The Last Letter

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Mr. Gentry?”

  He turned, and so did Havoc, who felt more like a shadow, more an extension of Beckett than a separate entity.

  “Thank you…for the steps. Catching me. The binder. Phone. You know. Thanks.”

  “You don’t ever have to thank me.” His lips pressed in a firm line, and with an indefinable look and a nod, he disappeared into the main house.

  An emotion I couldn’t name passed through me, racing along my nerve endings. Like an electric shock, but warm. What was it? Maybe I’d simply lost the ability to define emotions when I’d turned them off a few months ago.

  Whatever it was, I didn’t have time to focus on it.

  Ten minutes later, I pulled up in front of the elementary school and parked in the “school bus only” lane. Sue me, the buses weren’t due for another three hours, and I needed every minute I had to get to her appointment on time.

  I opened the doors to the school and scrawled my name on the clipboard at the window, signing Maisie out.

  “Hey, Ella,” Jennifer, the receptionist, said as she smacked her gum. She was a little older than I was, having graduated with Ryan’s class. “Maisie’s back here; I’ll buzz you through.”

  The double doors buzzed, the universal sign of acceptance for entry, and I pushed through, finding Maisie sitting on a bench in the hallway with Colt next to her and the principal, Mr. Halsen, on her other side.

  “Ms. MacKenzie.” He stood, adjusting his Easter-print tie.

  “Mr. Halsen.” I nodded, then turned my attention to my oldest by three minutes. “Colton, what are you doing here?”

  “Going with you.” He hopped off the bench and tugged at the straps of his Colorado Avalanche backpack.

  My heart crumpled a little more. Heck, the thing had been so battered over the last few months I wasn’t even sure what normal felt like anymore. “Honey, you can’t. Not today.”

  Today was scan day.

  His face took on the stubborn set I was all too used to. “I’m going.”

  “You’re not, and I don’t have time to argue, Colt.”

  The twins shared a meaningful look, one that spoke volumes in a language I could never hope to speak or even interpret.

  “It’s okay,” Maisie said, hopping off the bench and taking his hand. “Besides, you don’t want to miss fried chicken night.”

  His eyes threw daggers straight at me, but they were nothing but soft for his sister. “Okay. I’ll save you the legs.”

  They hugged, which had always seemed to me like two pieces of a puzzle fitting back together.

  They shared another one of those looks, and then Colt nodded like a tiny adult and stepped back.

  I knelt down to his level. “Bud, I know you want to go, just not today, okay?”

  “I don’t want her to be alone.” His voice was the softest whisper.

  “She won’t be, I promise. And we’ll be back tonight, and we’ll fill you in.”

  He didn’t bother to agree, or even say goodbye, just turned on his little heel and walked down the hall toward his classroom.

  I let out a sigh, knowing I’d have damage control to do later. But that was the problem. It was always later.

  Maisie slipped her little hand in mine. She couldn’t even be promised now, which meant that as much as I hated it, Colt had to wait.

  “Ms. MacKenzie—” Mr. Halsen wiped invisible dirt off his thick-rimmed glasses.

  “Mr. Halsen, I was a kid in these halls when you first took over. Call me Ella.”

  “Ella, I know you’re on your way to yet another appointment—”

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Do not snap at the principal.

  “But when you get back, we need to discuss Margaret’s attendance. It’s impacting the quality of her education, and we need to have a real discussion about it.”

  “A discussion,” I repeated, because if I said what was actually on my mind, it wouldn’t reflect well on my kids.

  “Yes. A discussion.”

  “On Maisie’s attendance.” Like I gave a crap about kindergarten attendance. She was fighting for her life, and the man wanted to discuss if she’d missed the day where they’d discussed the virtues of K being for kangaroo?

  “Yes, a discussion on Margaret’s attendance.”

  For an educator, I would have thought he’d have another word.

  I looked down at Maisie, whose forehead puckered in her trademark whatever look that I recognized all too well…since it was mine. In sync, we looked back to Mr. Halsen.

  “Yeah, we’ll get right on that.”

  After chemo. And scans. And nausea and vomiting. And wiped-out blood counts. And everything else that came with a kid whose own body had turned against her.

  …

  Two hours later, we sat in the San Juan Cancer Center, me pacing at the end of the exam table while Maisie kicked her legs back and forth, battling whatever iPad app she’d chosen for the day.

  I was too keyed up to do anything but wear out the floor. Please let it be working. My silent prayer went up with the million others I’d sent. We needed the tumor to shrink, to get small enough that they could attempt a surgery to take it out. I needed all these months of chemo to have been for something.

  But I also knew how dangerous the surgery would be. I glanced at my tiny daughter, her hot-pink beanie with matching flower standing out against the white walls. The panic that had been my constant companion these five months crept up my throat, the what-ifs and what-nows attacking like the sanity-stealing thieves they were. The surgery could kill her. The tumor certainly would kill her.

  “Mama, sit down, you’re making me dizzy.”

  I took a seat next to her on the wide side of the exam table and placed a kiss on her cheek.

  “Well?” I asked as Dr. Hughes came in, flipping through something on Maisie’s chart.

  “Hi, Doc!” Maisie said with an enthusiastic wave.

  “Nice to see you, too, Ella.” She raised her eyebrow. “Hiya, Maisie.”

  “Sorry. Hi, Dr. Hughes. My manners have run away screaming lately.” I rubbed my hands over my face.

  “It’s okay,” she said, taking the spinning stool.

  “What do the scans say?”

  A soft smile played over her face. My breath caught, and my heart slammed to a stop, awaiting the words I’d been longing to hear and yet was terrified of since this all began five months ago.

  “It’s time. Chemo has shrunk the tumor enough to operate.”

  My little girl’s life was about to be out of my hands.

  Chapter Seven

  Beckett

  Letter #7

  Chaos,

  I’m sitting in the hallway of the Children’s Hospital of Colorado, with a notebook propped up on my knees. I would tell you what day it is, but I honestly can’t remember. It’s been a blur since they said cancer.

  Maisie has cancer.

  Maybe if I write it a few more times, it will feel real instead of this hazy nightmare that I can’t seem to wake up from.

  Maisie has cancer.

  Yeah, still doesn’t feel real.

  Maisie. Has. Cancer.

  For the first time since Jeff walked out, I feel like I’m not enough. Twins at nineteen? It wasn’t easy, and yet it was as natural as breathing. He left. They were born. I became a mother, and it changed me in the very foundation of my soul. Colt and Maisie became my reason for everything, and even when I was overwhelmed, I knew that I could be enough for them if I gave them everything I had. So I did, and I was. I ignored the whispers, the suggestions that I give them up and go to college, everything, because I knew that there was no better place for my kids than with me.

  I might have a few issues, but I always knew that I was enough.

  But this? I don’t know how to be enough for this
.

  It’s like the doctors are speaking a foreign language, throwing around letters and numbers like I’m supposed to understand. Labs and scans and treatment possibilities and the decisions. God, the decisions I have to make.

  I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

  Maisie has cancer.

  And I don’t know if I’m enough to get her through it, and she has to get through it. I can’t imagine a world where my daughter isn’t here. How can I be everything she’s going to need and give Colt any sense of normalcy?

  And Colt…when the genetics came back, they told me Colt and I had to be tested for the gene mutation. He’s okay, thank God. We both are, and neither of us carry it. But those moments waiting to hear if losing them both was a possibility? I could barely breathe at the thought.

  But I have to be enough, right? I don’t have a choice. It’s like the moment I saw those two heartbeats on the monitor. There was no option to fail. And there’s no way I’m going to fail now, either.

  Maisie has cancer, and I’m all she has.

  So I guess it’s down the rabbit hole I go.

  ~ Ella

  …

  I stepped onto the dock that reached into the small lake just behind my cabin, testing my weight. Yeah, this thing was going to need to be rebuilt. No wonder they’d kept the gate locked.

  The sun stretched just overhead, cutting through the brisk morning. I’d been in Colorado for almost two weeks, and I’d learned the key to the weather here was layers, because it might be snowing in the morning, but it was almost seventy by dinner. Mother Nature had some serious mood swings around here.

  A light fog rolled off the lake, lingering around the shores of the small island that rested about a hundred yards away in the center of the lake. I knew eventually I’d have to use the little rowboat that was tied up at the end of the dock and row myself over.

  Mac was buried there.

  It had nearly killed me when I wasn’t allowed leave to come back and bury him, and yet there was an overwhelming relief that I wouldn’t have to face Ella, to see her expression when she realized what I’d done—why I was alive and her brother wasn’t.

  Havoc bounded over and shook the water from her coat and dropped the Kong at my feet, ready to take off into the water for the twentieth time or so. She was restless lying around all day these last couple of weeks, and I was, too.

  I dropped down to my haunches, rubbing her behind her ears in her favorite spot. “Okay, girl. What do you say we get you dried off and go find a job? Because I’m going to go stir crazy if we stay here much longer like a pair of dead weights. And honestly, I’m kind of expecting you to start talking back at any moment, so some human contact might be needed.”

  “It’s okay that you talk to your dog,” a small voice came from behind me. “It doesn’t make you crazy or anything.” His tone suggested otherwise.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw a boy standing on the other side of the gate, dressed in jeans and a Broncos tee. His hair was shorn to the scalp, or rather, had been, and was growing back in a slight sheen of blond fuzz. His full eyebrows were drawn together over crystal-blue eyes, as he gave me a thorough once-over.

  Ella’s eyes.

  This was Colt. I knew it in the very marrow of my bones.

  I did my best to soften my tone, well aware that I didn’t know the first thing about talking to kids. I assumed not scaring him was a good place to start. “I always talk to Havoc.”

  She wagged her tail as if in answer.

  “She’s a dog.” His words were at odds with the yearning in his voice and the way his eyes locked onto Havoc like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

  I stood to face him, and he straightened his spine and stared me down. Kid didn’t scare easily, which meant I had half a chance here.

  “It’s not when you talk to them that you have to worry about insanity,” I told him. “It’s when they start answering you back.”

  His lips puckered for a second, and he stepped forward, peeking over the half gate to look at Havoc. “So are you crazy?”

  “Are you?”

  “No. But you have one of our cabins for six months. No one does that. Except crazy people.” His expression flickered back and forth between judging me and coveting Havoc.

  He’d begged Ella for a dog, and she’d nearly relented—then Maisie’s diagnosis came down. But I wasn’t supposed to know that. Wasn’t supposed to know that he wanted to play football, but Ella was too worried about concussions and pushed him toward soccer. I shouldn’t have known that he was supposed to take snowboarding lessons this year, or that he’d shaved off all that hair on his birthday because his sister had lost hers.

  I wasn’t supposed to know him, but I did.

  And it was hell to not be able to tell him that.

  “Actually, I rented it for seven months. And you look a little short to be judging people.” I crossed my arms.

  He mirrored my pose without hesitation. “That makes you even crazier. And I don’t let crazy people around my mama or my sister.”

  “Aah, you’re the man of the house.”

  “I’m not a man. I’m six, but I’ll be seven soon.”

  “I see.” I bit back a smile, well aware that he wouldn’t be seven for another eight months. But time was all relative at that age. “Well, I’m not crazy. At least she doesn’t think I’m crazy.” I nodded toward Havoc.

  “How do you know? Because you said if she talks to you, that means you’re nuts.” He stepped forward, resting his hands at the top of the gate, which came to about his collarbone. I needed to sand it down so he didn’t get splinters.

  Man, did he have some lovestruck eyes for Havoc.

  “Do you want to see her?”

  He startled, his gaze flying to mine at the same time he stepped back. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, especially guests.”

  “Which I totally respect. However, that didn’t stop you from coming out here.” I glanced behind him, seeing the blue, kid-sized quad that was parked haphazardly behind my cabin. At least there was a helmet resting on the seat.

  I had a feeling that wouldn’t save him from Ella.

  “No one’s ever stayed this long, and never with a dog. Not unless they work here, or they’re family. I just…” He gave a melodramatic sigh, and his head hung.

  “You wanted to see Havoc.”

  He nodded without looking up.

  “Do you know what she is?” I walked forward slowly, like he was a wild animal that I’d spook if I moved too fast. Once I reached the gate, I unlatched the metal closure, letting it swing open.

  “Ada says she’s a job dog. But not like a special needs dog. There’s a girl in my class who has one of those. He’s cool, but we can’t touch him.” His eyes slowly rose, his conflict so open and expressed in those eyes that my heart flopped over in my chest.

  “If you back up a little, I’ll bring her to see you.”

  He swallowed and glanced from Havoc to me, and then nodded his head like he’d made his choice. Then he walked backward, giving us enough room to get off the dock and onto solid ground.

  “She’s a working dog. She’s a soldier.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at me and then skeptically looked at Havoc. “I thought those had pointy ears.”

  My smile slipped free. “Some do. But she’s a Lab. She’s trained to sniff out people and…other things. Plus, she plays a mean game of fetch.”

  He stepped forward, sheer longing in his eyes, but he looked at me before getting too close. “Can I pet her?”

  “I appreciate you asking. And yes, you may.” I gave Havoc a little nod, and she padded forward, tongue lolling out.

  He dropped to his knees like she was something sacred and began to pet her neck. “Hiya, girl. Do you like the lake? It’s my favorite. What kind of name is H
avoc?”

  And boom. I was done for. The kid could have asked me to deliver him the moon and I would have found a way. He was so like Ella in expression, and like Ryan in the way he held himself. That confidence was going to serve him well as a man.

  “Now look who’s crazy, talking to dogs.” I clucked my tongue.

  He glared at me over Havoc’s back. “She’s not talking back.”

  “Sure she is.” I dropped down next to him. “See how her tail wags? That’s a sure sign she likes what you’re doing. And the way her head is leaning into where you’re scratching? She’s telling you that’s where she wants you to scratch. Dogs talk all the time, you just have to speak their language.”

  He smiled, and my heart did the flop thing again. It was like pure sunshine, a shot of unadulterated joy that I hadn’t had since…I couldn’t even remember when.

  “You speak her language?”

  “Sure do. I’m what they call her handler, but really, she’s mine.”

  “You handle her?” He didn’t bother looking up at me, clearly having way too much fun checking out Havoc.

  “Well, I used to. We’re both retiring, though.”

  “So you’re a soldier?”

  “Yeah. Well, I used to be.” I ran my hand down Havoc’s back out of habit.

  “And what are you now?”

  Such an innocent question with an impossibly heavy answer. I’d been a soldier for ten years. It had been my way out of foster care hell. I’d been the best soldier possible because failure wasn’t an option, not if it meant going back to the life I’d come from. I promised myself I’d never give them a reason to kick me out, and for ten years, I’d eaten and slept the Army, the unit. I’d earned my place.

  “I don’t really know,” I answered truthfully.

  “You should figure that out.” The kid threw me some serious side-eye. “Grown-ups are supposed to know those kinds of things.”

  A chuckle rumbled through my chest. “Yeah, I’ll get to work on that.”

  “My uncle was a soldier.”

  My stomach hit the floor. What was the line here? How much were you supposed to tell a kid who wasn’t yours? What would Ella want him to know?