Thank you, kind sir.
Nolan wants to meet me for lunch. I’ve been here for months and since he took me food shopping, I haven’t seen him. Paying him six months’ rent at once probably doesn’t give him much of a reason to visit. That’s why I have to question what makes today so special.
Theo busies himself to the point of working over twelve hours a day.
I think he has been avoiding me since our sex-in-potting-soil night.
I say “I think” because I’ve been avoiding him, too, for the past week.
Saying goodbye to Daniel was the last painful goodbye I ever wanted to have.
Part of me hopes that one day I’ll wake up and Theo will be gone.
In reality, I think he may wake up one day and I’ll be the one who is gone.
Nothing lasts forever. That is the only truth we are guaranteed in life. When someone says they will love you forever, what does that really mean? Then again, what really is love? I think that’s why we’re here. For each of us to discover what love means to us.
I love Daniel and that’s why I left. But what if he doesn’t see it that way? My dad is in prison because he loves me. I still lose sleep over communal underwear because I love him. Love is so fucking painful.
“Hello, stranger. So, I pay you rent in full and you bugger off with it? Mr. Reed could have sliced and diced me and fed me to the sharks by now and no one would have known.”
“Scarlet Stone. Don’t you look lovely.” Nolan takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”
I laugh. “You mean what I haven’t done with it. I’ve given up on my vanity. Well, most of it.”
“How un-southernly of you. Are you ready?” He holds open the car door.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
We head to town, not talking about much more than the weather, specifically the rundown of the most devastating storms to hit Savannah. Weather I’m good at; it’s a favorite topic of most British people.
He takes me to lunch at what I believe is an exclusive club with men dressed in suits and a few women wearing perfectly-tailored designer dresses accented with plenty of flashy jewelry.
“So tell me, how are you feeling, Scarlet?” Nolan asks behind his menu.
I have a feeling Yimin said something and that’s what prompted this unexpected lunch invite.
“Underdressed. How is Harold and his young floozy?”
He stiffens, lowering his menu enough to glare at me. “I warned you not to believe everything you hear.”
“We saw Harold with his tongue down some young girl’s throat, in the car park outside of the café where we had lunch.”
“You and Theo had lunch? Is there something going on between the two of you? Are you the beauty to his beast?”
“No. Why are you blackmailing your dad?”
Nolan chuckles. “Does he know?”
“Who?”
“Theo.”
“Know what?” Why is he changing the subject?
“About your illness?”
I remember when men with badges and guns raided our place.
Life was over … at least the life I had always known.
Then my father confessed to my crime. It was like everything in his life had led him to that point—the day he would sacrifice himself to save me.
He promised no one would ever know it was me.
He promised to take my secret to his grave.
But now no one is here to save me from the truth.
“Is it cancer?” Nolan drives the knife a little deeper.
“How do you know?” I wait for his simplistic sixth-sense explanation. He gives me more.
“I died,” he says matter-of-factly.
I shake my head. “Sorry? I don’t understand.”
“I had an … accident. I died. Doctors pronounced me dead. Three minutes later I took a breath and opened my eyes. You know those unexplainable miracles that modern medicine can’t explain?
That was me. Something happened to me, and I can’t explain it …
no one can. But ever since that day, I’ve been able to sense things.
I can feel things that people around me are feeling.
Most of the time it’s just that—a feeling.
Sometimes it’s specific and I can pinpoint it like a heart attack or aneurysm or—”
“Cancer,” I whisper.
Nolan nods.
*
London – Three Months Earlier
Dear Diary,
Today I was offered a legit, six-figure salary, picked out a lovely forty-five piece handmade tableware set with cobalt blue trim for my wedding in seven months, came across three pennies in the car park, and found out I have terminal cancer and a year to live—six months without treatment.
I’m regretting the extended warranty I purchased for my new car last month …
“Scarlet?” Daniel glances over his white dress-shirt clad shoulder while steam rises from a pot of Heaven in front of him.
He greets me with a lopsided grin and the voice that often has my clothes falling to the floor.
Roasted garlic and rosemary dance in the air with Sarah Brightman’s version of “All I ask of You.”
“You didn’t wait for me.” I throw my keys on the hall table then work the buttons to my red, double-breasted peacoat.
We always make meals together.
We always listen to opera.
We always talk about our careers.
We’re always in sync.
“It’s your day, love. That glass of wine is waiting for you. Sit down and tell me about your day.”
I shrug. “I chose the cobalt trim for our tableware instead of the red like we had originally discussed.”
“Stop playing with me. You know all I want to hear about is the job.”
The searing meat in the frying pan drowns out the music like the white noise between radio stations. The death sentence from a “minor” follow-up to a physical I had several weeks prior kicks my senses in the gut. A wake-up-last-call-you’ve-officially-been-stamped-with-an-expiration-date revelation.
“Earth to Scarlet.”
My finger stops tracing the rim of the wine glass as my gaze shoots up to the dirty blond who looks sinful yet completely out of place in his black pressed trousers and semi-pressed shirt.
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “Why the suit today?” My hand moves to his chest, fighting the urge to fist his shirt. The need to hold on to him—to this life—overwhelms me.
“Scarlet Stone … stop! I’ll tell you about the suit after you tell me about the job.” His playful grin stabs my heart. I already miss him.
I shrug, relinquishing a hint of a smile that I hope doesn’t look half as pained as it feels. “They offered me the job.”
“Yes!” He pulls me into his arms and swings me around in circles. “My little thief has gone legit.”
“I’m not a thief.”
He lets me slide back down to my feet and devours my mouth. “You’ll always be a thief for stealing my heart.” He means it figuratively … if he only knew.
My eyes close as his nose brushes mine. “The suit.” I clear my throat while the words fight past the thick emotion. “Why the suit?”
Daniel wiggles his eyebrows then turns back to the hob. “I have a job announcement too.”
“Oh?” I take a sip of my wine. “What is this wine?” I swirl it around in my glass.
“It’s on the table.”
I turn and narrow my eyes at the bottle, moving closer to read the label. “Bugger! This bottle of wine costs over six hundred quid!”
“As I was saying … I have job news too. I’ve been asked to film that documentary.
It’s going to be huge. A serious once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
But I’ll be gone for five months, and …” He slides the pan off the burner and turns toward me.
I leave on Monday.” His nose scrunches but it fails to hide the excitement in his eyes.
Our ambitious and career-oriented personalities brought us together.
Kids? A doctor told me, several years ago, I would never get pregnant thanks to endometriosis.
Daniel doesn’t want them anyway. The fake grimace is theatrical; he knows I won’t blink before jumping for joy to celebrate his professional accomplishment.
That’s us. Two independent people who happen to be in love.
At least that’s who we were until today. This very moment.
“Say something.” He grunts a laugh of disbelief. “I bought this bottle of wine for six hundred quid to celebrate our day, but you look like you’re ready to cry.” His hands cradle my face. “Scarlet Stone, I’ve seen you cry once. Once in the ten years I’ve known you. What is this all about, love?”
For a brief moment, which feels like an out-of-body experience, I think I could make it disappear if I don’t say the words. With one blink my tears fall, and I say the words anyway. “I have cancer.”
“Sorry? No …” Daniel shakes his head, brow pinched tight. “What are you talking about?”
My tears taste salty on my lips as I rub them together, drawing in a deep breath. “The off and on pain in my abdomen? The bloating? The weight I’ve lost without trying over the past six months?”
“You went to the doctors and they said it was stress or the endometriosis.”
“They missed it.”
“Sorry? They missed it?” Daniel’s head jerks back. “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”
I shake my head. “They’re human. It happens.”
“What kind of cancer? They … they caught it early. Correct? You’ll go through treatment, and you’ll be fine.” His voice cracks. “Answer me.” My man who defines tall and ruggedly handsome, looks utterly broken and defeated with his eyes reddening behind his own tears, shoulders curled inward.
“It’s ovarian cancer.” I grab his hands and squeeze them. The lines along his brow deepen. “It’s terminal.”
He jerks his hands from mine, spinning around with his back to me; his hands fist his hair as he releases a growl. “FUCKING HELL!”
A numbness blankets my body. I don’t even jump when he yells. All I can feel is the soft trickle of more tears sliding down my face. I know no pain will ever compare to this moment. The victims of cancer reach far beyond those with the disease.
“Okay …” He turns back to me, his eyes wet with emotion. “We’ll fix this. Chemo, radiation, whatever it takes. Cancer is not a death sentence anymore. They’re coming out with new treatments every day.”
“Daniel—”
“Or surgery. Can’t they just remove your ovaries?”
“Daniel—”