The Last Post

by Renee Carlino

  He held a hand up to his stapled head. I felt sorry for him for a moment, but it was fleeting. I had to stay strong. He would be okay, possibly better if I wasn’t in the picture.

  I needed to get my head straight. It felt like everything was spinning out of orbit again. Reading Cameron’s letter, operating on Micah. I made a pact with myself not to drag Micah through any more of my drama.

  Our eyes were locked on each other. “I’m in love with you, Laya,” he said.

  “I’m not going away forever. You have your family and friends . . . and an awesome team here.”

  “You fixed me, Laya.” He reached his hand out. “You did it.”

  “I just did my job.” I squeezed his hand, bent, and kissed his cheek. The surgery could have gone either way. I could have totally blown it with my inexperience and jumping in when I knew I probably shouldn’t have.

  “But—”

  “I hope you make a full recovery. I have confidence you’ll do great.”

  “Please don’t talk to me like you’re my doctor.” He squinted like his head hurt again.

  I turned toward the door and started to walk out. “I am, though, Micah.”

  “Wait, please,” he said. “You’re more than just my doctor. You know that.”

  He was pleading but I couldn’t think straight and I couldn’t look at him in his condition.

  So I left him. Thinking back to my childhood, I remembered my dad sitting in his office at home, crying, sometimes. I’d walk in to comfort him and he would always say his eyes were watering from allergies. I believed him until I was about ten, when he had an “allergic” reaction to my mother’s photographs. After that, I knew why he cried.

  The last time we’d spoken, he’d mentioned how the waves of grief came fewer and farther apart as time passed. For him, maybe. But it hadn’t been enough time for me. I wasn’t ready and I couldn’t take Micah with me on the roller-coaster hours after he had escaped death.

  I apologized to the entire staff at the hospital in a quick email I wrote from my office. I was still holding Pretzel under my arm as I typed with one hand. I also asked to be taken off Micah’s team, which was granted within minutes. As soon as I could, I was out of there and headed home, hoping I still had a job, and hoping Micah would understand.

  When I got home, I tried to write Cameron a letter that wasn’t stream of consciousness, like my phone messages had been. I needed to talk to him and tell him how I felt about the letter he had written me, about our short marriage and how I was barely keeping my head above water since I had lost him.

  Hours later I found myself sitting on the couch, watching the flickering light again.

  Everyone in my life had been constantly reminding me that I was not defective or damaged goods. But in measuring the choices I had made, I thought people had to be wrong about their assessment of me. Who seeks out a relationship with a person who likes to jump off cliffs? Who marries a person who puts their life in danger for nothing? When would I stop blaming Cameron for who he was? Or feel like he was still toying with me from beyond?

  My mind was racing with thoughts, but each one brought me back to a place where I couldn’t help but compare Cameron and Micah. I knew Micah had good intentions and there were so many qualities about him I adored. He was calm compared to Cameron’s adrenalized energy. Micah was handsome, smart, and introspective. He was kind and gentle. But I questioned whether his actions were selfless or selfish, and whether my marriage to Cameron would always make me doubt everyone I formed a relationship with.

  28. Structure Failure

  MICAH

  There was nothing I could do. I literally couldn’t chase Laya down the hallway, begging her to stay. The only thing I could do was try to understand her and everything that had happened. I wanted to kiss the year good-bye, start over, meet Laya in a café somewhere, mulling over pastries. I wanted us to be strangers who didn’t know each other’s pain.

  “If you love her, you’ll do what it takes,” came Melissa’s voice from a darkened corner of the room.

  “What does it take?” I asked. “And were you here the whole time?”

  “No I just came in, but I saw her bolt down the hall with her ugly dog. She looked upset and I figured something had gone down.”

  Despite the disintegration of Melissa’s relationship with Kenny, she actually had a lot more success than me in the love department. She could be obnoxious and overly demonstrative, but she wasn’t a fool.

  “So what happened?” Melissa asked.

  “She just said I needed to focus on getting better. I think she meant that we can’t be together right now. Everything is starting to hurt.”

  “She’s right. You both need the space. A lot of shit has gone down between two people who don’t know each other that well. You were never officially together.”

  “I know,” I said. Even though it felt like I knew Laya well, it was true—we hadn’t spent much time together.

  “When you get out of here, I want you to come and stay with me. I lined up an apartment near Mom and Dad.”

  “How are you going to afford that?”

  “Pot is a lucrative biz.”

  “I guess so,” I said right before Taylor, the night nurse, walked in.

  “Melissa, it’s so good to see you. How are you?” Taylor asked.

  “Hi, Taylor. Did you get my text?” Melissa replied curtly.

  I looked up at her from the bed, wondering why she seemed confrontational.

  “Yeah, you know, I need to talk to you,” he said.

  “I’m listening,” she shot back.

  Taylor glanced over at me, then back to Melissa. “Maybe outside we can talk.”

  “Micah is my twin. He knows everything about me.”

  Oh my god, is everyone losing their minds in my hospital room as I lie here helpless?

  “Melissa, um, I did get your text. You are um, very sexy.” He was stumbling over his words.

  “Melissa!” I barked. “Did you send him a pic?”

  Melissa looked over at me, arched her eyebrows, and shrugged.

  “I didn’t respond, but I wanted to tell you, I hope we can be friends. I really enjoy your personality and now that you’re out of the hospital—”

  “I’m confused,” Melissa said. “Are you gay or something?”

  Very calmly Taylor said, “Yes, I am.”

  Melissa began to stutter, “I’m . . . I’m, ugh . . .”

  “It’s okay, Melissa,” he said. “Happens all the time.” When he winked at her, I burst out laughing.

  “Zip it, gimpy,” Melissa spat out.

  “Pot, kettle much, Melispa?”

  “I’m going to get some Doritos out of the machine. Sorry, Taylor, I feel like an idiot,” she said as she left the room.

  Once she was gone, Taylor said, “Your sister is a character.”

  “Yes, she is. Don’t worry, she’ll get over the embarrassment and probably ask you to lunch next week.”

  “Well, I hope so. Like I said, I really enjoy her liveliness, and I think she’s a lot of fun.”

  I smiled and he smiled back. He was genuine and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before he and Mel were inseparable.

  After he left, Melissa returned with a bag of M&Ms. “How humiliating, right?” she said as she sat in the chair next to my bed.

  “I think it’s funny. I never would have guessed.”

  “Maybe you can date him now that Laya is out of the picture,” Melissa said with a mouthful of M&Ms.

  “Do you see the way Devin looks at her? He’s shameless. He hit on her right in front of me.” Melissa pulled a Kit Kat from her sweats pocket. I cocked my head to the side. “Really?”

  “Fuck Kenny, I’m not giving up Kit Kats ever again. And you know what, fuck Devin, too. He’s a shitty friend and a moron. Micah, why don’t you just work on getting better? I’ll do the same. At least we have each other.”

  A memory of Mel sitting in the rocker and me reading in the
argyle jacket at our parents’ cabin rushed through my mind and I grimaced.

  As if she could read my mind, she said, “Not forever. Just for now.”

  “I really care about her, Mel.”

  “I think she knows that.” Another nurse came in and pumped me full of more pain meds. Melissa continued eating candy next to me until I passed out.

  Every hour after that a nurse would come in and ask me the same questions. “What year is it? Who is the president? What is your full name and birthday? How old are you?” It became redundant and annoying. I kept thinking, I broke my brain; how will I ever design again? I fucked things up with Laya and she’s never going to speak to me again. It was unnerving to sit around obsessing over things I couldn’t fix in that moment. My emotions told me to call her, but my brain told me to let her breathe.

  At seven in the morning I could hear Laya’s voice outside my room. She was talking to a nurse about not examining me anymore and how a new fellow was assigned to my case.

  I texted her even though I knew she was right outside.

  Me: I can hear your voice outside my room. It’s never sounded more beautiful. I only wish the words were different.

  She didn’t respond. Soon I didn’t hear her voice anymore.

  The rest of my time in the hospital was made up of more procedures, sleepless nights, and obsessing over the state of my life. But as my head and leg began to get stronger, so did my understanding of what Laya, Melissa, and I had all gone through in recent months. Our work woes and petty arguments with friends paled in comparison to the loss Laya had experienced, the deception Melissa had felt, and the self-awareness I realized I had been lacking. We’d all had a little brush with death, and for me, it made life seem louder, more delicate . . . more beautiful.

  29. Jigsaw

  MICAH

  Weeks went by, then months. I was discharged from the hospital after daily intense physical therapy and weekly CT scans. I never saw Laya. I picked up where I left off at work. I was getting better and better physically, though I was still very much confused about where Laya and I stood. There was no question that I cared deeply for her, and though we didn’t have many interactions, I knew I wanted her in my life. Maybe forever. I just had to figure out how to do that.

  I asked Jim often about his daughter. I don’t think he knew we had spent more time together, and I’m sure he wondered why I was constantly making inquiries. He told me she was doing well, diving into work and taking her life back. I was happy for her. I didn’t want to interfere or cause her more distress.

  My own life started to settle down. I was almost 100 percent back to normal. My job was picking up, and Steve and Shelly were backing off. In April of that year I landed a huge job designing a building in the financial district.

  All the pieces of my life were starting to come back together. Even though I was going through the motions and challenging myself to do better in every avenue of my life, I was still thinking about Laya nonstop.

  Her. The woman who popped up on the screen of my life. She wasn’t ever quite tangible. She was an image. Like one slip of the hand and I’d delete her. She wasn’t made of plastic or glass, she was as real as they come, but still I felt like I never had a chance to reach inside, touch her heart, hold it, and let her know it was sacred to me and that everything would be okay. All I wanted was her trust, her time, but deep down I knew she needed the space more.

  People around me knew even though I never said anything. It wasn’t like I was walking around asking for love-life advice anymore, but people sure as hell wanted to offer it. They would tell me to find a distraction or go jogging in the park. Melissa tried to convince me to take a hip-hop dance class with her and Taylor, but that was a hard no for me.

  Before I met Laya, I had no idea what a broken heart felt like. You tell yourself constantly, every waking moment, to stop thinking about her, but you can’t. At some point you accept that the ramen place, the movie theater, an ugly dog, or some French toast will trigger an image that will make you miss her all over again. I guess on a much larger scale Laya had experienced the same phenomenon when she’d lost Cameron.

  I did try to distract myself by diving into work, hoping, at the very least, that one day Laya Bennett would walk through a building I had designed and say, “Isn’t this beautiful?”

  30. Spacewalk

  LAYA

  I still talked to Cameron every day, on his voicemail, in letters, sometimes on his Facebook, but I was finding I had less and less to say. I stopped seeing him on the corner and in my dreams. It wasn’t that I wanted the memories to fade; it was more that I wanted the pain and confusion to let up. Diving into work, fixing up my apartment, and taking care of Pretzel offered a nice distraction, but Micah was still on my mind.

  He tried, and I took it for granted. He was a present, loving, and kind person. Part of me wished I hadn’t pushed him away, but the other part knew I wasn’t in the right state of mind to date or to give someone else a part of me that was still wrecked. Now I figured it was too late. I was sure he had moved on. Who wouldn’t see all of his good qualities and want to spend time with him? I think the best part of Micah was that he was humble. I used to see that part of him as insecurity, but looking back it was actually confidence. He didn’t need to talk about his talent; it was evident to everyone, including my father. And Micah certainly didn’t need to worry about his looks. He was jaw dropping in old jeans, a sweatshirt, and messy hair.

  I missed him.

  When my dad called to say he was considering making Micah a partner, I was truly happy, even though it meant I would have to face Micah in the office at some point. I didn’t know how soon it would be, though.

  A week after the chat with my dad I was on my way to the firm to give him some paperwork on his rental.

  When I got to the sixth floor, I was surprised and a little relieved I didn’t see Micah as I made my way to Dad’s office. The moment I sat down in front of him, I knew something was different. Lighter, maybe, but before I could ask, he said, “Laya, I met someone.”

  “Really?” I asked, my eyes wide.

  “Yes. I want you to meet her.”

  “Wow. This is a first. What is she like?” I asked him.

  “She’s kind and funny, with a real zest for life. She has two adult children who I think you’d really get along with.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They’re intelligent and driven, like you.” His words touched me. For so long it felt like everyone thought I was just a mess of a person and always would be. “Laya, you seem to be making a lot of progress lately. My friends at the hospital have been talking about how well you’re doing.”

  I was doing a lot better. Still, every once in a while, a wave of grief, fear, and guilt would hit me. “He’s getting further away. It scares me, Dad.”

  He smiled with sympathy. “You’re not betraying him. He’s not here—but you are.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “You know, Laya, what shocked me most when you became an adult was how different you were from your mother.”

  In the past, whenever my father would start talking about my mom, my whole body would tense up. But that day it was different. I wanted to know more about her. “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “Your mom was content. Looking back, it was like she knew.”

  I squinted. “Knew what?”

  “That she didn’t have long. Now I think of her as an angel who God let out for a little while to give me you, and to touch my life in a way no one else would. Now I don’t look back with regret or sadness. I’m grateful I was the one she picked.”

  I started crying silently, without expression. It was like cleansing tears were rushing down my face to wash away the hurt, confusion, and sadness. Maybe Cameron was my angel, put here to show me that I was capable of loving.

  After my father patiently gave me some insight, I left his office feeling a renewed sense of well-being. If I was going to hit the ground running, I
was going to do it as Laya, wearing my dirty pink high tops from college and my old T-shirt from space camp. I didn’t have to reinvent myself; I just had to reintroduce myself to life.

  I walked toward Micah’s new office. He wasn’t there, so I went in. I started scribbling a note to him. Without noticing, I was saying the words out loud.

  “Hi, I hope you’re doing well. I was thinking—”

  “What were you thinking, beautiful?” His voice startled me. I turned quickly and realized he was standing only two feet behind me. He wore suit pants and a dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He looked tan and healthy. I glanced at his muscular forearms and then up his body to his mouth. His lips were turned up into a tiny smirk and his eyes were clear and searching mine.

  “Um, I was thinking about how you were doing?”

  “Better now,” he whispered. “Now that you’re standing in my office.”

  “I shouldn’t be nervous around you, but I am.”

  “You’re not nervous. You just have some nerves. I might be able to help you,” he said.

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  He reached out to hold my hands between us. No, that didn’t help my nerves at all. My heart rate spiked at his touch.

  “Your office is nice, much better than the cube,” I told him. There were miniature models decorating every open space of the room, and his window looked out onto Central Park.

  “You’re a really amazing subject changer.”

  “One of my many gifts,” I said.

  “That’s for sure.” He nodded at my half-written note. “So, were you going to sneak off after leaving me an unfinished letter?”

  “Maybe. You look good,” I finally said. I desperately tried to shake off the feeling of being turned on by his passive staring. He looked me in the eyes and waited, so I went on. “So, you feel like you’ve made a full recovery? Like you’ve really bounced back, and you’re doing well, and everything is good . . . and life is good?”

  “Still changing subjects, and poor syntax, Laya. To answer your question, I’m about ninety-nine percent. I had a great doctor.” He winked. “And everything is well and good, as you would put it. There is just one thing I wish I had.”