“Cat!” I’d rather she didn’t consider those things about him. “How’s Anders?”
She fell quiet, getting out of the car and heading straight to my boot, although the back seat was full of stuff too. I had a removal van delivering my furniture next week, then a few weeks to settle in before Christmas, after which I’d start my new role.
“He’s gone home. His grandad is poorly so he’s gone to see him for a couple of weeks.”
“And you’re not using the opportunity to see what a trial separation felt like?”
“I’m thinking of going to see him this weekend. I almost booked flights, but I figured you might want to hang out, if you’re not too busy doing Gabe.”
A wave of guilt washed over me. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about spending more time with Cat, it was just that I’d been so anxious to see Gabe. And I got that she wanted to see Anders too, especially if he was having a tough time with his family.
“Book your flights. It’s for a weekend. We can catch up next week, or the week after or any week in November or December.”
She glanced at me and for the first time in the many years I’d known her, she looked scared.
“I will. But I don’t know if it’s the right thing.”
“Why?”
“Because we said it was just a casual thing. Me going over to Copenhagen makes it more than casual. I’ve never done more than casual before.” Cat actually sounded nervous.
“If that was me, would you go?”
“Yes. In the blink of an eye.”
“Then you can do it for Anders too. Even if it’s just as friends.”
She lifted out a suitcase that possibly weighed more than she did and gave a firm nod. “Guess I’ll go check out the Little Mermaid. And maybe see what their boats are like while I’m there.”
I decided to save the deep and meaningful conversation until later.
Instead I took out the file of letters, pawing through them, rereading certain sections, discovering the hesitant tenderness that had existed between Marcy and Donald and then I found it. A final letter, the handwriting different, less controlled. Older.
To my Marcy,
After all of this time, we still write our letters. Old habits die hard. As I write this, you are in our garden, tending the roses in preparation for Alice and Arthur staying with us for a weekend.
There is grey in your hair now, only a few threads and I don’t point them out to you, especially when you’re holding secateurs. I’ve learned a lot from you and perhaps the most important was that you’re lethal. You hold my heart in your hands.
It’s days like today I miss the island. You return there to see your sister and friends that you left behind and then you come home to the life that we created. But I know you miss the place and its people. The seas in front of us are the same but the perspective is not. The endless blue here is not quite the same. When I see you on the beach here, most mornings when we go for our walk, I remember you as you were.
My beautiful Marcy.
I don’t know how much longer we have. You know this from when we shed the tears together at the hospital.
But know this. What we have is as endless as the sea and I will wait for you just as we’ve always waited for each other.
And while I’m waiting, I’ll remember each day how much we loved each other. Because that was all that ever mattered.
From grief grew love.
And it grew strong.
Yours,always,
Don.
I read it carefully,understanding the words. The date was around eighteen months before he died. In my head I saw how they spent those days, living each one as if it was precious.
