Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition

by Callie Anderson

  “Em?” I rushed to her. Lyra followed behind me. Emilia knelt over the toilet, her hair pulled to the side as her body convulsed.

  “Mommy?” Lyra's voice was weak, her hand reaching for mine.

  Emilia flushed the toilet before looking back at us. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stood walked over to the sink. “It's okay, sweetie,” she said to Lyra.

  Lyra released my hand and ran to her mother’s side, hugging her leg. Through the mirror, my gaze met Emilia’s. It had only been a few hours, but she had already changed so much. Her eyes were heavy and exhaustion haunted her features.

  After she had rinsed out her mouth, we followed her back to bed. Lyra kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed with her mom. “Did you eat something that upset your tummy?”

  I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Emilia to tell Lyra.

  “Can Mommy have one of those special hugs?” She opened her arms for Lyra. Lyra giggled and hugged Emilia. Emilia's eyes closed as she held on to Lyra for a few seconds longer. “Lyra, we need to talk.” She brushed Lyra's hair away from her face.

  “Okay.” Lyra looked back at me then at Emilia.

  “Mommy is sick,” Emilia said softly, “and she is going to be sick for a few months.”

  “Why?” Lyra sat up on her knees. “Why don't you take medicine?”

  “I am.” Emilia ran her fingers through Lyra's hair. “Mommy is going to be really sick some days and I don't want you to think that I love you any less because I won't be able to play.”

  “What's wrong with you?” Lyra sat on her knees.

  “Mommy has cancer.”

  Like Grandma Lucy?” Lyra's eyes filled with sudden tears.

  “No, sweetie.” Emilia shook her head to reassure Lyra. “The doctors were able to take it all out and now I have to take this medicine, but I'll be all right.”

  “Will you lose your hair?” Lyra reached up and entwined her finger with a strand of hair. “Penny's mother lost all her hair when she had cancer in her boobies.”

  Emilia laughed. “Well, mine will fall too out but it will grow back.”

  “You're going to be okay?”

  “I'm going to be fine.”

  “Is that why Jeremy left and Daddy moved in?”

  Emilia's eyes pulled away from Lyra and looked over at me.

  “No, princess,” I spoke up. “Sometimes people stop loving each other. But it's not your fault. Jeremy still loves you very much, but he and your mom are better off as friends.”

  Lyra crawled into her mother’s lap. “Promise me that you're going to be okay.”

  “I promise.”

  70

  WESTON

  Fuck Cancer.

  There were days I sat by Emilia's side because she couldn't get out of bed while she cried from the burning sensation that coursed through her body. Food was the least appealing thing to her. When she did eat, she puked up everything.

  The bad days were bad. Horrible really. There was no other way to say it. I carried Emilia out of bed because she physically couldn't move. It was changing her. Completely dark circles had formed under her eyes; her cheeks were beginning to sink in.

  Watching the person I loved suffer this way was excruciating. I hated that I was helpless. I hated that I couldn’t do anything to take away her pain. I would never be able to forget the agony she was in. Her cries would forever haunt my mind.

  Cancer, how I fucking hate you.

  One day, one really bad day, we sat outside as Lyra played in the yard, running with a bubble wand in the air. Emilia sat with a soft blanket draped over her body, her eyes focused on the ocean. She hadn’t said much that morning. Every once in a while she would moan, and I knew something inside of her was hurting.

  “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, look!” Lyra twirled and a cluster of bubbles popped from her wand. She danced around, trying to pop every bubble she could.

  I looked over at Lyra and then to Emilia. “Em?” I questioned when her gaze hadn’t strayed from the ocean.

  Emilia didn't respond.

  A few minutes passed, and Lyra’s infectious laughter bellowed across the yard. “Mommy, come see what I can do!” Lyra giggled and slid down the slide.

  I again pulled my gaze away from Lyra and looked over at Emilia. She exhaled, her eyes glassy with tears.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I whispered. Emilia slowly nodded and closed her eyes. A lone tear dripped down her cheek.

  “Mommy, did you see that?” Lyra asked.

  “Lyra!” Emilia shouted, her voice roaring through the yard. “I physically can’t do this right now! I am tired, I don’t feel well, and the last thing I want to do is run around with you, so give me a few minutes of peace!” The second the words were out of her mouth, she hunched forward and began to cough.

  Lyra ran inside the house, hiding from the chaos. I rushed to Emilia’s side. “I didn't mean to yell at her, Weston, but I’m tired, weak, everything burns. It hurts to breathe, to swallow, to fucking think. I just . . . I just need five minutes. Just five minutes, where I can just ignore every single thing because right now I honestly feel like walking off that ledge and never looking back!” Covering her face, she wept.

  I rubbed her shoulder. “It's okay. Lyra will understand.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes drenched with tears. “I'm a horrible mother.”

  “Em,” I whispered and draped my arms over her.

  “Get off of me!” She tried to push me away, but she was so weak I didn’t move an inch. “Lyra needs you. She needs you to tell her that I still love her because I can't chase after her. Tell her that I didn't mean to yell at her. Tell her that I’m sorry God gave her such a crappy mother.”

  These were the bad days. The days I couldn’t do anything but listen. When we were at the mercy of cancer and dropped down to our knees and prayed for a better day. This was a terrible fucking day.

  “She knows you love her.” I brushed her hair away from her face.

  “Leave me alone!” Emilia exhaled. “Go, Weston. Please go hug her because I can’t.”

  I left Emilia and walked inside the house. I retrieved the key Emilia had placed over the door of Lyra’s room and unlocked her door.

  “Lyra . . .” I pushed open the door and heard her snuffling on the bed.

  “Go away!” She cried.

  I sat on her bed and brushed her hair to the side. “Mommy loves you very much, Lyra. She didn’t mean to yell.”

  “I know.” She turned to face me. “I miss her. I miss how she used to play with me and braid my hair.”

  I patted the bed and Lyra sat up. “Mom will have bad days, and then she’ll have good days. Today is a bad day, and I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t like this cancer.”

  “I don’t either, princess.” I kissed the top of Lyra’s head.

  Holding Lyra to my chest, I closed my eyes and prayed for a better day.

  71

  EMILIA

  Weston was reading James Patterson’s latest release as I sat back for another round of chemo. I watched him intently, taking in his features, soaking every part of him up. He was so handsome. Painfully gorgeous. Gray eyes that looked at you like the perfect summer storm. A smile that was both devious and genuine. Chocolate hair that was so soft to the touch. And since it was longer than usual, he was constantly brushing it back with his hands which I loved. I sank myself in this moment and let my mind wander.

  It's funny how much your life can change in the blink of an eye. Things that used to matter before seemed irrelevant. I didn’t care about work or if my house was tidy. All I cared about now were the little moments. Holding Lyra and kissing her softly. Reading her favorite bedtime stories and making sure that she would never forget her mom.

  It was the things I took for granted before that made me appreciate life so much more now and made me wish I’d have taken the time to enjoy all of those moments. To embed them in my soul so I’d never forget them. Now I was scooping up moment
s like they were the best candy and I couldn’t get enough.

  Weston had moved in to help us. He was my anchor, my guardian angel. He cooked and cleaned and took care of Lyra and I both. The man was our knight in shining armor and I couldn’t thank him enough. The best part of him being there though was Lyra’s reaction; she loved having him around. She was daddy’s little girl, and on the days I couldn’t get out of bed, I was grateful he was there by her side.

  The way he was with our daughter did things to my heart that I couldn’t explain. He was my everything, even when I’d never asked him to be. Without question, he had dropped everything to be by my side. There had been countless times where he held my hair pack while I emptied the contents of my stomach, even in the wee hours of the morning. He was there when I got my port implanted. He held my hand when the first round of chemo began to course through my veins. And through it all, the only thing I could see in his eyes was love. Unconditional love.

  It wasn’t until cancer was knocking on my door, threatening to take my life away, that a light bulb clicked inside my head. I used to walk around frantic about my job, making sure my work came first, and that I was successful. I wanted a beautiful home, nice things, a good life. I wanted to be fit and make sure all my clothes were trendy, and I had the latest hair style that came from all the hot magazines. I wanted all of that.

  But then cancer stopped knocking and barged its way inside, growing in my body, taking over my life, and I realized then, what really mattered.

  Time.

  And I wanted more of it with Weston and Lyra.

  72

  WESTON

  The day I learned that I missed four years of my daughter’s life was a horrible day. Though my heart doubled in size, and I fell in love at first glance it decimated me and I realized how thin the line between love and hate can truly be.

  Another dreadful day in my life was when I found out my brother had died.

  There was day Axel called me to tell me that Harry was lifeless in the bed next to him.

  And I can’t forget the day I saw Emilia at the church wearing a white dress for another man.

  Those were all crappy fucking days.

  In reality, those days weren’t the worst days of my life. They were bad days, but I would relive all of those days for Emilia to have one really good day.

  We thought we had finally reached good days.

  Emilia had woken up that morning with a wide smile on her face. She had three sessions under her belt and was adjusting to the chemo. She was upbeat and had spent most of the morning in the pool with Lyra. Her appetite was slim, but she had eaten all of her breakfast and had blasted the music through the surround sound.

  It was a good day. It was supposed to be a good day.

  I was writing new songs while the nightmare of losing the love of my life haunted me at night. It was soothing to put my fears on paper. I stayed up late watching Emilia sleep soundly as I wrote another song. Axel, Pete, and Travis had freed up their schedules and were working in the studio, so I would pop in at random, listen to what they were working on and give them my thoughts.

  We had one song mastered and ready for our second album. When I was in the studio, I was Weston, the twenty–eight–year–old man who had a multi–platinum record and was working on a second. Not the Weston who no longer knew what day it was because his world revolved around cancer. I hated to admit it, but for three hours I didn’t have to think about her chemo, or if she was eating enough red meat. I only thought about this new song I wanted to share with her.

  Why was the world so unfair?

  After lunch, Emilia had assured me she was fine and I should go ahead since my mother was there with her. I kissed her tenderly and grabbed my laptop and guitar.

  After three hours in the studio, I pulled my car into Emilia’s driveway. The sun had begun to set in the sky and dark gray clouds foretold a storm brewing on the horizon. We desperately needed the water.

  My keys jingling at my side, I dropped my stuff on the foyer table and looked around the quiet house. The lights throughout were mostly turned off. Lyra sat on the sectional couch in the living with my mother. A big bowl of popcorn rested on Lyra's legs.

  “Hey,” I said when I walked in. Resting against the door frame, I scratched the back of my head.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Lyra looked over at me. Her smile was different now that she had lost her first tooth. She was growing up so fast, but most of her milestones were overlooked by the other issue going on in our house.

  “Where's Emilia?”

  “She went upstairs about fifteen minutes ago.” My mother pulled her gaze from the TV and looked over at me.

  Instantly, I felt something wasn't right. It was a gut feeling. A sixth sense. I pushed off the door frame and headed up to the second floor. Taking the stairs two at a time, I jogged to our bedroom. Her master bathroom door was closed. I could hear the water running on the other side.

  “Em?” I tapped on the door and rested my ear on the door. I heard her soft cries.

  “I'm fine, Weston.” Her voice was shaky. “Go away.”

  “Emmy.” I tapped again. “Open the door. Tell me what's wrong.” I jiggled the door handle, but it was locked.

  “Weston, please . . . just leave me alone.” She cried louder. “I'm fine! I promise!”

  “Em, open this door.”

  “I'm a mess,” she sobbed. “I made a mess. You don't deserve this. You can’t see me like this!”

  My hands lay flat on the white wooden door. “Emilia, please, open this door,” I pleaded.

  “Please, I don't want you to see me like this! Please!” Her voice broke through every barrier I'd ever built to be strong for her.

  My fingernails dug into the wood frames. “I love you. Please let me be there for you.”

  “No!” she screamed. “Go away!” I heard a loud crash against the door. “I fucking hate that I'm like this! I hate this fucking disease! Please . . . Please . . . God . . . I can't live like this anymore!”

  Panic roared through my body. I lifted my leg and kicked the door open. Emilia sat in the center of the room, half–naked and sobbing. Broken shards of a vase that had sat on the vanity were scattered on the floor. The water from the sink ran over her dirty clothes.

  “Please don't look at me!” She tried to cover her dirty legs. “I made a mess. I'm a fucking mess! I can't even control it.”

  I walked over to the sink and turned off the water. “If you're a mess, you're my mess and I love you.” I reached out my hand to grab her.

  Lifting her off the tile floor, I guided her to the tub. “This is so embarrassing.” She brought her hand to cover her face. Vomit entangled in her hair.

  I guided Emilia as she stepped into the tub and I tugged on the hem of her shirt. “Shh, babe, it’s okay.” Turning the water on, I brought the shower head to her body. Emilia wept as the warm water sluiced off her body, washing away a fucking horrible day.

  “I don't deserve you,” she muttered.

  “Don't say that.”

  “I don’t,” she cried. “Weston, you're so good to me. You're an amazing father to Lyra. And now you're sitting here, cleaning me up.” She looked up at me for the first time since I had barged in the door. “You're a good man, and I don’t know how I'll ever repay you.”

  I brought the water over her hair and the vomit slowly slid down her body and washed down the drain.

  “I'm not a good man, Em.” I brushed her hair away from her face. “You're my yellow gel, and I will do anything for you.” I tried to smile as I prayed for a better tomorrow. I didn't know then that every day with Emilia, no matter how bad, was still a good day.

  Because it was a day I got to spend with her.

  73

  EMILIA

  There were good days and then they were really bad days.

  Horrific days.

  Days where every joint hurt, every muscle ached, and every cell felt like it was on fire. Days when agonizing pain kept
me in bed and I would beg God to kill me because it was more than I could bear. I’d remind myself of Lyra and Weston, but the agony was all consuming. Some of those ‘bad days’ not only killed me physically, but they also messed with me mentally. The excruciating days stole my good thoughts, my will to live, and my sanity. The cancer was already stealing my body, what more did it want? By the time it was all over, cancer will have taken every single piece of me, mind, body and soul.

  Weston was in the studio this afternoon, and though I loved having him with me, I felt it was necessary for him to get out of the house and have some sort of normalcy. He still the music executives to answer to and his fans needed him. I assured him I was fine since his mother had been so kind to stay with us for a while.

  And then a good day, or what I’d thought was a good day, turned into a horrible one. It wasn’t just a physical knockout, but a mental one as well.

  We were watching a movie in the living room when exhaustion crept up my body. I had been fine most of the morning. I’d managed to keep my breakfast down, and Lyra and I had spent a few hours on the jungle gym in the backyard. But as soon as the movie started to play, my vision blurred and I was in and out, unable to recall exactly what we were watching.

  “Emmy, sweetie.” Margaret’s soft voice swirled around me. A gentle hand rested on my thigh and pulled me out of my slumber. Startled, I looked up at her. "Why don't you go lay down for a bit?" she suggested with a kind smile.

  I nodded and stood, my legs a little wobbly. My head spun and my stomach soured, but I shook it off and started walking slowly out of the living room. When I reached the first step of the stairs, I knew deep in my gut that something was wrong. I tried to hold myself together, closing my eyes and silently praying that I would make it in time.

  But my body didn’t listen to my pleas and betrayed me.

  That’s what this disease did to you. You lost control of the simplest things.

  I was a mess.