The Love Letter(6)

I couldn’t look at her as I wiped pumpkin filling off my fingers.

As dessert wound to a close, I only had one quick chance to speak with Justine again. Tomorrow, she’d be leaving on a shopping holiday with friends for the remainder of the weekend.

After informing me of this, we looked at each other in awkward silence, and then she touched me gently on the sleeve. “Mark, I was wondering… I’m going to Aspen in December to meet my dad for a short ski trip. I’ll be passing through Denver on the sixteenth and…would you like to, maybe, catch up over lunch or something?”

The sixteenth. “That’s the last day of my medical boards. I’ll be testing all day.”

The visible hope on her delicate features melted away.

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. I’ll—well, some other time then. Can I give you my cell number? In case you finish early or something?” Not likely.

We exchanged cards. I nodded goodbye to her, unasked questions about her new boyfriend still hanging between us. I wouldn’t be jealous. I didn’t have the right.

***

How does the story end? In Persuasion, of course, Anne finds the love letter that Wentworth has left for her. In it, he tells her that, in spite of his resentment, in spite of his flirting with other women right under her nose, in spite of the fact that she had crushed his heart, he still loves her. After all this time.

They exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once before seemed to secure everything, but which had been followed by so many, many years of division and estrangement.

But my story? Our story, mine and Justine’s? What was my persuasion? To forgive. To let go. To move forward. To never forget.

***

On December 16, my world swam before me. The last test of the boards—an essay test—was here. Lost in a high-vaulted, echoing testing chamber, I stared at the open blue test booklet, unable to focus on the task at hand.

An hour of stretching, clicking my pen up and down, and cracking open my water bottle had produced little beyond a page of my illegible scribble. Seven different beginnings of love letters I had written and then crossed out. Abandoned.

She was in Denver, somewhere. And I was here. And as noon grew into afternoon, my agitation increased. Where was she now?

The choice was clear. I had to see her. Before I realized what I was doing, my feet were on the floor, my legs were carrying me from the silence of the test room.

I didn’t start breathing again until I was in the foyer. Leaning against the heavy wooden door, my cell phone in my hand, I pulled out the card she’d given me. She’d be on the way to the airport by now, I figured.

I typed:Justine, I don’t know if you’ll get this, but I have to tell you. I need you. Always have. I’ve been stubborn, resentful & full of pride. But my heart never changed. I’ve never loved anyone else but you.

I hit send.

I waited for a minute, heart thudding. Two. Nothing. Cold fear numbed the pulse at my throat.

My thumb hovered over the send button, unable to type the next message. Can you? Will you?

No answer. Maybe she had missed it? My head thudded against the brick walls of the university hall. Test-takers were now spilling out of the chamber, milling about the hallway, putting on their coats, pulling out their cell phones. It hurt to breathe. Had I walked away from my medical boards for nothing?

The entire way home, I checked my phone every two minutes. Maybe, she was in the air by now. Maybe, maybe she hadn’t received it. Or her phone was turned off. Or she was waiting, trying to figure out her answer. Or. Or.

Hours passed. No reply. I checked to see how many bars I had on my reception. I checked to see if the network was cooperating. There were no problems. There was nothing. And inevitably my mind strayed to the most believable explanation: that she hadn’t meant what she had said about wanting to see me again. Or that she had changed her mind. Maybe she felt, like I once had, that the past was too painful to visit again.

Back in my apartment, I grabbed a beer and twisted the cap so viciously that it cut my palm.

My cell phone rang and I nearly dropped the bottle. I raced to answer it, my voice breathless.

“Mark! How’d you do on your test?”

My breath hitched and a pain radiated through my chest. Kathy.

“Hey, sis.” I fought to keep the disappointment from my voice.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to call you since Thanksgiving. I—well, I have a confession to make.”

“Let me guess. You defaced one of your own books to send me a page in the mail anonymously.”

Silence for two beats.

“How’d you know?”

“When I was there for Thanksgiving I saw the book in the den. Your copy is missing page 308. You pinched one of my SASEs from my job applications to send it.”