Luke stares at me hard. He knows I’m lying. I know I’m lying. I say, “I’m going to find a bedroom to put my things in.”
And somehow prepare to lose you.
“Okay.” He pauses. “This shouldn’t take long.”
I nod, turn, and walk down a hallway.
“Our bedroom is upstairs, I think. Though I’m not sure where.” He grins. “But wherever you find is where I’ll sleep,” he calls again.
Tears start to burn my eyes, but I push them away.
I walk up the spiral staircase just off the living room to another floor with doors. Thankfully, they’re all open, so I won’t intrude on anyone.
My phone rings, and it says Mr. Jenkins.
I answer, “Hello, Mr. Jenkins.”
“How are things, Ms. Clemens?”
They’re fucking falling apart. I am falling apart. “They’re well.”
“Good, good. I’ve received your emails. And it looks like you’ll be wrapping up the trip soon?”
“Yes,” I lie because I’m not sure what else to do.
I can’t tell Mr. Jenkins that Luke has cancer and it’s terminal. And that I’ve fallen in love with the subject. And that I’m not going to write the story. And that I’ll return the money he’s paid me as soon as our family home sells. But it’s just too much right now.
“Check in next week, will you?” he asks.
I oblige.
“See you,” he says and hangs up.
The chef, Dante, cooks dinner for Luke, me, Dr. Brinkman, Abby and Tanner—the nurses—Pearl, and Rodney.
Luke insisted Rodney come in and eat some food during shift. His job, my understanding, is to keep the media out just in case someone gets wind of our situation.
This was Pearl’s idea. Pearl said she would have five security guards out front, but Luke said one would suffice. He’s “not Steph Curry or the president”—Luke’s words, not mine.
Luke barely eats. I know this part because I’ve watched it over the last several days.
When we’re done, I do the dishes.
Luke tells me it’s okay, that I don’t have to, but I need to do something with my hands because they won’t stop fidgeting, and my mind won’t stop spinning.
I feel Luke enter the room.
It’s just us in the kitchen.
The light over the island is the only light on.
And I ask the only question that’s been burning a hole in my heart, “Did you come here to die?”
“Yes.”
I close my eyes and feel his answer in my soul. Anger sits and waits for me to do something, anything, than just accept his answer.
“Have you tried any sort of treatment?” My heart begins the grieving process.
“It’s terminal, Cat.”
I know this, and it seems like he still has to remind me of this.
I drop the handful of silverware. “You say that, but have you exhausted all avenues? Have you looked into treatment at all? You could try to fight this, Luke.”
I hear Luke take a few steps closer.
“I’m angry, Luke. I’m angry you brought me here, angry that you’re not fighting for your own fucking life.”
“You’re angry because you’re sad. You’re fearful, and you’re not quite sure how to let go of me.”
“I don’t need your analytical shit, Luke. I just need you better.”
“Let’s say I did try treatment. What would that do to our quality time left? If I had tried the treatment like my doctors suggested, even though it wouldn’t have saved my life, just prolonged the inevitable, I sure as hell wouldn’t have had this trip with you because I’d have been too sick. I sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten to feel you from the inside because I would have felt shitty. I wouldn’t have fallen in love because I would have missed all these moments with you, so focused on trying to feel better.” He stops.
I’m leaning against the sink, sitting in a pool of self-pity.
“Sometimes, it comes down to the time we have left,” he whispers. “I wanted quality, not quantity. I wanted to say good-bye to the ones I love, and in that process, I had an opportunity to love again. Fall in love with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I feel him right behind me now.
I need time. I need time to process this. “I’m going to sleep in another bedroom tonight.”
“Okay,” he says, and when he takes a step closer, I leave the kitchen.
It’s two in the morning, and I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep without Luke and the comforts of his body around mine, and I feel as though I’m missing memories that I can keep in my heart once he’s gone.
I don’t want his time spent here on this earth wanting me. I want him to take in each moment, so when it’s time and he’s hurting, he can cling to those, and I can cling to mine.
I throw on my robe over my sleep shirt and tiptoe down to his room so as not to wake the doctor and the two nurses and the publicist.
Quietly, I open the door to his bedroom and see him fast asleep on his back, hands crossed over his chest.
My heart tells me to curl up next to him, allow my body to finally rest.
I sit in the big, comfortable chair next to the bed and watch him sleep. I take in the way his chest moves up and down, the peaceful look on his face, and inside, I feel like his time here on this earth is coming to an end, and as much as I want to fight him and the situation and the awful disease, I know I’m powerless.
I don’t touch him, afraid I’ll interrupt the peace.
I see a book on his nightstand called The Seven Stages of Grief. I pick up the book and read the back.
Is Luke reading this book for me, to understand where I’m coming from?
The book stares back at me as if it knows something I don’t. As if it has knowledge that it’s keeping from me.
I grab Luke’s phone from the nightstand and scroll through his Contacts to find Fiona’s name. I hit Share Contact. I scroll through for my name, but it isn’t under Catherine. I scroll until I come across the name My Light. I hit the Contact, and my number appears. Smiling, I look back at Luke, who’s still asleep, and send myself the contact info.
Quietly, I tiptoe out of the room to make the call that I don’t want to make to Fiona. I know Luke is running short on time, and his daughter needs to know even if it will break her heart.
Two Days Later
Fiona has just arrived, and I get her set up in a bedroom.
Pearl comes clicking down the hallway. “Fiona? I didn’t know you were coming.” Pearl eyes me dangerously.
“I called her. She needs to be with her father, Pearl.”
“Fuck me. Did you say anything to anyone, Fiona? We weren’t supposed to call you.”
I glare at Pearl. “It’s her father, Pearl. Who the hell cares? She can do what she wants with the information.”
“It’s my job, Catherine, to keep everyone quiet, so Luke isn’t hounded by the media.”
“And it’s my job, Pearl, as Luke’s fiancée, to make decisions based on matters of the heart. He needs his daughter, and his daughter needs him.” Quickly, I cover my mouth after saying the words I always wanted, always felt in my heart, but never spoke.
Pearl glares at me and turns on a dime, clicking down the hallway.
Fiona looks at me, her eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of her. Your father is this way.”
Luke has been confined to our bed. Dr. Brinkman says it’s unsafe for him to walk anymore, for fear he might fall.
And Luke’s response, “I’m a dying man, Doc. What’s it going to do, kill me?”
We’re just outside the door, and Fiona can’t open it.
“What are you afraid of?”
Fiona is looking down at her feet. Shakes her head. Looks up at me. “That I’ll see what I envision in my head. That my daddy isn’t who he was.” Her eyes fill with tears.
I take her shoulders and pull her to me.
“He’s still got the same heart, Fiona. A heart that loves you more than anything in this world.”
She starts to cry as her arms slowly ease around me.
Once she’s done, she lets go and wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Fiona.” I pat her back. “Come on,” I say and open up the door.
Luke is lying there, reading a book, and when he sees his daughter, he looks at me and back to her and back to me and back to her. “Baby,” he says breathlessly as if it is just what he needed when he needed it. As if this is his only heart’s worry. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He didn’t know she was coming.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” When I shut the door behind me, I gently fall against it, cover my mouth, and let the tears fall.
Watching someone die isn’t easy. It isn’t for the faint of heart.
Letting go of Ingrid was the hardest of all.
But she appears in front of me. She’s beautiful in her purple dress. Holding hydrangeas. She wasn’t mine to hang on to, and I think the reason she’s hung around so long is because she knew I couldn’t let go.
“I’m selling the house,” I say to her.
“I know,” she says. “It’s time for me to go, sister.”
“I know,” I say. “But how will I survive without you guys?”
“A day at a time,” she says.
That night, that awful night, when I ran upstairs, Ingrid was already gone. A puddle of blood around her, pouring from her abdomen. Memories I’d rather not have.
Mother couldn’t save her.
I was too late.
But maybe redemption for that guilt is being here with Luke.
There are two sides to every coin. On one side, a father had fired the shot that killed his daughter.
On the other side, a father whose biggest heartbreak is not being there for his daughter when his time runs out.
“Don’t worry; I’ll be there to greet Luke when he gets to where he’s going,” Ingrid whispers.
My eyes fill with tears. So badly, I want to reach out and hold her, feel her against me again. “I’m going to miss you.”
She nods. “I’ll always be with you. When you see hydrangeas, know that I’m with you.”
And I feel the warmth on my hand when she touches it.
“Time for me to go.”
“I love you, Ingrid, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t your job to save me, sister; it was your job to love me.”
And with that, Ingrid walks down the long, dark hallway and fades into nothing.
“Ms. Clemens?” Dr. Brinkman asks. “May I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course.” I’m in the great room, looking out the window.
Dr. Brinkman walks to me. Stares out the same window.
“Luke put something in guest bedroom one. He said he’d like you to put it on and meet him outside by the old grove of trees.”
I’m caught off guard. “Of course.”
Hope gathers inside me. Maybe, somehow, Dr. Brinkman has figured out how to save Luke. Maybe his body is healing.
Dr. Brinkman nods, and I make my way to guest bedroom one.
Once inside, I find a beautiful lace wedding gown hanging from the window. The pearls that stream down the dress look like fallen raindrops. It’s absolutely beautiful.
I walk to the dress and gently run my fingers down the short train.
A note sits next to it.
Put me on.
I smile and take my clothes off. Slide the dress on that somehow fits perfectly. There’s no need to zip or button anything, and I think Luke knew this when he picked the dress.
I look in the mirror and loosely braid my hair and make my way out of the room and downstairs to the old grove of trees.
In a wheelchair, my mother sits with Pamela, who is sitting next to Beth and James. Fiona stands next to Luke, helping to hold him up to an arbor.
Dr. Brinkman hands me a bouquet of hydrangeas, and I know without a doubt that Ingrid is with us.
“Thank you, Dr. Brinkman.”
He nods.
“Fading Away” starts to play.
And tears start to stream down my face. I look at Mother, whose tears are falling like found dreams. Found moments. The good ones. The ones we don’t walk away from.
I walk down the aisle to Luke and Fiona.
The minister says, “Who gives this woman to marry this man?”
I hear Mother’s broken words. “I … do.”
I cover my mouth and choke back a sob and will Mother to feel my love.
Fiona reaches up and wipes her eye.
I look into Luke’s eyes, and I’m home. Everything around us fades, and it’s just Luke and me and all the miles we spent together, learning to love and give love and forgive ourselves.
Fate isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s having faith, knowing our hearts will change and grow and hurt, trusting that, no matter what, we’re better people for having experienced love.
“I love you, Cat.”
“I love you, too. Did you arrange all of this?”
“With the help of Fiona,” he says weakly.
The minister starts. “We are gathered here today …”
Luke died a day later with Fiona, Beth and James, and me gathered around him.
We’re leaving the house and everything in it. After all, it is just a house.
I am the last one to leave.
But before I shut the door, I know I have to make one last call, my best attempt at closure of it all.
I make a call to Mr. Jenkins.
“Hello, Catherine. Are you ready to send the story?”
I take a big, deep breath in and feel Luke. “That’s the thing, Mr. Jenkins. There isn’t a story. I’ve sent the money back to you, plus additional funds for any trouble I have caused.”
He raises his voice. “WHAT?”
“Luke died. While I won’t go into the details, know that Luke was an amazing man with a great story to tell. It’s just not my story to tell.” There’s a pause. “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins, for giving me a chance, for believing in me. But know my motives are in the right place.”
“Eddie said you were a woman of integrity. A woman who always stuck by her word. While I don’t know the story or understand any of this, I trust you. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but if you want the job as a staff writer, I’ll have one waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins.”
We hang up, and I grab my purse and my backpack and walk to the front door and let myself out. I climb into Luke’s car and drive away, leaving the past behind me.
The Last White Envelope
Dear Catherine,
Sometimes, I wish this hadn’t worked out, the falling-in-love part. Not for me, but for you. I wish your heart didn’t ache, and I know it does right now. Your grief will be heavy, I know.
I feel like we’re all on a journey, every human on this earth. Our starting points are the same—birth—and our ending points—death—are the same. But it’s the journey within us, the journey we choose to take.
And shit happens to us.
It happens to everyone.
It isn’t about what we don’t do; it’s about what we do with the information we know.
I chose this journey with you. From the second I saw you when you were a teenager to when I was guy number seven, I knew you were the one. You just weren’t ready, and I wasn’t either. But when you showed up at my house in Carpinteria to do your story, I knew it was fate that had brought us back together at the right time.
Also, I believe that our hearts aren’t destined to fall in love with one person. I believe I was in love with Julie. I believe that situations can push people apart. And we forget that love is a verb, not a noun. Right love takes action. Good love takes lots of action. And great love is a never-ending story, being built and fixed every single day.
I will always love you, Catherine. I will love you even when the tomorrows are gone, and all we have left are memories. I will love you when my time has run out. I will love you even when my body is in ashes. Our bodies only keep us here, but our spirits set us free.
People don’t make us whole; we make ourselves whole, but I don’t think we can do that until we learn to love ourselves, our past, and where we came from.
When you see orange Starbursts, think of me. When you see the light through the clouds, think of me.
Andrew Wyman, my attorney, has an account set aside for you to do with as you wish.
In Myers Flat, you’ll find a cabin I purchased on the Eel River for you to go to when you need time to slow down, to take a breather and remember what life is really all about.
Also, he has all the arrangements about what I want after I’m gone.
No funeral.
Just ashes.
The car is yours.
I gave Julie the house in Carpinteria to do with as she wanted. I’m sure she’ll have some grieving to do there, too.
You are my light. I hope you always feel that, Cat.
Go be bold.
Move mountains.
Find love, the kind that you can’t fall out of.
Yours forever,
Luke
I close the letter and carefully place it back into its envelope, barely able to see because of the tears. My face feels swollen from crying, and I’m lonely inside, but I know in my heart that this feeling is temporary—though the temporary might last years. I look over at the passenger seat with Luke’s ashes, and a wave of grief comes over me.
I turn to the back seat to grab my purse and see a medium-sized canvas bag.
Who in the hell put that there?
I reach in the back seat and pull the canvas bag to the front seat, putting it on my lap. I pull the drawstring, and all I see are orange Starbursts.
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