*
Within a couple of days, Dr. Nobles informed me that Heather’s bone marrow was a six-out-of-six HLA match for Callie; Tammy’s was five out of six. Additional screening and testing were already underway, but Dr. Nobles was confident that the match was a successful one.
Later in the week, Nobles confirmed it, and that both the transfer and the transplant were scheduled for a date the following week, when I would already be in Baltimore. Though there were certainly risks on the horizon and Callie would remain on medication for years, Dr. Nobles was optimistic that in the long run, she would be able to lead a normal life.
I continued to spend time with Callie and her family at the hospital right up until my departure; when I wasn’t there, I was packing and getting the house ready for its impending vacancy. On my last full day there, a cleaning crew scoured the house from top to bottom and linens were stored in plastic bags to prevent mold and dust from forming. I met again with the property manager and the contractor, supervising the delivery of the roofing and flooring materials and their storage in the barn.
I also harvested the honey. I kept several jars for myself, sold much of the remainder to Claude, and also left some on Natalie’s doorstep. However, I didn’t knock at the door nor did I call.
I thought about her constantly; I awakened to memories of her scent and her smile; she was the last image I saw before closing my eyes at night. Throughout my remaining days in New Bern, I wondered what she was doing at any given moment and where she was. I no longer felt complete, as if part of me had been hollowed out, leaving only an aching void. Before Natalie, I used to believe that with love, anything was possible. Now I understand that sometimes love isn’t enough.
*
It wasn’t until I’d been living in Baltimore for three days that I found the letter Natalie had left for me, tucked into one of the boxes of books that had been in the back of my SUV. At first, I couldn’t identify the envelope and considered throwing it away. When I realized that it was sealed, however, curiosity won out. Recognizing her signature at the bottom of the letter, I suddenly couldn’t catch my breath.
I walked like a zombie to the living room and sat on the couch. It was still daylight, with light pouring through the French doors, and in the silence of my new apartment, I finally began to read.
Dear Trevor,
I’m writing this letter because I’m not sure what else to do. I don’t know when you’ll find it, since I had to sneak it into one of the boxes you’d packed. On the other hand, since you’ve now left jars of honey on my doorstep twice without letting me know you were at my house, I figured you might even appreciate the idea that you’d had a secret visitor.
I wanted to tell you that for the first time in my life, I truly understand what people mean when they say, “I fell in love.” Because when I fell in love with you, I didn’t drift into it, it didn’t happen over time, it wasn’t anything that I even thought I wanted. In hindsight it’s like I had spent the last fourteen months standing on a building ledge. I was balanced precariously and doing everything I could to stay rooted in place. If I didn’t move, if I was somehow able to remain perfectly focused, then I’d somehow be okay. But then out of the blue, you showed up. You called to me from the ground and I stepped from the ledge…and then I was falling, right up until the moment you caught me in your arms.
Trevor, falling in love with you has been one of the most exalted experiences of my life. As hard as it is for me now—and I torment myself constantly over whether I made the right decision—I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. You made me feel more fully alive than I have in what seems like forever. Until you came along, I wasn’t sure I would ever feel that way—and more—again.
My desire for you feels unquenchable, unbounded. But the truth is that desire comes at a terrible price. I can’t allow myself to wish that my husband was dead, nor could I live with myself if I divorced him, if only because he isn’t capable of trying to change my mind. If I did either of those things, I wouldn’t be the same woman you fell in love with; to do either of those things would change me forever. It would transform me into a villain, a person I couldn’t recognize and have no desire to be. And of course, I couldn’t do that to you, either.
This was the reason I couldn’t see you again after saying goodbye at the hospital; this is the reason it would be best if we didn’t meet when you come back to town. I know how much I love you, and if you asked me again to come with you, I don’t think I would be able to resist. If you ask again, I’ll come to you; if you as much as hint toward that end, I’ll show up at your door. But please—please, please, please—don’t ever let me become the villain of my own story. I’m begging you to never put me in that position. Instead, let me be the woman you came to know and love, the same woman who fell deeply in love with you.