Larkin's Letters (7 page)

As he had approached the window to look out toward hers, he had sworn he could see a reflection of them dancing together when they were teenagers. She was healthy and happy, young and beautiful, full of life and energy. The reflection had seemed so real to him. He could hear the music as if it was playing in the room he was standing in. He could feel her hand resting on the top of his left shoulder and her left hand intertwined with his right hand as she taught him the correct steps and spins. He could hear her voice:
one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, spin.
As he had watched the two of them dancing in the window, he was startled by a strange voice and a strange touch on the back of his elbow. “Can I help you with anything, sir? Do you have any questions about the house?”

“Uh, no, no. No, thank you.” He had quickly darted out of the bedroom, down the steps, and out of the house. He had walked back to Larkin’s house and found her cooking them dinner in the kitchen. She was at the sink, her back was turned to him, but he knew she had heard him come in through the noisy front door. “Just in time for dinner,” he remembers her calling out to him. And as she had turned to face him, he had grabbed her right hand and put it on his shoulder, then took her left hand and led her into a dance. He quickly spun her around, and as she looked up at him with a smile, he had asked, “Do you want to go dancing with me tonight?”

They had danced the night away at a jazz club in Atlantic City. It had been the most fun he had had in a long time. They barely sat down the entire night, and it was so good to see Larkin laughing and smiling. But he could tell she was getting tired, and he was worried about it. She had fallen asleep on the way home, and he had carried her into the house and tucked her into bed. Before he turned the light out, he had noticed her manuscript on her nightstand. He grabbed it, sat next to her on her bed, and attempted to find where it was she had left off. As he was searching, she had grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her work in progress. “No, Ryan. You can’t. I have to read it to you. Remember?”

“Okay, that’s fine. I’m sorry.” He closed it, put it back in the folder, and bent over to give her a goodnight kiss on the forehead. She grabbed his hand as he brushed her chin with his thumb. “Lay here with me.” He positioned himself on his side to face her. He had given her a quick smile and wink whenever he would catch a quick glimpse of her blue eyes as she struggled to keep them open. He had not wanted to take his eyes off of her. Every moment he had spent with her those past two months had been an awakening. An awakening into what she had meant to him. When he had been away from her, he didn’t just miss her; he missed all the little things—the way she had called him Fish, the way she had said “hey” when she answered the phone, the way she had wrapped her arms around his neck when he hugged her good-bye, the way she had smiled at him when she saw him for the first time in a long while—and he never thought that the little things would have meant everything to him.

Letter #12 - October 17, 2011

Ryan,

It’s late. I remember the night of my first treatment. I was so exhausted, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. But tonight, that couldn’t be more further from the truth. I would give anything to keep them closed, but I can’t.

I miss you. You couldn’t stay with me. You were supposed to stay with me this week, but you’re not here. I keep reliving our conversation from earlier today after my treatment. You and I took a walk through the park just across the parking lot. It was a pleasant day, the breeze had subsided from the day before, and the sun’s rays would make occasional short visits through the small breaks in the clouds, but not enough to fully dry the grass and the park benches from the earlier rainstorm. I wanted to rest so you took your sweatshirt off and placed it on the bench so we had a dry place to sit. I knew you had something on your mind. I could tell. You had a hard time looking me in the eyes.

Ryan, you’re gone. You left. You had to, I know. I also know you wanted to stay. I know you tried to. I know you would if you could. Now I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about you and how disappointed I feel that you’re not here. My heart hurts. I don’t understand why it hurts so much. I never used to think that longing for someone to be near, missing them so much, could actually cause physical pain. My heart hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to cry. It even hurts to touch my chest. I guess a heart really can break. And mine must be breaking. I have been having these feelings that are so confusing. Feelings I have never had before. Not even for Chris. I miss you like crazy right now. I miss your smell. I miss your face. I miss your smile. I miss your furrowed brow when you look at me from across a room. I miss the way my heart flutters when I see your face. The way I am feeling right now, the way I am missing you, I now know that I love you, Ryan, and I think I always have. Love isn’t a big enough word to describe this paralyzing feeling that I have for you. And right now, I don’t understand it. Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day I will be able to let you into my soul so that maybe you can feel how much I love you.

Ryan knew exactly what Larkin had meant. His heart was broken, and he could feel the pain with every breath he took, with every toss and turn, with every word he spoke, with every step he took. The pain was still fresh, still seeping through every pore in his body. This letter touched him in a way that none of the others had. He had loved her back then, too, and he hadn’t wanted to leave her. It killed him to leave her. If he had only known she had loved him, too, he would have never left.

He remembered that day when they took a walk in the park after her treatment. He hadn’t told her yet that he had to go back to South Africa, and he couldn’t stay with her that week. As they sat on the park bench together, he couldn’t help but stare at her as her hair blew in the breeze. Despite what she had been through the past couple of months, he had thought she was more beautiful than ever. She was starting to lose her hair, and now she had to wear a wig. Her hair no longer rested past her shoulders. Instead, the wig fell just halfway between her neckline and shoulders, and the ends curled perfectly behind her ears. Her hair had been one length, but now she had bangs that swept across her forehead, complementing her heart-shaped face and her high cheekbones. She had rested her head on his shoulder, and he responded by putting his arm around her. As she rested her head on his shoulder, he proceeded to tell her about his inability to stay with her for the next three days and how his best friend Ian Marsico had offered to come stay with her until her parents came home. She never once took her head off his shoulder while he explained to her what was happening. He did take notice to the two times that she raised her hand up to her face to wipe her tears away, and each time he squeezed his arm around her a little tighter. She had never said a word. She had just nodded yes when he asked her if she was okay.

“I’m so sorry, Larkin. I really am. I would give anything to be able to stay. I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you, I promise.” Again, she had said nothing, and again she had raised her hand to her face to wipe her tears.

“Do you believe me, Larkin?” She had nodded yes, but her nod wasn’t good enough for him. He had felt helpless and angry. He had wanted more than anything to be there with her, but he didn’t know what else to do. He had actually felt himself feeling jealous that Ian was going to be there instead of him.

Ryan guided Larkin up off the bench and back to the car. They had a two-hour ride ahead of them back to Somers Point. The clouds began to break even more, and the sun’s rays were getting warmer and warmer. Larkin still had not said much to Ryan since he told her he was not staying. The traffic was light on the normally jam-packed Atlantic City Expressway, so they were making good time. Halfway through the trip, Larkin had pulled out her manuscript and started to read from where she had finished when they drove to the hospital earlier in the day. As she had begun to read, Ryan had breathed a sigh of relief. She was reading to him, and that was a sign she was okay. More importantly, that was a sign
they were
okay.

Ryan went to Los Angeles in 1995 when he was nineteen years old with very little money in his pocket and no contacts. He had built his career from scratch with a lot of good looks, a lot of talent, and a little bit of luck. He caught his first break when he met Ian Marsico, who was twenty-four at the time and who had already made a name for himself in Hollywood. Ian took a quick liking to Ryan and subsequently took him under his wing. He saw Ryan’s potential and introduced him to the right people. It was shortly after that Ryan had landed a small role in a feature film, and his career took off soon after. Ryan has never forgotten what Ian has done for him, and he never will. They became the best of friends with each being the other’s best man at their weddings, and they never missed one another’s premieres. And it was Ian who Ryan turned to when he first learned of Larkin’s sickness. Ian would know the right things to say, and he would always be able to put things in perspective for him.

When Leon had told Ryan he could only have two days instead of the previously agreed upon four days for Larkin’s treatment, the only person he could think of to call was Ian. Ian and Larkin had become fast friends when Ryan first introduced them to each other, and the three of them had spent a lot of time together whenever Larkin would come visit. Ian had even called Larkin a couple of times, checking on her after she got sick. Ryan knew she had liked and trusted Ian, so he knew that it was going to be okay that he was coming to stay with her, at least he had hoped.

Letter #13 - October 18, 2011

Hey, lovely,

Ian got here last night, as you know. I have always liked him. He has been a good friend to you, and I know he has your back. I always thought of him as dark and handsome. I can’t say tall, dark, and handsome (what is he? 5’10, 5’11?) but dark and handsome with his dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and dark tan skin. His dimples complement his wide smile that seems to stretch from ear to ear, and one thing I love about him is that he never tries to dress to impress. He had long black jeans on with holes in both knees, and his black flip-flops just barely peaked out from underneath the fraying ends of his pants. His faded white and blue Yankees long-sleeved T-shirt was partially covered by a black leather jacket, and his curly, messy hair was hidden by a Yankees cap. By the way, we need to talk to him about his choice in baseball teams! Another thing I love about him is that he is still happily married after eight years. I love his family, Linda and their beautiful children, Jack and Isabella. He gives me hope for you, Ryan. If he can figure out how to make a Hollywood marriage last, you can, too. He flashed his Hollywood smile toward me as I let him in, and he dropped his bags so he could embrace me. He has always been nice to me. You have good taste in friends, Ryan (*wink, wink*).

Much to my disapproval, Ian didn’t want to impose on my sister’s room (even though she hasn’t lived there in nearly a decade), and he elected to sleep on the couch. After he finally got settled in, the three of us sat around the fireplace in the family room for nearly two hours catching up on the past several months. It was a great night, and I could tell you were happy to see him. I don’t remember falling asleep, but Ian told me how you carried me to my bedroom. The last thing I remember is sitting next to you with my head on your shoulder. I remember the occasional stroke of your hand upon my forehead, brushing the bangs out of my eyes, the frequent rubbing of my arm that rested across your chest, and the subtle kisses on the top of my head…

Ryan remembered joining Ian on the porch that night after he took Larkin upstairs. It was killing him to leave her there, especially knowing how sick she got after the first chemo treatment. Ryan had called Ian several times to vent his frustration about her illness so he knew Ian was aware of how he was feeling.

“Call me if anything happens. Anything…”

“Ryan.” Ian cut him off. “Relax. Everything will be
fine. I promise you, I will take care of her. What could possibly happen?”

“I don’t know…” His voice trailed off. He was fighting to keep control. “She hasn’t said much to me since I told her I couldn’t stay. I hate leaving knowing she’s upset.”

“Look, I’ll have her call you when she wakes up in the morning. You two can talk then. Until then, relax, have a safe trip, and get some rest. I will take care of her. You don’t need to worry about a thing.’

The old friends exchanged a quick handshake as Ryan’s cab pulled up to take him to Atlantic City International for his red-eye flight back to Cape Town.

He continued reading the letter.

…I fell last night trying to get to the bathroom. I must have really scared Ian because he ran up here so fast. I heard him stumble as he ran up the stairs. Thankfully, you left me a bucket at the side of the bed so I was able to reach for that. I would have felt awful if Ian would have had to clean up my vomit. When he realized I was okay, he helped me stand up and steered me to the bed as I held on tightly to his arms. I sat on the edge of the bed waiting as he brought me a wet towel to wash my face and hands.

He asked me if I had hurt myself. He was a trooper, Ryan. He never cringed from the smell of the vomit or looked away from my face that probably had some left on it. You would be proud. I could tell he was concerned. I was too exhausted to even speak, so I just nodded my head to assure him I had not hurt myself. He told me he didn’t feel comfortable leaving me alone, so after he went back downstairs to grab his pillow and blankets, he laid next to me for the next several hours until I awoke.