Dear Meredith (4 page)

            "Surprise!" To my utter delight, it is Laney standing on my porch, clearly fresh from the airport as her huge hitchhiker's backpack rests at her feet.

            She gives me a long hug, as Bandit bounces around our feet, yipping excitedly and pushing her nose into Laney's ankles for a good sniff.

            "Aren't you supposed to be back next week?" I ask her, hardly able to believe my best friend was back in town.

            "Oh, my research for my article got done earlier than I expected. Besides, I had enough of lounging at beaches. My tan lines are a work of art already and I've already made
friends
with the cutest bartenders," she says saucily with a wink, her sun-streaked blond hair swinging gracefully over her face as she bends down to scoop Bandit up in a cuddle.

            "Hello, you," she coos, happily accepting the wet licks Bandit lavishes all over her nose.

            I laugh. Laney is one of the most carefree souls I know, completely the opposite of me. How we ever became so close is a mystery to all, including ourselves. "Laney, Bandit says hi. I think she's already in love with you. Thank God she's not a he, or she'll be humping you in a few months' time."

            I make lemonade in the kitchen while she lies on the floor and rolls around with Bandit.

            "So how
are
you? I've missed you terribly. How come you got a dog? And how's Mike been doing? Is he better?" she asks, her questions pouring out like rapid-fire as usual.

            My hands freeze on the lemon I'm holding and words fail me because my stupid throat suddenly locks up even though I had seen the question coming. Laney sits up as she catches a glimpse of my face. She gets swiftly to her feet, comes over, Bandit following closely at her heels.

            "Oh my God, Mer, what happened?"

            I take a deep breath. "Laney, Mike's dead. He passed away about two months ago," I say and I am proud of how steady my voice is.

            She reels back in shock, going pale under her tan. "
What
? Why didn't you
tell
me?" she demands, her face darkening like storm clouds rapidly eating up a sunny day.

            I shake my head. "I couldn't. I'm sorry, Laney. I just...
couldn't
tell you over the phone. And I didn't want to ruin your time overseas."

            She sits down abruptly on the bar stool. "Jesus, Meredith. Do you think I feel any better now knowing that I was off partying with some very hot eighteen-year-olds while you were busy crying your eyes out here with a broken heart?"

            I bite my lip, the tears I refused to shed welling up traitorously in my eyes. "I just couldn't, okay? And a part of me felt that as long as
you
hadn't found out, Mike would somehow still be alive," I admit, knowing even as I say it that it is a truth I had buried deep, an unconscious thought right until this very moment.

            Laney wipes away her own tears, her face softening at my admission. "Oh, Mer, what am I going to do with you? It's just
like
you to do such a thing. You can't keep everything inside, taking everything onto your own shoulders. I'm so sorry Mike's gone, he was a good man. I loved him as a brother."

            She comes over and hugs me again. God, how I've missed her. And in my best friend's arms, I begin to cry, really cry, this time. I cry in huge, gasping, heartbroken sobs, the ones that make my shoulders quake violently like a tree caught in a tremendous wind. I cry like there's no tomorrow, because I've lost someone irreplaceable and there's a gaping wound in my heart.

            And through it all, she holds me, stroking my hair as she waits silently for me to cry myself out.

            When I have finally tapered my sobs down to sniffles and the occasional hiccup an interminable length of time later, she places her hands on my shoulders and pushes me gently to arm's length.

            "Tell me everything," she says.

            So I do. I tell her how the last final days of Mike's life were peaceful enough, with his eyes still clear and unclouded despite the pain. How I had sat through the nights, holding his hand, just talking about everything and anything, when he had the strength. And when he didn't anymore, I talked to him and he listened. I tell her about the incredible exhaustion, the bone-deep weariness that sank into me and how I struggled to hide it from Mike.

            I tell her about how I couldn't seem to cry although my heart felt like a stone in my chest. In those last few days, I gave Mike nothing but my smiles, knowing I would have time enough and left over to break down after.

            "Right before he closed his eyes for the last time, he smiled at me and whispered, so faintly that I could barely hear him, 'Live, Meredith. Live and laugh again. I love you'. Even then, Laney, he was thinking about me first," I tell her wistfully, recalling that moment as though I am watching it from a third person's perspective.

            Laney sighs, a little eloquent sound of pain and sadness. "I'm so sorry, Mer, that I wasn't here for you. He was a good man," she says again. "One of the best."

            I nod. I don't have to tell her about the hazy weeks of blind grief that followed the funeral, how I stumbled along, somehow scraping by and surviving. Laney knows.

            Then I remember her earlier question. "Laney,
Mike
gave me Bandit."

            She cocks her head quizzically. I go and retrieve the now well-creased letter from my bag, and hand it to her silently. She is the only person I could ever trust to read something so personal and so precious to me.

            When she looks up, her eyes are filled with wonderment as well as tears.

            "This is beautiful, Mer. I can't believe Mike wrote three letters for you, and to give you Bandit as your first surprise! Oh, I'm so glad this little pup was here for you," she says, gripping my hands tightly, while we both look down at Bandit, who has fallen asleep by our feet.

            "Yes, I think she saved my life," I say seriously. "Oh, Laney, I'm so selfishly glad that you're back."

            She snorts undaintily. "I'd have been back way sooner if you had told me what happened. No matter," she says, holding up a hand as she sees I'm about to interject, "that's over and done with. But from now on, no secrets. Promise me."

            "I promise," I say, after a long pause. "No secrets from you."

            I feel almost light-headed after this huge release of emotion, more of the bitter poison within me purged. Laney heads to her huge backpack, fishes around and pulls out a bottle of Laphroaig.

            "I think we both need a drink," she announces, her long fingers dancing expertly as she has two glasses filled with the smoky amber liquid in dazzling time. 

            To my surprise, I am looking forward to it.

            "To Mike, one of the bravest and best of men. A perfect husband and wonderful friend," she says, and we pour the shot down our throats.

            My eyes water slightly, though this time, an entirely welcome occurrence. "To Laney, Janet and Bandit, my family."

            Laney lifts her glass again after refilling it for the third time in as many minutes. "And to you, my darling. To a survivor, who is going to get back on her feet, kick ass and show the world who's boss."

            As I feel the whisky burn down my throat and set a fire in my stomach, I think of Mike and how he would have grinned approvingly at this moment.

Chapter 5

            The second letter comes while Laney and I are giving Bandit a bath. It's the weekend and we've made plans to go to a movie tonight and indulge in some sushi.

            To my surprise, that Lab absolutely hates baths and will stand stiffly throughout the whole process with her ears back and tail tucked her legs.

            We have to lift up her paws in turn for them to be washed and she struggles to balance on the remaining three, all the time putting on such a woebegone expression that it sends us into giggling fits.

            "It's as though she's saying, 'What did I do to deserve this treatment, humans?'" Janet wheezes out between her peals of laughter.

            I shake my head in bewilderment. "I thought Labs love water!"

            Besides this strange dread of bathtime, however, Bandit is shaping up to be the perfect companion for a grieving widow. I've had her for almost three months now, and she is growing up to be a really sturdy and dependable character. Most importantly, she's such a
happy
dog. As Laney puts it, "Bandit looks at a cat and wants to adopt it as her new best friend
.
"

            I've started sleeping through the night now, though my dreams come as often as ever. When they do, I wake up with the image of Mike waving at me from afar. Sometimes, my pillow is wet with tears I cry when I'm asleep.

            Most days, I get through just fine. I visit his grave two, sometimes three times a week. It's so beautiful and peaceful there, and the wildflowers have begun growing. But some days, it's bad, when I see a particular thing in the house that reminds me of him, and it feels just as though I've slid back to the first day without him in my life anymore. That's when my heart beats wildly as I sob, feeling loneliness swamp me like a tidal wave.

            But bit by bit, I
can
sense the bleeding hole in my heart slowly healing, reknitting as I learn to laugh again a little more each day. Laney's return has gone a long way towards helping me go on, that I'm sure. With her, I have no need to try and put on a mask of courage, as I do when well-meaning neighbours and friends ask me how I'm getting along without Mike.

            Laney sees me for who I am, and asks nothing from me beyond what I can give.

            After we have bathed Bandit, I leave her in the yard so she can dry herself on a patch of sunlit grass. It's the only part of the ordeal she enjoys, along with the biscuit she gets as a reward.

            Bandit gives a whole new meaning to the term 'sun worshipper'. I don't think I've ever seen any other dog who literally goes comatose
under the sun, soaking it up blissfully while the heat goes to her head and makes her sleepy.

            "Come on, let's go grab some food. I'm
starving,
" Laney says.

            As we're heading out, with Laney in the lead, I suddenly hear her let out a gasp.

            "Oh my God, Meredith," she says, and something in her voice makes me hurry forward.

            Then I see it - the same heavy cream envelope with my name scrawled across it. My heart gives a great lurch of happiness while a flood of curiousity fills me.

            "Who on earth is leaving the letters?" I puzzle aloud as I pick it up, while Laney frowns thoughtfully. "Whoever it is, I don't see this need for such secrecy, unless Mike told him or her to hide, but I don't see the point for that," she muses.

            She brightens. "Well, let's see what Mike has to say!"

            I laugh, teasing her, even though I myself can barely contain my excitement. "I thought you had to have food this very instant."

            "Oh never mind that, let's have a look at the letter first," she says. Suddenly, a hint of embarassment flushes her face. "Ah, shucks. Look at me trying to tell you what to do! God, I'm sorry, Mer. Tell you what, you wait for me here and read the letter, I'm going to go get some takeout for us. There's still loads of time left till the movie starts."

            Ignoring my protestations, she ushers me back into the house and sits me down on the couch, before closing the door firmly behind her.

            I smile. She's a really good friend, Laney is. And I can't lie, I do want Mike's letter all to myself, at least for the first time. I gently trace my name on the envelope - it's thicker this time -  and I open it and pull the pages out.

           
Dear Meredith,

            How are you, darling? I hope the pup is keeping you busy. Old Ned told me it would be a right hyperactive bundle of energy. He's a good man, Old Ned is. I know he's been breeding the Labs and I paid him a visit one day to check them out for myself.

            You'd have loved the sight. Fat wiggling puppies everywhere, tumbling and pouncing on each other. I knew then that I'd have to get you one. I only wish I could have been there to see your eyes light up like Christmas candles when you first laid eyes on it.

            If all goes according to plan, this letter should reach you three months after I've been gone. I know you must be burning with curiousity because you don't know who is dropping the letters off. I can't give it away, got my lips sealed on this matter. But you'll find out soon enough, I promise.

            Now, as for this letter. I have
two
surprises for you. One I know you'll love, and the other, well, let's just say I'm glad I'm not in the same room as you when you find out.

            Let's get down to the first. There's no non-shocking way of saying this so I'm just going to come right out with it. I've bought you a bookstore.

           
I gasp in utter shock, spluttering like a fish out of water. Mike did
what
? 

           
Yep, you read right. I bought you a bookstore. Remember how you once told me your childhood dream was to own a bookstore? Your eyes had gone all soft and dreamy as you described how it would look, the titles it would stock and how you'd recommend all the right authors for the right customers.

            "It's more than just about selling books, Michael. People live vicariously through books - our hearts can be warmed, encouraged, broken and stomped upon just by reading strings of sentences put together. Isn't that a miracle? The challenge is in helping them find the right book to help that magic begin," you told me. I had seldom seen you so animated, enthusiasm sparkling in your eyes as you imagined the scene.

            This conversation came flooding back to me on one of my long, aimless walks, shortly after the doctor's diagnosis.

            Because there are no secrets between us, I will be honest with you here, the way I couldn't fully seem to be in person. I was furious, Meredith, furious at this damned disease which swooped in from nowhere and suddenly shattered our lives. I was so angry, so blinded with resentment that I needed those walks as a way to regain some measure of rational thought back.

            I didn't want you to see that part of me - this was very important to me. I didn't want to give you more pain than already necessary. So I pounded the pavement, just walking and thinking. And during one of those walks, I passed by a little bookstore on the corner. It's a dark, dingy sort of place with lots of paperbacks and hardcovers piled up into uncountable stacks. There were yet more books in the window display, with a layer of dust so thick that I could see it from six feet away.

            I wouldn't have given it a second thought, except I had noticed a little sign pinned to an ancient easel right in front of the entrance. "Used and new books for free/all-time low prices. Stock clearance, Closing sale."

            That little grubby note didn't make much of an impact on me until a few days later. Everytime I walked pass that shop, I found my eyes automatically pulled towards that easel, my brain mulling over possibilities, that conversation we had earlier now front and centre in my mind. And I thought, why the hell not? After all, you'd been thinking about getting a job again in the past year.     To cut the story short, I walked into the store about a week later and offered to buy over the business from the very astonished Chinese old man who had been snoozing behind the counter.

            You knew nothing of course, but I could see your relief that I had been coming back from my walks looking less and less moody. Of course, sneaking in time to write you these letters also went a good way towards helping me accept the fact that I was dying. Because I knew I would go without leaving you cast adrift like a balloon floating helplessly in the wind after its string has been cut.

            I've gone through Mr. Chin's book inventory - it's quite extensive and I think you'll find it a good starting point. I've taken the liberty of storing the books in a warehouse, because I strongly suspect you'll want to do a bit of redecorating.

            So that's the first surprise. I have no idea how you're gonna swallow this idea that you now own a bookstore - as I write this, my stomach is cramping in anxiety! But I hope you will love it as much as I think you will.

            I love you so very much.

            Your biggest fan,

            Michael

            p.s. Call Daniel for the bookstore details. For the second surprise, check my study table, first drawer on the right. Remember, you can do it.

           
I feel a bit faint. As I set the letter down, his words swim around in my head. Whoa. I own a bookstore.

            This feels unreal. And yet incredibly
right.
My husband had suddenly transformed into a sort of Santa Claus, presenting me with gifts I hadn't even known I needed.

            So that's what he had been up to during his long, mysterious walks. He was right, I
had
noticed a change in him towards the end of the second week since the diagnosis. He seemed a little easier with himself, and had regained some animation in his character.

            I close my eyes in self-recrimination. I had had no idea he had been so angry with himself, and I kicked myself for not noticing.

            When Laney gets back fifteen minutes later, fairly bursting with curiousity and bearing gifts of a pepperoni pizza (extra cheese) and buffalo wings, I numbly hand her the letter.

            I start chewing meditatively on a slice as I watch her eyes get rounder with every word.

            She looks up at me. "My God, this is incredible. Mike sure has a flair for the dramatic. You can't make this stuff up. How
amazing
is he? This story wouldn't look out of place in The Daily Mail."

            I can't help a giggle. The UK tabloid is one of our greatest vices and I love reading every single trashy article on it. Besides, its reporters really did have a talent for digging up wonderful human interest stories and I occasionally found myself near tears after reading some of them.

            "Yeah, it wouldn't, would it? I think I'm still in shock. But oh, Laney,
I own a bookstore
!" Even as I say it, I feel a surge of wonder welling up in me. Suddenly, I cannot wait to see this little corner shop that my husband had bought for me and explore every nook and cranny of it.

            Laney shares my excitement. We've been friends since we were in first grade after chumming up together to avoid being left the odd one out during games.