Letters For Emily Read online

  Six blocks away from the house she started to cry.

  AFTER A GLASS OF MILK, THREE COOKIES, AND TWO BEDTIME stories, Emily was tucked securely in bed with her two blankets pulled up tight against her chin.

  The two-blanket ritual was one she had insisted on since the age of four. It had come about strictly by accident. When Emily’s blanket was in absolute shreds, Laura had decided it was time for a change. It had been such a problem to get the ragged thing away from the child, even to wash, that the obvious answer seemed to be two new ones that could be alternated in washing. At least it seemed like the easy answer. When presented with the new blankets, Emily was sure she’d struck gold, ecstatic that she had twice as much as she had given up. The first night she placed a blanket on each side of her face, her mouth and nose barely peeking through.“Look at me. I’m a Eskimo,” she exclaimed. Each night afterwards she insisted on sleeping with both blankets. The original problem had multiplied; now Laura had two blankets to wash.

  “Are you all comfy and cozy?” Laura quizzed, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Yep. Will you lay down with me?”

  “I already read you two books. Just give me a hug, I have something I need to do in my room.”

  “Okay, night, Mom.”

  “Good-night, babe.”

  Laura clicked off the light and headed to the master bedroom. She glared at the stack of mail still sitting on the bed. Her queasiness returned. She had noticed the letter when sorting through the mail after they’d returned home from Harry’s. In the usual mix of bills and bulk-rate junk mail was the crisp white envelope with the disturbing return address. She didn’t want to cry in front of Emily, so she quickly mixed it back into the stack and tried to put it out of her mind. Now, in the quiet of her bedroom, she pulled out the envelope and stared—Bagley, Morris, and Lattimer, Attorneys at Law.

  She had known it was coming. She and Bob had discussed it a few days ago, but at the time it hadn’t seemed real. She’d clung to a glimmer of hope that the situation would work itself out. Now she sliced the envelope open with a fingernail file and removed the starched paper. It was addressed to her attorney with her name highlighted at the bottom under a section showing where copies had been sent. It read like a form letter with names plopped into place. But the letter she now held in her hands wasn’t sent to “other people.” It hadn’t gone to a stranger, it was sent to her—and it meant that her marriage of eleven years was crumbling before her eyes. It couldn’t be happening, but in her hand she held the evidence—the beginning of the end.

  It was a simple request to schedule a meeting with both parties’ attorneys so details of an amicable divorce settlement could be reached. But as she read, her eyes moistened. What is it about me that he’s grown to despise, she wondered? Certainly they had had their share of arguments, but there had been good times as well, times of laughter and fun when she felt so full of hope. Just weeks before he had moved out, for example, they found themselves alone together in the middle of the day. They had chased each other around the attic, both giggling like schoolchildren. When he caught her, he pulled her to the old couch in the corner, where they made love. It was sweet and wonderful and she had wondered if it would be the turning point to better times. Within days, however, they were at odds again, arguing over the most trivial things. And then three weeks later, his things were packed. He had received the job offer and he was leaving for San Diego, acting like it was no big deal—as if husbands abandoned their families every day.

  They had attempted counseling a year earlier, but after two sessions, Bob refused to continue. She thought the sessions went well; he felt like all the blame was being placed on him. Had they grown apart? If so, then what about the good times, she wondered? The thought of another woman entered her mind again. If he was hiding someone, he was doing a great job of it. She could find no evidence, and when she questioned Bob, he flatly denied that there was anyone else.

  Laura dropped the letter onto the bed and hurried to the bathroom to grab a tissue. She paused in front of the mirrorand studied her face. Slight wrinkles showed at the corners of her eyes. She had tried to cover them with makeup, but they still showed through. Could he be looking for someone younger? Had she married someone that shallow?

  She returned to the bedroom with tissues in hand and curled up on the bed to consider her options. At eleven o’clock, when her tears had finally dried, she slipped out of her clothes and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. The water was warm and comforting, and she stayed in until the hot water ran out. She dressed for bed slowly, detesting the thought of sleeping alone again. The sheets were cold when she climbed in, and she shivered under the covers as she waited for the bed to warm. Forty-five minutes later, still awake, she rolled over and reached for the phone on the nightstand.

  On the sixth ring he picked it up. “Hello?” He sounded dazed and in a strange way it gave her pleasure to have woken him up.

  “Bob. It’s me. Are you alone?”

  “Laura, what’s wrong? Is Emily okay?”

  “She’s fine, Bob, but I’m not okay.” Her sorrow was turning to anger and she struggled to keep it under control.

  “What? What’s the matter, Laura?” he questioned, still trying to clear his head.

  “So, is it really over, Bob? Just like that?” There was a noticeable pause before he responded.

  “The letter—you got the letter, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I got the letter.” She had wanted so badly to remain calm, but the anger inside was overpowering. “Did you think I’d call with excitement?”

  “Laura, we talked about it. You knew it was coming.”

  “I knew it was coming? That’s the point. After elevenyears of marriage, I didn’t see it coming. I must be so stupid.” She was starting to rant, and it was making him tense.

  “Listen, just settle down. I’m talking about the letter. You knew it was being sent out. We talked about it. It’s just a formality. It’s the way attorneys do things. I’m coming out to see Emily next weekend. Let’s talk then.” He waited for her response and was surprised when none came.

  “Laura? You there?”

  “I’m here.” She could feel grief again replacing her anger. “I’m here, Bob—I’m here, you’re there, and there’s going to be a little girl caught in between.”

  “Laura, just go to bed and get some rest. We’ll talk about it some more next weekend. Okay? Oh, how’s Dad doing? Is he all right?”

  She paused. “He’s fine, Bob, just fine.” Clicking the phone back onto the stand, she rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head.

  It was still dark outside when the alarm began to buzz. She wanted desperately to shut out the world and stay in bed. It had been a restless night with no sound sleep until the early hours of the morning. She smacked the snooze bar with her hand for ten more minutes of peace. In what felt like mere seconds, the alarm again ruined her dream.“Okay, okay,” she yelled to the clock as it buzzed loudly, “shut up already!” When she checked Emily, she found her so sound asleep she decided to shower before waking her to get ready for school. If they were late, she’d drop Emily off on her way to the office. Ten minutes later she marched into Emily’s room and turned on the light. “Get up, sleepyhead. I let you sleep in, so you’ll have to hurry to make the bus.” Emily barely stirred. “Honey, get upso you won’t be late for school.” She moved to the bed and began to shake the sleeping child. With a slight moan, Emily turned over, looked at the clock, then sat up, rubbing her eyes. She looked puzzled.

  “Hurry babe, get out of bed and get going.” After a few pensive seconds, Emily looked at her mother and muttered, “Mommy, go back to bed, it’s Saturday.” With that she plopped backwards into the warmth of her blankets, still staring up at her mother’s face.

  The words caught Laura completely by surprise. She was bewildered as she paused to calculate the days. After a few seconds, they both began to laugh hysterically.

  ALIGHT RAIN WAS COMIN
G DOWN AS BOB LACED ON HIS running shoes. Very few people other than joggers would be out this early. He was surprised at how easy it had been to get up this morning, having had so little sleep the night before. Why was Laura always so frenzied, especially in the middle of the night? Why couldn’t she flip out at noon, or at dinnertime? Why always at midnight or one in the morning? He stepped into the garage, tied his key onto his shoe, and began to stretch. He’d started to run recently, after giving up tennis. It was a much better workout, and besides, the country club routine had become boring. Running on the beach at sunrise—now that was exercise.

  When he felt he had stretched his legs enough, he stepped outside and headed in a slow trot toward the water. Thebeach was five blocks from his house, the perfect distance for warming up. The rain was more of a mist and would feel great in a few minutes.

  The usual early morning joggers were making their way up and down the shore when he arrived, some on the trail, some on the sand. There were people he recognized who occasionally said “hello,” but never anything more. They came to exercise, not to socialize. His muscles tightened as his shoes hit the dense, wet sand. He turned right. The routine was the same, a mile north to the pier and back, and then two miles in the opposite direction to the point. The round trip was just over six miles, plus the five blocks home, which he walked to cool down. He had been faithful, never missing a morning since he’d begun running, and it showed. Not only was he tan, but his muscles were also toned and solid; better than most thirty-six-year-old guys, he boasted to himself.

  Though it was a weekend, he’d arranged to meet a group of young interns from the medical school for lunch. Get ’em while they’re still young, the company always taught. He’d need a little time to prepare, but even so he’d still have a couple of hours to himself this morning. He wondered why he hadn’t discovered running on the beach sooner. The sound of the water was soothing, and the morning salt air refreshing. He’d have to invite Emily out. She’d love the beach. He wondered if Laura would let her come. Did she have a choice? They couldn’t seem to agree on anything lately, why would this be any different? Their relationship had grown to be so stifling. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when they’d become so distant from each other. He supposed it had been a slow process, occurring over several years. He knew Laura still held hopes that things would work out, but “work out” to Laura meant “Bob’s fault.” Take the marriage therapy sessions, for example.

  “Tell me how you feel, Bob.”

  “I feel fine, thanks.”

  “No, tell me how you really feel.”

  Two more weeks of that and he thought he’d puke. If there was ever a disagreement, he was always to blame. “You’re just not as sensitive as you used to be,” she would say. He shook his head as he jogged. “What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?” And Laura would get so worked up about the little things. The divorce letter, for example—she knew it was coming; they had talked about it last Friday, but still she calls in the middle of the night. It’s not like I’m abandoning the family, he reasoned. He was willing to provide support for Emily. People get divorced all the time; what was the big deal? Laura had blamed his new job as the reason for their separation; couldn’t she see it was just an excuse—an excuse to finally do something that had needed to be done for a long time? Yes, as far as he was concerned, the separation had been a success. A new place, a fresh start, life was going to be great. Laura would get over it. She was strong. She was more than strong—she was immutable. And Emily would understand when she was older.

  His shirt was wet, partly from the morning mist, partly from sweat. As he reached the pier, he stripped it off and strapped it around his waist pack before heading back in the direction he’d come.

  The job had been a dream. He had started with the pharmaceutical company in Lake Park. Though the company was terrific, his territory had been only mediocre; it was a rural area and there were only so many doctors to visit. Thank goodness they’d recognized his potential. Now his area covered a good chunk of Southern California, including San Diego, and his income had more than doubled. Other than the problems with his marriage, life couldn’t be better.

  “Bob? Bob Whitney?” He turned around at the sound of his name; a shapely young woman was calling to him. She looked familiar but he couldn’t place her.

  “It’s Cynthia—Cynthia Jones, from Dr. Brightman’s office,” she added, as he stared blankly at her. Of course! She looked so different.

  “Hi, how are you? I didn’t recognize you without your nurse’s uniform.” She was wearing black jogging shorts and a white, oversized T-shirt; a black sports bra showed underneath it.

  “Do you live around here?” she inquired.

  “Yeah, actually I live on Westridge Road, about five blocks away.”

  “Oh, sure. I’m on Canterbury. I drive down and park in the lot while I run.” Bob tried to think where Canterbury would be, but he was terrible at remembering street names.

  “Do you jog here often?” he asked.

  “Every morning, same time.”

  “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before.”

  “It is a big beach,” she replied. “We’ve probably jogged right past each other and didn’t pay attention.”

  He doubted that was possible, but nodded his head in agreement. A moment of odd silence followed, neither knowing what to say next.

  “Well,” she finally continued, “I better let you get back to your exercise.” Then she added, “Maybe we could run together sometime?”

  “Hey, that’d be great. I’ll watch for you. And tell Mike thatI’ll be in the office to see him later this week. I’ve got more samples to drop off.”

  “Sure thing. Take it easy now.” She smiled, turned, and jogged away. As she headed down the beach, he admired her long tan legs, still amazed at how different she looked in jogging shorts.

  Turning toward the point, he continued to run. Run together? Was she just being friendly or was she interested? He hadn’t started dating yet. Not that he wouldn’t have, had the opportunity come up. He’d been working extra hours getting the territory established, and that coupled with the biweekly trips to see Emily hadn’t left much time to socialize. It would come with time. He turned back to see if he could still see her walking away, but she had gone. Picking up his pace, he sprinted beside the ocean waves rolling onto the sand. The salty mist was especially refreshing this morning. Running on the beach in the morning instead of playing tennis had been a terrific idea.

  It was still dark when he opened his eyes and focused on the clock. Was it six in the morning, or was it the evening? He couldn’t remember sleeping but was sure he had. It must be morning or it would still be light outside, he decided. Climbing out of bed, he dressed in his baggy brown trousers. He pulled his belt tight, causing his pants to ride high. Kathryn would be angry if he wore the same shirt he’d worn yesterday. Rummaging through the closet, he found one he hadn’t remembered wearing in a few days and buttoned it up the front. It was hard to tie his shoes, so instead, he slipped on his brown house slippers and tiptoed to the kitchen. He didn’t want to wake her. He had always been a morning person, but she liked to sleep late. Besides, Kathrynwas in a better mood the rest of the day when he let her get her rest. In the kitchen he took out six Saltine crackers and spread them thick with butter. There was still buttermilk in the refrigerator so he poured himself a glass. He ate standing. He still had a lot to do, and if he sat too comfortably at the table, he might not get up.

  The shed was dark inside when he opened the door. He waved his hand wildly in the air searching for the string, and as it snagged on the flannel of his shirt, the light clicked on. The workbench was just as he’d left it yesterday—or the day before. If only he could finish the cover today, he still might make it in time. He surveyed what needed to be done and with a glimmer in his eye, he opened the lower drawer and removed the false bottom. If they only knew. He giggled like a child. The twinkle of gold in the drawer caused him to pa
use and reflect. Kathryn had loved the color gold. She looked like a queen when she tried on her gold dress. He could feel his mind slipping and forced himself to focus— he needed to finish or they might never know.

  He worked slowly but methodically. It was not a difficult task, but it would take some time to get it perfect. If only his fingers worked the way they used to—before the disease had infected his body.

  He pulled the fabric over the cover and held it in place, waiting for the glue to set. With his hands still, his mind drifted.

  When she woke, they would pack their camping gear into the old Ford and then head to the mountains for the weekend. The wildflowers would be in bloom and the weather pleasant. They could pitch their tent by the stream in their usual spot and then drift to sleep in each other’s arms to the sound of babbling water. He would rise early and cook bacon and eggs over the fire as the sun’s early rays drifted over the trees and through the tent door. When she opened her eyes, she would find breakfast ready, and they would eat and then run after each other through the meadow, like they had done so many times before. If the day was hot enough, and if she was in the right mood, perhaps they would even swim naked again in the stream, and he would kiss her and tell her again that he was sorry and she would whisper to him that it was okay, that she still loved him.

  The sound of the car startled him. How long had he been standing, holding the fabric? It was firm, the glue set. He would have to stop for today with only one complete. The others would have to wait until tomorrow; he would concentrate better tomorrow. Sliding the drawer closed, he pulled the string on the light and shuffled to the back porch. He was tired and needed to sit and rest.