Halfway to You(43)

But now, it seemed, he was back.

Let’s not live in the past. Tell me: How are you now? Aside from the booming career, I’d love to hear more about Ann. How is Rome? Keith said your address has stayed the same for a while, so I assume you love it.

—Todd

P.S. Apologies for my delayed response—I am buried in endless home renovations and lost track of time and mail.

A silken breeze came through the window, billowing my curtains. It streamed across my face, through my hair. The muscles in my neck uncoiled. I smiled to myself. Todd wanted to talk—to me. Not only had he written me a letter, but he’d written a second. An apology. A bid to move on, move forward, and reconnect.

I plunked down at my desk, pushed my new novel aside, and penned a response.

Todd,

Rome is a dream. The food, the architecture, the energy . . . it all conspires to seduce me. I’ve fallen hard for this city—

My pen paused above the paper. I remembered Todd’s attentive expression—the one that had captured my heart in Venice and made me feel like I mattered. His letter was the paper embodiment of that expression. It compelled me to be honest.

—but truth be told, it can be lonely at times. I have friends and local acquaintances, a community of market vendors and butchers and baristas whom I know by name. I’ve even gone on the occasional date—but I find meaningful companionship difficult.

Steady romantic relationships seemed too risky. I hadn’t even been intimate with a man since before my book tour.

Rome is a dream, but sometimes I feel like none of it is real. My life here is an uncomplicated stasis. Growing up, I never had security; here, I have so much stability that I find myself yearning for more. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve walled myself off from something truly great. Does greatness always require risk?

By then, my pen was moving of its own volition.

What do I have, outside my career? The answer to that question frightens me. The stories and articles keep me relevant, but to what end? The book tour was a good distraction, but now I feel an immense pressure to write another knockout. Chasing Shadows took so much from me—I wonder if I have anything left.

This is all probably more than you wanted to know, but there you have it. That’s how Ann is doing. Ann is as complicated as ever.

How is Todd?

—Ann

P.S. For the record, I’m sorry about Greece too.

P.P.S. I recently rediscovered that glass horse you bought me. I still haven’t seen water that blue, but it’s a wish of mine to someday find the same shade of teal.

His next letter came swiftly.

Ann,

I am touched that you’d share your feelings with such openness. I won’t pretend to have answers for you, but I do hope our correspondence is a balm to the occasional sting of loneliness. I still maintain that you are the bravest person I know.

How is Todd? I’m still figuring that out.

Two years before I met you, my heart had been shattered by a tragedy from which I don’t believe I will ever fully recover: my parents, wife, and newborn daughter died in a hospital fire.

A small sound of anguish escaped my lips, like a bird escaping a cage. Instinctively, I cupped a hand over my mouth as I read further.

The only thing I have left of any of them is my childhood home and the bookstore. The trauma of that loss still grips me much of the time. The man you met in Venice was lost, heartbroken, and selfish. And—in the interest of honoring your honesty with mine—my attraction toward you was too much to bear.

Since Greece, I have tried to heal. I’ve attended therapy in earnest, which has helped me process my grief. I still have a long way to go, but I’m improving, and the progress gives me purpose.

Perhaps this is too much for a mere letter, but all this is to say: I understand what you mean when you say you feel like you’ve walled yourself off from something great. I recognize that inclination because that’s what I’ve been doing for the past six years.

We’re all works in progress, aren’t we? I hope you consider me a friend you can turn to when you’re feeling uncertain.

As for companionship: put yourself out there. You deserve to feel cherished.

—Todd

P.S. I once heard that Tahiti has blue water like that.

I sank to my mattress, clutching his letter to my chest.

His entire family had died. The word had been penned in an off-kilter, slightly shaky cursive—a reflection of how hard it must’ve been for Todd to write it. I’d spent much of my life mourning the family I never had—I couldn’t imagine possessing my dream family only to have them torn away.

I had been careless in Greece. I hadn’t known the whole story, hadn’t listened when he said he needed friendship. After that letter, I vowed never to push Todd like that again.





MAGGIE


San Juan Island, Washington State, USA

Tuesday, January 9, 2024

Todd’s letters are strewn across the coffee table. Maggie finds herself getting choked up, her throat tightening with a sudden wet ache; she can’t imagine how gutting this must be for Ann, to recount these memories in such detail.

“Is something wrong?” Ann touches Maggie’s shoulder.

Maggie looks up, and Ann appears a little blurry, wearing her white blouse and black jeans. “I’m just . . . moved,” Maggie admits.