By July first, Cara and I were the proud renters of a tiny two-bedroom apartment in New York’s East Village. We spent the next few weeks unpacking, settling down, and exploring the city together.
Strangely, she and Henry were through almost immediately. She discovered, pretty much right away, that their relationship worked better long-distance, and that Henry didn’t have time for a girlfriend. To be fair, she didn’t have time for a boyfriend either. Her agent was riding her to put together a collection of short stories, and she spent as much time writing as Henry spent saving people’s lives.
One weekend, while we were unpacking, she pointed to a stack of boxes that I had tossed to the side. “Do you want me to take these down to the Dumpster? I think this is the last of it.”
“Yeah, but will you make sure I emptied everything out of them?”
“This one still has books in it.” She pulled a stack of three books out of the last box. “It’s Jase’s book.” She looked at the bookmark tucked into the very end. “You never finished it?”
“Not yet. I’ve been so focused on my own book. Here, hand it over to me.” I took it into my bedroom and set it on my nightstand.
A little while later, Cara came back up, but she wasn’t alone. She was with a jeans-clad, bearded gentleman wearing suspenders, and both of them were carrying mugs. “Em, this is our neighbor, Kai.” She stood behind him and wiggled her eyebrows. “He offered me a cup of coffee, and it’s the best-tasting coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life.”
I got up and walked over to shake his hand. “I’m Emiline. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said.
“So what’s your secret?” I pointed to his mug.
“Oh, the coffee? Yeah, I just make sure to always heat it to a hundred and sixty-four degrees, and I always use filtered water.” Cara had found herself a hipster, and she was glowing because of it. She was staring at him like he was some kind of celestial coffee being sent to her from heaven.
“Well, I’ll have to try that little trick, “I said. “So you live right next door?”
“Yeah,” Kai said. “Just little old me. I’m a graphic artist and I work from home, so if you ever need anything, let me know.”
“Great.” I smiled.
“What do you do for fun around here?” Cara asked.
“Well, tonight I’m going into Brooklyn to the Dropzone to see my friend’s band play.”
“Cara, you should go,” I said. “I have a bunch of stuff I still need to do here.”
THAT NIGHT WHEN Cara came home, she told me how Kai had introduced her to a husband-and-wife musical duo who also owned the coffee shop on the corner. Cara made friends fast—she always had—and she was excited about New York. I saw her fitting in and living here forever. I, on the other hand, felt lonely and more isolated every minute I stayed.
Over the next several weeks, Cara and Kai became inseparable, and I became more depressed. Cara said writers are supposed to be a little depressed, but I didn’t believe that. When I was down, I couldn’t write.
I talked to Jase every few days. When I told him how I was feeling, he said it was because I was still fighting it. I knew what he meant, but I didn’t let him press it. The old woman in the airport, and her words about fighting fate, were always in the back of my mind.
It was after a strange nightmare I had where I was looking in the mirror examining my old, wrinkled face that I realized it was time to finish the book. I could feel myself crying in the dream, but the old face wasn’t moving. I was so scared that would be me, just paralyzed by the fear, paralyzed in one moment of time while the rest of the world was moving on.
We can’t always control our circumstances, who our parents are, where we live, or how much money we make, but in those rare moments when we can shape our fate, when we do have the power to make our own happiness, we can’t be too scared to do it.
From All the Roads Between
Alicia led me into Jax’s house and into the living room. The old carpet had been replaced with wood laminate flooring, and there was a hospital bed set up facing the TV. I couldn’t see him at first, but I could hear an oxygen machine and the sound of a man’s labored breathing.
Leila had wandered down the hall to her bedroom, and Alicia motioned for me to go to him. “Wait,” I whispered. “Can I use the restroom?”
“Sure.” She pointed down the hallway.
I went into the bathroom. It had been remodeled in recent years, but the setup was the same. I thought about the last time I was in there. I was fifteen years old and Jax had just told me what Cal Junior had done. Jax found me crying in the shower. He held me, and he took care of me, even though he was the one who had been through something horrible.
In the mirror, a face I barely recognized anymore stared back at me. I dug around in my purse for some lip gloss. I applied a thin coat and then finger-combed my hair, trying desperately to tame it. I didn’t know what to expect, but even thirty-five years older, I wanted to look nice for him.
I walked slowly down the hall. I peeked into Brian’s old room, which Alicia now occupied. She was sitting at a desk, facing me in the doorway. “Go ahead, go see him,” she said.
Making my way into the living room, I noticed the TV was still on, but it had been turned down. I went to the side of his bed. His eyes were closed, and he was wearing an oxygen mask.
I took in his appearance. He still had a full head of hair, but he was completely gray. He was thin and sickly, but I could see my Jax in his face. Standing at his bedside I took his hand in mine.
He opened his eyes and squinted and then smiled. Like no time had passed, he smiled at me with perfect recognition and reverence, the way he always had. With his other hand he pulled the oxygen mask away from his face and said, “Took you long enough.”
I started to cry and laugh at the same time. “Oh, Jax.” I cupped his face and kissed his cheek. “My Jax,” I cried. “Why? Why did this happen?”
“Please don’t cry, Em.” No one had called me that in over thirty years. He started to cough.
“Don’t talk. Here,” I said as I pulled the oxygen mask back onto his face.
I reached in my purse and took out his book that I had found in the thrift store. “I only just found this recently,” I told him. “It wasn’t us; it wasn’t our story.”
He slowly pulled the mask away again. His eyes were sad. “It could have been. I wanted it to be.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Please tell me you had a good life, Em.”
“I had a good life,” I lied. I had to give that to him because he deserved it. If I told him it was horrible, everything we’d done would have been in vain.
“My beautiful girl has come back to me, finally.”
“But it’s too late.” Tears were now running steadily down both our faces.
“Help me sit up,” he said. “I have something for you. Will you call Alicia in here?”
Alicia was there as soon as I turned around. “The box, Alicia,” Jax said. “The small red box on my desk.”
When Alicia returned, she handed him the ring box. “What is that, Jax?” I said.
“What do you think?” He laughed then coughed.
“Slow down,” I warned him. Alicia left the room.
“No, listen. I don’t know how much time I have. You said we were too young, remember? You said we needed to be apart. It was best for us. I never wrote another book because I needed you. I needed my friend. Now we’re here, and we’re not too young anymore. I want to write another book, but I need you with me. I need you to help me.” He opened the ring box to reveal a gold band.
“Oh, Jax, I’ve only just walked through your door.”
“Jesus, Emerson. Did you hear me? I don’t know how much time I have left.” He laughed and coughed again. “How much longer are you gonna make me wait?” He took a breath from the mask. “Marry me, dammit. Spend the rest of my short life with me. Do whatever you want after that, but stay here and marry me. We’ll sit outside and listen to the creek and we’ll make up stories like we always did before.”
It was still him, my old friend, my protector, the love of my life. As sick as he looked, he was still sharp as a whip. “I will marry you, Jackson Fisher.” I pressed my lips to his. “I will take care of you now. I’m sorry I waited so long,” I whispered.
WE DID EXACTLY what we promised each other. I moved back to the long dirt road. A pastor from a local church came to the house and married us, with Alicia and Leila as our witnesses. Every day I would wheel Jax out to the back porch and we’d listen to the cicadas buzzing over the sound of the creek in the distance. He would make up stories and I would write them down. I planted a garden and turned the shed into a little writing hut while Jax watched me from his porch. He still had a sense of humor and told me I was more interesting to look at than the TV. I said that meant a lot coming from him.
Doctors said he was beyond treatment and that we just had to make him as comfortable as possible.
He and I watched every sunset together until he was gone. Five weeks after I first went to see him, he died in my arms.
I don’t know much about fate, but I know something brought me back there. Maybe I fought that force for too long, or maybe everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to.
The last words out of Jackson Fisher’s mouth as I held him were, “There once was a boy and a girl . . .”
The end.
For my Em. Don’t wait this long. Come let me love you.
