Chapter 6 #2
I sniffle noisily. God, I need a distraction before I start bawling.
The last passenger boards. One of the flight attendants closes and locks the door, and Gayle announces over the intercom for everyone to take their seats as we prepare for departure.
I grab my phone with forced composure and pose with my champagne glass, recording a five-second video I’ll edit later into a reel.
I also snap a bunch of photos—the glass framed in the window, my face through the glass, and my lips on the glass—but they lack my usual flair.
This is surreal.
Here I am, faking smiles and mugging with a champagne glass while Zoe is crammed into Holly’s carry-on above my head. It feels wrong.
Then I notice Holly watching me, eyes narrowed. Her breath held, she’s white-knuckling her scarf.
“Relax. It’s for my business,” I reassure her so she won’t bolt the second we land in Cabo. She’s touchy about social media. It’s not like I’m an influencer hogging the spotlight. I own a business. I have employees!
She keeps quiet until I set my phone on airplane mode and put the device away, her gaze following my hand. “Is that from Zoe?” She points at the envelope poking out of the seat pocket, Zoe’s familiar handwriting visible.
I pluck the envelope. “Charles gave it to me along with the manila envelope and Zoe. He said we’re to read it on the plane. Should we read it now?”
Holly gives me her patented duh look. “We’re on the plane.”
Gah, she sounds like the principal she is.
I tear open the envelope and remove several folded sheets of stationery, clean white linen with a gold embossed Z in the heading. I catch a whiff of something and sniff the paper.
“What are you doing?” Holly asks, wrinkling her nose.
“It smells like Zoe.” I let her smell the letter and her gaze meets mine.
“Marc Jacobs Daisy,” we say in sync. Zoe’s perfume.
Fresh, feminine, and citrusy. That’s Zoe—not the medicinal odor that clung to her toward the end.
It makes me wonder when Zoe wrote it. Up until the last few months, I held onto hope.
There was still a chance Zoe would pull through.
Then she took a turn for the worse and went downhill fast.
“What does she say?” Holly breaks through my musings, her voice soft.
I flatten the stationery and clear my throat.
“‘Hello, gals! I’m bursting with happiness at the thought you’re reading this.
I gave Dad strict orders to burn these letters if you decided not to take this trip.
But since you’re reading this, it means you’re on the flight to Cabo, together. I’m so pleased.’”
“Told you coming was the right thing to do.” I glance at Holly, hoping to catch her looking sheepish, but her expression is blank, her gaze roving over the paper.
I continue: “‘I bet Anna upgraded you to first class and Holly is less than thrilled.’ Ha! She totally nailed us.” I stab the stationery feeling validated, my chest light.
“Just read it.” Holly shakes her head and points at the letter.
“‘Sorry, Hols. I tried to plan these trips exactly how we’d taken them. But you know Anna. That girl has miles to burn. Try to relax and enjoy yourself.’”
“‘And Anna,’” Holly tilts my hand, taking over reading, “‘don’t force Holly to drink champagne on the plane.’”
I gasp. “She did not write that.”
“Did too.” Holly points at the line in the letter.
“Damn,” I murmur as goosebumps rise. “Look at my arm,” I whisper to Holly, nodding at my puckered skin.
“Same.” She shows me her forearm.
“‘I have a confession,’” I continue reading as the plane starts taxiing.
“‘Do you remember when we first met, that night of the dorm social? You gals found me alone in the hallway, sobbing. We were only two weeks into the quarter, and I already wanted to drop out. But you swept me up into your circle without question or judgment and hustled me to the ladies’ room, insisting I join you. Anna fixed my mascara and Holly touched up my hair. I told you then that I didn’t think I was cut out for college and wanted to go home.
But it wasn’t the real reason I’d wanted to drop out.
’” My gaze trails ahead, scanning the next paragraph, and my fingers fly to my mouth.
“What?” Holly’s voice is filled with curiosity.
Shock clamps my throat. I can’t read it out loud. I give Holly the letter to take over as our pilots steer the plane toward the runway.
“‘Truth is, I knew about my disease back then. Don’t be mad at me. I was dealing the only way I knew how. You see, I had leukemia when I was twelve. It was a long battle, but I survived and went into remission during high school. The doctors, however, warned my cancer would likely return. Odds were not in my favor. But I’d been given another chance at life, yet guilt was eating me alive.
Every day I woke up, I knew I was living on borrowed time.
Time I didn’t believe I deserved. That night you found me in the hallway, I’d been debating taking my life. ’”
“Fuck.” Holly lowers the letter to her lap. “Did you know?”
I shake my head, equally stunned by Zoe’s admission and Holly dropping the F-bomb. I dig for tissues. “No.”
Holly looks at me for a long moment before continuing to read.
There’s a waver in her voice, a slight shake in her hand.
“‘That night with the two of you, I felt like I’d found the missing piece in my soul. I wasn’t the only one struggling, even if we were struggling for different reasons.
The pact we made that night to hold each other up, to hold each other accountable, support each other until we graduated—that pact and the promised trip to Cabo after graduation became my purpose.
My north star. And your friendship gave me a reason to live. ’”
Massive remorse settles over me. I screwed up, royally, to the max, when I ruined what Zoe had treasured most: our friendship trio.
I spare a glance at Holly, afraid to see the blame. But the only thing I can read in her expression is her own waterfall of guilt. We could have—should have—resolved this rift years ago. If she’d accepted my apology.
If I wasn’t convinced before that going on this trip was the right thing to do, I am now. It’s so important we pull this off.
Holly flips to the last page. “‘There’s more I need to tell you, but I’ll explain in future letters. By then I hope you’ll understand and that you’ll forgive me.’”
Forgive Zoe for what? Holly is quiet, probably wondering the same thing.
“I thought we shared everything,” I say, swallowing my disbelief, staggered Zoe had kept this monumental secret from us.
“Me too,” Holly says, with a slow shake of her head. “Here, Mr. Whitmore gave this to you. You finish.” She hands over the letter without looking at it or me.
Taking the letter as the plane turns down the runway, picking up speed, I raise my voice over the noise: “‘By now you should have the itineraries Dad gave you. Have you looked at them yet? They’re basically the same, except one thing: My letters. There are two for each destination. One you’ll read on the way.
The other you’ll read once you get to the location.
It explains how you’ll sprinkle a little bit of me.
You have each received one of the two letters for every destination.
“‘So you see, gals,’” I read as the plane tilts upward, lifting into the sky, “‘this trip can’t succeed if you don’t work together. I’m betting you’ll be the best of friends again by the end. And you know I never lose a bet. Please don’t forget me. Kisses and hugs, Z.’”
The letter falls onto my lap as I peek at Holly, who looks like she’s kissed a frog. Sick with regret, I feel exactly how she looks. Shell-shocked, we stare out the window, watching as our plane climbs through the clouds. And I wonder: Did we truly know our friend at all?