“Ms. Ford is in room 342. Follow the yellow lines on the floor. I’m so sorry. I would walk you down myself, but an emergency just came in. I’ll be back to see you both as soon as possible.”
She didn’t wait, she ran… right past Nolan, my driver, who was holding a bag and looking around the hospital in confusion.
“Nolan?”
He turned to me. “Sir.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Tom, the bellhop, informed me of what happened. I came… I came because I was worried about Ms. Harper. I brought some of her things.” He lifted the bag. “Is she all right?”
I smiled. It seemed one more person cared about her too. “She’s going to be. Thank you for bringing this. I’ll call. In the meantime, go home to your family.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry—”
“Don’t apologize for caring. I wish more people did.”
After he left, I followed the yellow line to Felicity’s room.
I had so many regrets.
Not listening to her. Leaving her alone to begin with. Worst of all, telling her to go back… There were so many things I wanted to say, but the biggest was I was sorry. When I reached her door, seeing her asleep, I slid it open quietly. The only sound was the beeping of the machines and her light snoring. I smiled at that. Snoring was good. It meant she was resting and not dead. Brushing her hair back, I kissed forehead before pulling up a chair next to her bed.
“Shit,” I muttered, opening the bag to get her phone. The only people who called her were Rosemary and me. Pulling out my phone, I realized there were more than thirty missed calls from my aunt. If Nolan knew something had happened in my penthouse, I’m sure she did too.
I texted her: I’m fine. Can’t talk.
Lorelei: Are you sure? I heard something happened with that girl. She didn’t do anything to you, did she?
I wanted ask what the hell did she think Felicity possibly did to me.
Me: Can’t talk now.
I put my phone away, then put Felicity’s on silent before putting it back in her bag. However I stopped when I noticed a thick brown notebook in there as well.
“My…n…no..te…book…see,” I remembered her saying to me. Shaking my head, I tried not to remember seeing her like that. Leaning back, I opened the book.
Dear Theo,
We agreed to write letters to each other. But when it comes to words, I’m pretty much useless. I never say the right things, or worse, I end up saying things I don’t even mean. I hate the fact that I’ve complicated your life. I feel like a leech. What’s worse is that I feel selfish for wanting you to stay with me for as long as possible forever. I can’t cook. I’m disorganized. I’m a tad bit selfish. I’ll end up drinking all your wine. I’m not going to look pretty every day. I don’t really have a career. I run away from problems. I get sad every year around August because that’s when my mother died. I might accidently ruin your clothes (you wear too many sometimes anyway). What I’m saying is I’ve got a lot of faults. I’m trying to work through them for myself and for you too because I love you. (Holy shit yes I wrote that, it’s in ink and there is part of me that wants to cross it out but I’ll leave it for now.) We can add slightly immature to the list… and rambling.
So to end my first and last letter, I would like to give you one of the only two things I’m good at. My music…my finished music. I meant to finish the song I wrote for you so long ago, but I got carried away. There was a piano here. I snuck out every once in awhile at night to go there to work on these. I hope you enjoy them. I hope I get to play them for you.
Always,
Felicity Harper.
I flipped through the book, seeing page after page of notes. She had filled the whole book. It was like having musical gold in my hands.
“You like it?”
Glancing up, I saw her staring at me tiredly, her lips chapped, her skin pale, yet she had never looked more beautiful to me.
“More than you know,” I said softly. “Welcome back.”
She frowned. “I’m so so so sorry, Theo! I’m so sorry! I regretted it the moment I did it—”
“Shh.” I hugged her, kissing her temple. “I think you’re the one people need to be apologizing to.”
“So that was real?” she whispered. “I have a tumor? I wasn’t losing my mind, I had a tumor.”
I nodded and she just held on to me. “You knew yourself better than any else,” I muttered, and she laughed or sobbed—it was too hard to tell.
“What happens now?” She wiped her eyes.
“You get treated, and we move on.” It was all I could think of. She had been living with a bomb in her head… and it was all coming to an end.