Halfway to You(42)

All jokes aside, I’m sorry I sprung myself on you when you visited Colorado. I truly was glad to see you in my bookstore, but Keith and I were naive to think you would take well to a surprise like that. I’m sorry I didn’t look at the situation from your side. I hope this letter is not unwelcome.

Speaking of letters: Keith said that you are fond of letter writing, but please don’t feel any obligation to reply. I merely wanted to offer my belated but sincere congratulations. You are sensational, Ann Fawkes. At the very least, I’m proud to be able to say, “I knew her when.”

—Best wishes, Todd Langley

My pulse was an ocean in my ears. I read the letter again, warmed by his praise, heated to see the word lovely written in his handwriting. Had anyone ever called me lovely? I couldn’t recall, but now that Todd had said it, no one could ever use that word again, not with the same meaning. I traced the indentation of his pen on the page, then touched my bottom lip.

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about Todd in the year since my tour. I couldn’t blame myself for my anger and shock that night, but a part of me regretted how I’d treated him. Had I misplaced some of my frustration with my mother on Todd? That night might’ve had a much happier ending had I done the reading as Keith planned.

And what if I had turned my back on something important? After Greece, I hadn’t expected to ever see Todd again, but the tides of life kept bringing us back together—perhaps it was time to swim with the current.

Paramount to all those swirling thoughts: his letter made me happy.

I turned the envelope over in my hand, reading his Colorado address. Then I dropped to my knees, forearms, reaching for the picture under the oven. I knew what it was before I retrieved it: the photo he had taken in Venice.

In it, a young me stared into the camera with light in her eyes. Her mouth was parted in surprise, eyebrows arched high. A lock of hair streamed across her face. She was wayward, and sun kissed, and full of wonder. I realized that I’d never seen myself appear so free. I realized that my expression was a look of genuine love. Mere hours into our meeting, it was a look meant only for Todd.

Painfully as it ended in Greece, he’d brought out that romantic side of me. Why had I spent so much time hating this girl? At least she had dared to love.

And Todd had kept the photo all these years.

I raced to my desk, eager to respond, but when pen met paper, none of the words seemed right. I couldn’t put them into any sort of order.

Todd,

My goodness, is it wonderful to hear from you!

Todd,

Do you really think I’m lovely?

Todd,

I thought I had moved on from you, but

Too cheerful, too desperate, too clingy. Each failed attempt was the wrong sort of camera filter: saturated, sepia, black and white.

I stood and returned to the kitchen, where the photo still rested on the counter. I opened a bottle of Frascati and sliced the cantaloupe I’d just purchased. Nibbling the sweetness down to the rind, I stared at the photo. It was rendered with accurate color, as if I could reach through and touch the railing of that Venetian bridge. Unfiltered. Honest.

That’s what I had to do with my response to Todd.

Taking the bottle of wine with me, I sat in front of the fan and tried again.

Todd,

I would be lying if I said I was not happy to read your letter, not because of the praise (you’re too kind), but because I’ve missed you. I apologize for my behavior in Colorado—it was quite a shock to see you and I didn’t handle it well. Truth be told, I often think back on our time in Greece. I’m grateful it happened, even if I regret how it ended (did your wrist heal all right?).

I’m sorry about Keith’s smugness; there’s not much I can do about that.

Thank you for the photo—it’s nice to see myself all shiny and new. What a fun day we had in Venice.

—Ann

I waited and waited for his response.

The first week, I spent a great deal of time translating menus and taking long walks along the river. The next week, I called Keith to “check in on sales” and tiptoed around the subject of Todd before chickening out and hanging up. I then cleaned my whole apartment and went out on the town with Carmella and two of her cousins, who were visiting from Sicily.

Eighteen days after I mailed the letter, I dug into the back of my closet, searching through a box of knickknacks from my early travels. I found it wrapped in its original newspaper: the glass horse Todd had bought for me. Unfolding the wrapping revealed its glinting, translucent delicacy—the thin and still-intact legs, the crooked ear, the animated mane flicked up as if by wind. That evening, I set it on my bookshelf next to the hardback of Chasing Shadows.

Twenty-two days after I mailed the letter, I was certain he wasn’t going to write back. I must’ve said something wrong, something awkward. Or perhaps the international postage system had lost my letter? Of course, that was the day—the day I grew despondent—that I finally received his reply.

Ann,

Thank you for writing back. The wrist was merely a sprain, but that was the least of my concerns in the days after you left Santorini. I’m sorry for the hurt I caused you. I was hurting too. I know that doesn’t excuse my unkind words, but perhaps it helps you understand them.

I thought back to that night in Santorini.

I had been so wrapped up in my own feelings. I’d overlooked Keith’s cut-short caution; I hadn’t taken Todd’s confession—I lost someone—seriously. Todd hadn’t broken my heart—I had. I had pushed him too hard, and therefore he’d pushed me away completely.