“Is it cancer?” Nolan drives the knife a little deeper.
“How do you know?” I wait for his simplistic sixth-sense explanation. He gives me more.
“I died,” he says matter-of-factly.
I shake my head. “Sorry? I don’t understand.”
“I had an…accident. I died. Doctors pronounced me dead. Three minutes later I took a breath and opened my eyes. You know those unexplainable miracles that modern medicine can’t explain? That was me. Something happened to me, and I can’t explain it… no one can. But ever since that day, I’ve been able to sense things. I can feel things that people around me are feeling. Most of the time it’s just that—a feeling. Sometimes it’s specific and I can pinpoint it like a heart attack or aneurysm or—”
“Cancer,” I whisper.
Nolan nods.
*
London– Three Months Earlier
Dear Diary,
Today I was offered a legit, six-figure salary, picked out a lovely forty-five piece handmade tableware set with cobalt blue trim for my wedding in seven months, came across three pennies in the car park, and found out I have terminal cancer and a year to live—six months without treatment. I’m regretting the extended warranty I purchased for my new car last month…
“Scarlet?” Daniel glances over his white dress-shirt clad shoulder while steam rises from a pot of Heaven in front of him. He greets me with a lopsided grin and the voice that often has my clothes falling to the floor. Roasted garlic and rosemarydance in the air with Sarah Brightman’s version of “All I ask of You.”
“You didn’t wait for me.” I throw my keys on the hall table then work the buttons to my red, double-breasted peacoat.
We always make meals together.
We always listen to opera.
We always talk about our careers.
We’re always in sync.
“It’s your day, love. That glass of wine is waiting for you. Sit down and tell me about your day.”
I shrug. “I chose the cobalt trim for our tableware instead of the red like we had originally discussed.”
“Stop playing with me. You know all I want to hear about is the job.”
The searing meat in the frying pan drowns out the music like the white noise between radio stations. The death sentence from a “minor” follow-up to a physical I had several weeks prior kicks my senses in the gut. A wake-up-last-call-you’ve-officially-been-stamped-with-an-expiration-date revelation.
“Earth to Scarlet.”
My finger stops tracing the rim of the wine glass as my gaze shoots up to the dirty blond who looks sinful yet completely out of place in his black pressed trousers and semi-pressed shirt.
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “Why the suit today?” My hand moves to his chest, fighting the urge to fist his shirt. The need to hold on to him—to this life—overwhelms me.
“Scarlet Stone… stop! I’ll tell you about the suit after you tell me about the job.” His playful grin stabs my heart. I already miss him.
I shrug, relinquishing a hint of a smile that I hope doesn’t look half as pained as it feels. “They offered me the job.”
“Yes!” He pulls me into his arms and swings me around in circles. “My little thief has gone legit.”
“I’m not a thief.”
He lets me slide back down to my feet and devours my mouth. “You’ll always be a thief for stealing my heart.” He means it figuratively… if he only knew.
My eyes close as his nose brushes mine. “The suit.” I clear my throat while the words fight past the thick emotion. “Why the suit?”
