Ian initiates a FaceTime call with Katie at
his computer. A few seconds later she appears on his screen, wearing a purple
and grey TCU t-shirt. “Hey you.” She greets him warmly, but softly.
“Kayyy!”
Ian shouts back. “What’s up, chica? How’s Texas?”
“It’s
good.” Katie nods. “It’s hot! But it’s good.”
“Yeah, you look like you’re melting a little
bit.” He indicates her untidy hair, pale complexion, and rail-thin forearms.
Katie raises her eyebrows at Ian. “You just
called to critique my appearance?’
“What? No. I’m worried about you.” He
backpedals. “You haven’t posted any workout videos. You haven’t called or
texted me.”
“I’m fine, E.” She insists. “Just busy.” She
takes a labored breath and forces a tight-lipped smile. “So, how’s this new
girlfriend of yours?”
“Sarah? She’s great!” Ian exclaims. “She's fun and sweet and athletic. You’d like her.” He regales her with details about the store, surfing
lessons, and date nights on the boardwalk.
“I can’t wait to meet her.” Katie replies
sincerely. “She sounds awesome.”
Ian carefully considers Katie and sighs. After a few
awkward seconds, he breaks the silence. “K, real talk.” He folds his hands
underneath his chin and fixes his hazel eyes onto her. “You good?”
“Um…" Katie fusses with her hair. "I’ve been sluggish.” She frowns. “Could
be food poisoning, I don’t know.”
“Kaayyy.”
He tilts his head and gives her a skeptical look.
“Don’t ‘Kay’ me, Ian.” She snaps at him.
“I’ve got this. Whatever it is, I’ll beat it.”
“You’d better, or I’ll drag your scrawny ass
back home.”
Katie’s jaw drops. “Scrawny, huh?”
Ian rocks back in his chair. He casually crosses his arms
and shrugs. “Prove me wrong.”
Nine days later
While Ian, Brayden, and the Ian-tertainment
crew are away filming urban exploration videos, Sarah wraps up a surfing lesson
with a young female. They part company with a stiff-armed hug. She dries
herself with a towel, slides her feet into a pair of purple Crocs, and enters
her store.
She
passes Jair assisting a customer in the skate shop section of the store,
notices another customer pouring herself some bubble tea, and continues to the
counter where Zoey is stationed.
“Has
it been busy?” Sarah asks.
Zoey shrugs slightly. “Steady.”
“Maybe
we should order lunch.”
“Rico’s?”
Sarah’s
eyes widen. “Ooh, we haven’t had that in a while.” She opens a door marked
‘Employees Only’ and enters a small hallway leading to the break room, storage
room, and upstairs room. She jogs up the stairs, enters a small office, and
plucks a change of clothes out of a dresser.
When
she returns a short time later, the customers are gone. The store is noticeably
quiet.
“Jai,”
Zoey shouts. “Music!”
“On
it.” Jair presses buttons on the store’s digital radio. “Summer Surf” by Dick
Dale plays over the store speakers.
Zoey
slumps her head and shoulders in disappointment. “Dick Dale? Again?”
“What’s
wrong with Dick Dale?” Jair returns.
“Nothing!
I love Dick Dale.” She insists. “I just like a little variety, you know?”
“I
dunno, Zo’.” Sarah chimes in. “Kinda sounds like you’ve had enough Dick Dale.”
“And
you guys haven’t?” She implores.
“Nope.”
Sarah replies casually. “Can’t have too much Dick Dale.” She turns to Jair.
“You?”
“No
way.” Jair shakes his head. “Never.”
Zoey
points at her coworkers. “You guys are wack.” She dismisses them to pick up
their lunch order. The storefront door chimes as she exits. The door chimes
again a few seconds later.
“She’s
back already?” Jair says to Sarah as he heads for the door. A slender,
strikingly beautiful blonde woman enters, fashionably dressed and wearing
designer sunglasses.
Jair
greets her through gritted teeth. “Welcome to Sarah’s Surf Shop.” He says
slowly.
“Hi,” Erin looks past him. “Is Sarah here?”
Jair points her to the counter. Erin thanks
him and saunters to the back of the store.
“Can I help you?” Sarah asks flatly.
Erin
flips up her sunglasses. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yeah.”
Sarah stoically replies.
“Do
you know I have breast cancer?”
Sarah’s
expression softens. “No. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry to hear—”
“It’s
fine.” Erin dismisses. “I didn’t come here for pity.” She runs a hand through
her thinning flaxen hair. “I came here to warn you.”
“Is
breast cancer contagious?” Sarah retorts, then bites her lip and waves her
hand. “That was rude, I’m sorry.”
“No.”
Erin shoots her a smug look. “It’s about Ian.”
Zoey
returns with a large paper bag from Rico’s Cocina. She places it on the shelf
behind the counter, then exits through the Employees Only door.
“Have you heard of ‘Brickhouse’ Briggs?” Erin
asks Sarah. Zoey re-enters with paper plates and two small bottles of diet soda.
“Zo,” Sarah keeps her eyes on Erin.
“Brickhouse Briggs?”
“MMA fighter.” Zoey answers as she spreads
out the containers of food.
“MMA fighter.” Sarah repeats quickly.
Erin glances at Zoey. “So you probably know that
he pushed his girlfriend down a flight of stairs.”
“Fiancée.” Zoey corrects her. “Broke her
collarbone, separated her shoulder, cracked a couple ribs.”
Sarah winces with disgust. “Please tell me
she didn’t marry that asshole.”
Jair joins the girls. He spreads out two
tostones onto a paper plate. “Who are we talking about?”
Zoey tries to answer with a mouthful of food.
“Brickhouse—” She mumbles.
“Ian’s ex.” Erin interjects. “The girl he
dated before me.”
Sarah, Zoey, and Jair turn their stunned
faces toward Erin in unison.
“Do you know Ian’s friend Katie?” Erin
continues.
Sarah grabs a bottle of diet soda from the
shelf behind her. “Yeah, he’s mentioned her. She moved to Texas.”
“—And immediately got sick.” Erin peruses the
clothing racks. “She was very fit when she lived here. Now, all of a sudden…”
She takes a pink tank top with island embroidery off the rack, holds it to her
torso, and puts it back.
“What does any of this have to do with me?” Sarah
calls to Erin.
Her blonde hair whips against her back as she
turns. “You don’t get it?”
Sarah shrugs her shoulders and gestures to Erin, indicating confusion
and impatience. Erin approaches the counter, places her palms on the glass, and
lurches forward until they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “Everyone who leaves Ian
suffers.” She hisses.
Then, just as the words register with Sarah,
Erin picks up a puka shell necklace on the counter. “Oooh, this is cute. How
much?”
She pays for the necklace with a
credit card. Sarah places it in a small paper bag.
“Look, I appreciate you coming here, and I hope you kick cancer’s ass." She hands Erin her purchase. "But I
think you’re just jealous.”
Erin takes the bag. “You don’t believe me?”
“No.” Sarah mocks Erin’s smug tone.
She leans in and whispers to Sarah. “Ask him about
Danielle.”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Who’s Danielle?”
“Ask him.”
Four days later
Ian and
Sarah hold hands for an evening stroll along the boardwalk. A local band plays
gentle music on the concourse as patrons of nearby shops and restaurants chat
and drink and shuffle on by.
“You’re
quiet tonight.” Ian nudges Sarah. “Everything okay?”
“How’s
Katie doing?” Sarah quickly asks.
“Not
good. She isn’t getting better.” He lets out a deep, long sigh. “I’m worried. I
keep telling her to come home but she won’t listen to me. She’s stubborn.”
“It’s not
cancer, is it?”
“I don’t
think so.” Ian pauses. “Why?”
“Because…
your ex.” Sarah says with hesitation. “Erin.”
Ian gives
her a puzzled look. “What about her?”
“You
haven’t heard? She has breast cancer.”
“Nooo.”
He replies dismissively. “No way.” He shakes his head. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Check
her Instagram.” Sarah suggests.
Ian pulls
his phone from his pocket. He quickly scrolls through Erin’s Instagram page.
“Shit.” He mumbles. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah.”
Erin nods somberly. After a long silence, she turns to him. “Who did you date
before her?”
Ian
slowly recoils. “Have I done something wrong, officer?”
“Relax,
babe.” Sarah giggles and squeezes his hand. “I just want to know you. I told
you about Aldo.” She offers to recite her entire dating history, starting from
seventh grade.
He
concedes. “Angie and I dated for about a year. She left me for an athlete. The
end.”
“And what
about Danielle?” Sarah prods him. “Was she one of your girlfriends?”
Ian turns ashen. “There is no Danielle.” He releases
Sarah’s hand and glowers at her. “Where did you hear that name?”
His anger morphs into stark realization. “You
talked to Erin.”
Five years earlier
A group of sorority girls set up
tables for a party. One of the senior members rapidly recites a long list of
items to a younger dark-haired girl. She repeats the items softly to herself;
taking notes is strictly forbidden. Her sorority sister orders her to return
precisely at 8 p.m. with every item or her pledge will be denied.
The dark-haired girl drives a
very used Honda Civic across campus, singing a song to herself with the names
of the items she’s required to acquire. After a couple stops, she changes the
song to exclude her most recent purchases. She distracts herself and misses a
left turn, ending up in a shady neighborhood just as night falls.
In a
beautiful, operatic voice, she sings “Jameson, Bailey’s, Trojan condoms” three
times, then abruptly halts when she notices a package store up ahead. She
changes lanes and turns to park in the store’s dilapidated parking lot.
As she
approaches the door, a robbery is in progress. A masked man points a handgun at
a young cashier. The cashier begins to empty the till. The college girl freezes
in terror. A large, well-built man creeps behind the gunman, holding a heavy
bottle. The gunman notices him at the last second and shoots him in the chest,
then turns back to the cashier and shoots him.
The girl trembles.
She runs to her car, fumbles for her key, and speeds away.
Instead
of returning to campus, she pulls into the parking lot of a police station.
After a few heavy breaths she nervously sings “Hot sauce, Tic-Tacs, toilet
paper” to herself.
Three and a half years later
Ian
enters his apartment, arm-in-arm with Erin. She squeezes his shoulder and
departs for the kitchen. He thumbs through a stack of mail until he sees an
envelope without a return address. His eyes linger on the handwriting, then he carefully
opens it. Inside he finds a letter written with flawless penmanship.
The
letter reads:
Dear Ian,
I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve been watching some of your videos and I want you to know that I’m thrilled for your success. It’s not at all surprising to anyone who knew you from Mr. E’s AV club. Your projects were so much fun to perform in; I hope you make more “ten minute movies” in the future. I think your viewers would enjoy them, too.
The past few years have been difficult for me. The choices I made have led me to new and unexpected places. I am safe and content, but I am no longer the girl you walked home from school junior year. You were right, I should have stayed. I’m trying hard to unburden myself from my biggest regrets. That’s why I’m writing this - to say I’m proud of you, and I miss you, and to let you know that I’m in a good place now. I hope you are, too.
May you always make the right choices, and may you never regret the wrong ones.Yours,
--Jane Doe
Erin returns from the kitchen holding two partially-filled
wine glasses. “What’s that?”
“Uh...”
Ian begins to explain until he reads the last sentence:
p.s. Please do not tell anyone I contacted you. This letter is for your eyes only!
“You
cannot tell anyone about this.” He sternly warns Erin.
“I
promise.” She dutifully replies.
__________________________________________________________________
Story Ends Tuesday
