out to buy food every couple of days, while Scarlett slept or read in bed.

  Sometimes I’d make an excuse to leave so I could cry without her knowing. I saw how hard she was fighting every single day, just for another moment together. But her fake smile rarely fooled me anymore.

  It broke my heart to see her in so much pain. There were days I wished I wasn’t with her, simply so she could let go in peace. Scarlett would probably be gone by now if she was alone. It had gotten to the point where she was just plain existing. And for what?

  One particularly warm evening, I persuaded her to sit outside on the patio with me. I lit candles and set them around the courtyard so that some of the greenest plants were illuminated.

  The flowers were in full bloom and the whole area smelled like sweet nectar. I made Scarlett close her eyes as I helped her walk out. Her big smile when she opened them was validation enough for my efforts.

  After a light dinner, we moved to a wooden bench on the opposite side of the villa. Scarlett leaned her head on my shoulder as we both stared at the stars. I felt her faint breath quicken as her weak grip tightened around my hand. The fragile sound of her stillness felt entirely foreign.

  I kissed her cheek softly and felt her heartbeat accelerate. What used to be a thrilling sensation now only seemed to worry me.

  “Are you okay?”

  She tilted her head and looked at me sweetly. “Try not to worry about me.”

  “That’s impossible,” I whispered.

  I felt her smile as she leaned her soft head on my shoulder. “Try, Lia.”

  “I’ll always worry about you.”

  “I don’t want you to be miserable and lonely. I want you to live like we’re still in love.”

  “You are the solitary love of my life, Scarlett. That won’t change once . . .” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

  “Once I’m gone,” she said, closing her eyes tightly.

  We both knew what was going to happen, but I hated the sound of it. Most days, I pushed that awful thought to the furthest corners of my brain. But when she verbalized it like this, the truth came reeling forward, threatening my composed facade.

  “We did it, didn’t we?”

  I looked at her face, barely visible in the dim light. “Did what?”

  “Gave it our best shot,” she whispered.

  I saw watery tears in her eyes, reflecting the radiant stars above us. The whole thing was almost too symbolic. I used to love those stars . . . I worshipped them because they reminded me of us. But in that moment, I hated them with every beat of my heart.

  “My love,” she said as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. “Don’t be angry.”

  I turned my head and looked at the outline of her face.

  “It’s not anyone’s fault,” she said. “Stars are just stars.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Stars are just stars,” she whispered again.

  Chapter 55

  East China Sea, September 1953

  Massive waves crash against the side of our ship as I make my way starboard. All I can see are stretches of misty ocean in every direction. My eyes haven’t fully adjusted to the salty air, but I’m glad that I agreed to come. After a lot of planning, I’m on a sailing trip with my father, Robbie, and Mac.

  We’re an unlikely bunch, but we get along surprisingly well together. This trip is exactly what I needed after Scarlett’s passing. Mac joined us in Bermuda during the very end, and then we had a small ceremony back in London. It was short and sweet, just like she would have wanted.

  Mac encouraged me to travel before going back to work, but I declined. Still, he insisted that I try my hand at backpacking or sailing. Somethin’ to take the edge off, as he put it. When he wouldn’t let up, I agreed to a postponed voyage. After a couple of years passed, I knew I was finally ready to move on. Scarlett loved the sea, so I agreed to a three-week sailing trip as long as my dad and Robbie could join us.

  Tonight, after a late meal, we all play cards, just like Mac used to do with his sailing buddies. It’s a nice distraction from my usual routine of dinner and report editing. I’m not feeling great, so I retire early to my tiny sleeping quarters in the middle of the ship.

  I toss and turn in my bunk before I realize that I’m not going to fall asleep tonight. Mac warned us that the waves would be rockier for the next few days. Midnight strikes, and I know that it’s time to do something I’ve avoided for a while.

  I open my cabin door and feel an immediate rush of frigid wind. After making sure I’m absolutely alone, I sneak out onto the main deck. My wild hair blows all over my face before I quickly tuck it behind my ears. It’s an odd feeling to be alone on the deck, especially at night. My pajamas and boots are no match for this blustery weather.

  I open the wooden box I’m holding and feel tears roll down my chilled cheeks. I can barely see the vial of gray dust in this dim evening light. I clutch it tightly in my left hand.

  We’re sitting on the patio one last time, our final day together.

  “Will you do something for me?”

  I look at her ghost-like face and nod.

  “My ashes,” she whispers.

  I immediately wish that I was the sick one . . . that I would die and Scarlett would live. It’s not selfless, but actually quite selfish. Of course I don’t want her to suffer from this pain any longer, but it’s more than that. I don’t want to be the person who gets to live, who has to live. I can’t bury her body and move on without her. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.

  “I want to be sprinkled into the sea.” Scarlett’s eyes light up for the first time in weeks.

  “The sea?”

  “Yes, Lia. I loved it there when I was a girl . . .”

  She proceeds to tell me all about Mac and their adventures together, as if I’ve never met him. As if he’s not waiting for us inside the villa, making coffee. Her memory hasn’t been sharp for days. I’m not sure if it’s the medicine, the sickness, or both. She’s not herself anymore.

  Briny seawater sprays my face as I lose my balance. I grab onto the side of the ship and try not to fall. We’re sailing so quickly through the darkness, it’s impossible to catch my breath. All I want is to crawl back into bed and pretend this isn’t happening. But her voice reminds me what I have to do. I want to be sprinkled in
to the sea.

  I uncork the vial and watch Scarlett’s ashes descend softly into the water below. My eyes tear up as they fall like pixie dust. I’m weeping now, choking back sobs as my salty tears mix with the murky ocean waves.

  The current picks up as I continue to pour Scarlett out. Suddenly, a gust of marine wind steals the glass vial from my hand. I cry out as it goes crashing toward the black water’s depth. But a final clump of ashes escapes, caught in the unavoidable breeze of this September night, and I watch in awe as they dance in the wind, soaring up and down and up again. The tiny flecks are paralleling our ship now, picking up speed as we cut through the water. My strained eyes are glued to Scarlett’s ashes.

  The last pieces I can see have almost vanished. Another gust whisks them up before they disappear permanently into the obscure air. And then she’s gone. Now I can’t hold on to anything but intangible memories of her.

  I stare into the dark expanse and let the mind-numbing cold wash over me. Everything is a blur as I blink back the unrelenting tears. The air is still again; the only sound I hear is the constant roar of ocean waves. I wipe my eyes and soften slightly when I realize what I’m staring at. It’s the shining night sky we used to find irresistible, dotted with shimmering stars big and small.

  Despite everything that’s happened, I refuse to hate the stars. Scarlett said that stars are just stars, but I still think they’re something more. Maybe they have nothing to do with fate or destiny, but they do remind me of us. Because people are like stars, if you really think about it. Some of us live in constellations, forever connected by something that once was. But others spark like shooting stars, brilliantly lighting up this world before moving on to the next.

  END

  About the Author

  DANIELLE M. WONG is an emerging author living in San Francisco. Writer by day and reader by night, she loves creating and consuming all forms of media. Beyond her love of writing, Danielle is a passionate traveler and photographer. She was fortunate enough to tag along on her father’s business trips during childhood, and has explored more than 25 different countries. Seeing so much of the world at a young age shaped her unique perspective on life.