Forty-nine #2
Fully relaxed now, Martha kept talking. “If I were your friend, I’d try to stage an intervention and get him the help he needs.
And then be very patient as he comes around.
Not divorce him. He’s going to need her more than ever before.
And, whether or not she admits it, she probably needs him, too. ”
I allowed her conversation to flit to other topics as I finished up her massage.
Even though we chatted about her grandkids, my mind wandered.
When she was dressed and ready to go, I gave her my business card and told her to call me so I could give her another massage on the house—one where I didn’t talk so much. She teared up as she thanked me.
When she turned to leave, she said, “I hope your friend works things out with her husband.”
She was onto me, and I honestly didn’t mind. I looked forward to seeing her again.
As soon as she was out of sight, I plopped down on the table, struggling to think through my pounding headache. Before I even registered what I was doing, I found myself scrolling through iCloud for my wedding pictures and videos.
Ten minutes later, I was watching Peter say his vows as tears dripped off my chin.
“I, Peter, take you, Sarah, to be my wife.”
His grin stretched ear to ear. He was so happy. So was I.
My bracelet of sun charms dangled off my wrist and he held my hands.
“To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
And I repeated them back.
Then, with love blooming in our eyes, we gave each other rings as a symbol of our promise.
I glanced down at my bare finger, regretting that I’d taken it off. Taking it off felt like a declaration—my promise didn’t extend that far.
Sobbing, alone in my massage room, I opened Gmail on my phone and emailed my attorney.
I rolled my cart out the door, down the hall, and through the front doors of the center. Then I came back for my table. But when I got to the foyer, the receptionist, Pepper, was at the desk.
“Oh! Sarah!” Her voice cut through the wheels’ noisy grinding on the tile.
I stopped.
“You got the most beautiful bouquet.”
Immediately, my eyes flicked to the splash of yellow flowers sitting next to her on the desk. Sunflowers, daisies, roses, carnations, and lilies. All yellow. Like a burst of light. The heartbeat in my chest jumped. “Those…those are for me?”
“Yes!” She waved me toward them. “They smell so good. I have sniffed them a hundred times in the few hours they’ve been sitting here. It’s an addiction. I can’t stop.”
“Who are they from?”
“Probably your husband, you silly girl.” She cackled. “Come get them.”
I didn’t really air my marriage issues around the center. Pepper knew about the accident, but it had been a long time since we shared a lunch break together. Peter probably stood in her memory as my sexy husband who loved to hike and kayak and often whisked me away for tacos during my lunch break.
“Thanks, Pepper,” I said as I curled my arm around the vase.
She frowned. “Are you sick?”
For the first time all week, I said yes.
“Oh no. Go home and get some rest.”
“I will,” I lied.
Slowly I trudged to the car, wondering if they’d made a mistake and gotten the wrong Sarah. Flowers seemed a little out of the blue today. They probably weren’t from Peter. But if they weren’t, who were they from? A client, maybe? A few of them knew I wasn’t feeling myself…
I buckled the vase into the front seat then lifted my table into the hatchback, sliding it in. In the driver’s seat, I turned on the heat and stared at the flowers.
Sure enough, there was an envelope that said Sarah Thompson. But it wasn’t the typical teeny tiny card that most bouquets came with. It looked like a letter. And not only that, a tiny package was nestled down in the blooms. It had white tissue paper and a yellow ribbon.
I opened the envelope to find several paychecks folded into a piece of computer paper with Peter’s handwriting. With my heart in my throat, I read.
Sunshine Girl,
Writing you a letter makes me feel like I’m in high school again. It makes me think of the notes I’d slip into your locker vent just so I could stand down the hall and watch your eyes light up when you found them. Remember that Nokia pre-paid phone I bought you so you could call me at night?
We were desperate for every second, weren’t we?
I miss those days, Sarah. The days where we couldn’t shut up, when we had so much to say we talked until two in the morning and then woke up early to do it all over again.
I’m feeling like that now. Desperate for you.
I’ve been calling you every night for weeks.
Based on the fact that my calls go straight to voicemail, I’m assuming you blocked me.
I’m not going to say that realization didn’t hurt, because it did, but I understand why you did it.
I understand that my actions have hurt you, pushed you away, and damaged your ability to trust me. So the only one I can blame is myself.
But I’ve still been calling you. Mainly to listen to your voice on the greeting, but also to practice just…
talking and letting you in. I’ve gotten really bad about that the past couple years.
After I got diagnosed with epilepsy, it got harder for me to share things because my fear felt heavier and louder than ever before.
And then after the accident…talking about what was really going on in my head felt wrong, somehow.
Like I was drowning and dragging you under.
But now there are so many things I need to say, and so many things I have to apologize for that I have no idea where to even start and one letter can’t scratch the surface.
I know I asked for space, Sarah, and I’m so sorry that request caused you pain.
But I needed the time to sort through my fears and work on myself.
I’m thinking so much clearer now. It’s like the fog has finally lifted.
Even my blindness doesn’t feel oppressive like it did before.
Can you call me?
If you’re not ready, it’s okay. I’ll wait until you are. As long as it takes.
In the meantime, know I love you, Sarah.
I’ve never stopped loving you.
I’ve enclosed my checks from Meadowbrook.
I don’t have any use for them here and I want you to have them.
I’m afraid you’re working too hard, trying to protect our savings (which is something else we need to talk about).
I also talked to Chip. I’m going to take on a client or two from Summit and ease in.
It’ll feel good to work with numbers again—like getting a bit of myself back.
Dad might reach out about picking up my tech from the house.
He’s going to ship it to me if it looks like I’ll be in Texas a while longer.
Got to be honest with you though…
I’m ready to come home.
You know what I’ve thought about a hundred times?
You trying to kiss me when we were in the fifth wheel at the ranch.
You were so sweet…so perfect…so eager for me despite everything I’d put you through.
And I denied you a kiss because I was angry about all the things we’d never have together.
Angry about all the things I could never offer you.
Angry that life handed me something else to shoulder.
Angry that the only thing I wanted felt like the thing I should let go.
Sarah, I’m so sorry.
I would do anything to get a re-do of our week at Meadowbrook.
Even just a redo of that one moment…
But I’m going to stop writing now because I’m starting to get into it, and I told myself I wouldn’t do that yet. Not until we’re both ready.
With all my love,
Peter
P.S. It dawned on me that I missed our last two anniversaries. I’m sorry. There’s really no excuse for that. Marrying you was the greatest decision of my life. And we need to celebrate it every year, regardless of the current circumstances.
I read the letter again.
And again.
I didn’t think I had any tears left in me after this awful week, but they freely flowed down my face, intensifying my headache.
There was so much to soak in from that letter. I didn’t even know where to begin.
This letter sounded like Peter. I could hear his voice in the words.
I kicked myself for blocking him. I’d do anything to listen to those messages right now.
When did he write this letter? I wondered if he still felt this way, even after getting served. Was he angry at me now?
That’s when I remembered the box. I plucked it from the flowers and tore through the wrapping, shredded tissue piling in my lap. Lifting the lid, I found a mesh baggy with two golden sun charms inside.
I fell apart.
Letting my forehead hit the steering wheel, I cried for a long time. When I could breathe normally again, I found a jacket in the backseat of my car and wiped my eyes with it. Carefully, I put the charms in my glove box then put the car in reverse. I wanted to go home.
I needed a Tylenol and a bath.
And time to pore over that letter again.