And then, on a night in mid-April, two months after he was supposed to open it, Josh poured himself a glass of wine, called Pebbles up next to him, and held the letter in his hands.
Josh, #12
The last one.
For a year, she had walked him through his grief. For a year, she’d loved him from the Great Beyond, guiding him, getting him out of his own way, making him feel her love, hear her voice. For a year, he had had her even after he’d lost her.
It was time to read the last thing she had to say to him.
“Do you agree?” he asked Pebbles. She wagged her tail. “Okay. So be it.”
He opened the letter. It was longer than the others.
My darling, wonderful, kindhearted Joshua,
I love you.
Picturing this year for you has been heartbreaking. In so many ways, I think I had the easier end of this stick. I got to die, and I had to leave you behind to do the work of living. I know it’s been hard and lonely and horrible. I’m so, so sorry, honey. The absolute worst thing about this disease was not that I was going to die from it. It was that I broke your heart, the one thing I swore I’d never do.
I am so sorry I left you, honey. I’m so sorry I hurt you and caused you to be sad and angry and isolated. If I have any say about it, I’ll always watch over you and love you and smile down at you. I believe in your goodness more than anything else in my entire life.
So this is the last thing on my list . . . and it’s the hardest one.
Find someone to love.
Oh, Josh. You’re alive and wonderful. Let someone love you. Someone great. I want you to open that amazing heart of yours again. I want you to be loved. I want you to have a fight with someone and have hot makeup sex. I want you to be a father. I want you to love your second wife just as much as you loved me.
Don’t let me be your life’s tragedy. Let me be one of the best things that ever happened. One of the many best things that ever happened to you. Let our time together be a beautiful, happy time in your life that came to an end, but led to more happiness, more love.
You’ve mourned me enough, and I’m sure part of you always will. But the facts won’t change. My life ended. Yours has not. You deserve everything, especially love, Joshua Park. You are single-handedly the best person I’ve ever met.
It’s time to put me aside and move on without me. You can do it, honey. You’ve been doing it, even if you think you haven’t. Time keeps spooling out the days and weeks. You’re better now. You’ve healed. I know it. It doesn’t mean you’ll forget me. It just means it’s time to find someone else.
On that note . . . I would like to present Sarah as a candidate.
My guess is that you’ve become friends, and you’ve seen her the way she really is—so devoted and hardworking, funny and smart and kind. I bet she’s been there for you. I bet she loves you already. And I know she has wretched judgment when it comes to guys. You already know her, so you can skip over that awkward “where did you go to school” crap.
Also, she thinks you’re hot. Which you totally are.
Think of me as your matchmaker from the GB. If it doesn’t work, well, you gotta start somewhere, right? (Unless you married that woman you kissed a few letters ago, which makes this letter irrelevant.)
I think I’m stalling, knowing this is the last time you’ll ever hear from me this way. I’m crying a little, Josh. Actually, I’m sobbing. I don’t know how to end this, but I know I have to.
Take good care of yourself, honey. Be happy. Be full of joy. That’s all I ever wanted.
Thank you for our life together. I was so happy. I loved you with all my heart, Joshua Park.
I’ll see you again someday, my darling, wonderful husband.
Lauren
He put the letter down, tears blurring his vision. This was it. She was gone. Again.
And suddenly it was there, right in front of him, the one memory of Lauren he’d been trying to bury. He couldn’t turn away from it anymore, couldn’t shove it down, couldn’t avoid it.
Suddenly, he was right back there again.
The last day of Lauren’s life . . .
The last hour . . .
It was time to remember that day. Then, maybe, he could let her go.
35
Lauren
No time left
February 16
THE PNEUMONIA CAME fast and furious, a thief in the night, robbing her of air. She was dimly aware of feeling awful, her chest heavy. Two days ago, on their third anniversary, she’d been fine.
In a matter of hours, that changed. She’d been tired when she went to bed, sure, but somewhere in the night, true exhaustion set in. She pushed the covers back, too hot, then fell back asleep, the fatigue heavy and black. She coughed, her back spasming, but even that sharp, twisting pain wasn’t enough to keep her awake. Her chest was working, trying to get enough air. She could hear the noise of her own breathing—gasping—but she was so, so tired.
“Honey? Lauren?”
With an effort, she opened her heavy eyes.
“I think you’re sick,” he said, and she nodded, her head like an anvil. A sharp pain stabbed her on each inhale. He clipped the O2 monitor to her forefinger and stared at it, then put on the stethoscope and listened to her lungs. “Shit,” he said. “Can you cough, honey? Get some gunk up?”
This was not their first go-round with pneumonia, after all. He pulled her upright and she tried, coughing into a tissue. Gross. Nasty, thick mucus the color of moss. Not a great sign. More coughing, accompanied by a wrenching back spasm. Josh massaged the muscle and increased her oxygen flow.
After her first round of pneumonia, they’d bought a percussion vest, a heavy, battery-operated thing that looked like a life jacket. Josh clipped it onto her now, and the thudding began; it was designed to loosen phlegm and help her clear her lungs. It felt like she was being punched, and she nearly tipped over with exhaustion. She tried to breathe deeply but the stabbing pain cut her off.
“Try huffing, sweetheart,” he said, phone to his ear. “Hey, Dr. Bennett, it’s Joshua Park. Lauren’s got pneumonia again, I think. O2 sat is seventy-nine, lungs have crackles and she’s sweaty and feverish.”
Lauren got some more crap out of her lungs, but it was scary, how much shit was in there.
Then she was asleep again, even with the vest pounding away. She was aware that Josh was carrying her, putting her in the car, since it would be faster than the ambulance. He held her hand as he drove; it was only a few minutes.