Dear Emily

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part Two

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Part Three

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

E
mily Thorn jerked to wakefulness, certain the sound grating on her ears was her husband Ian’s alarm clock. Then she remembered Ian was off on a business trip. So, what was the sound? She scrunched her head into the feather pillow to blot out the persistent noise, aware of the birds chirping on her windowsill. They were waiting for the seeds and crumbs she set out on the deck every morning. Damn, she must have overslept again. She squinted at the clock: 10:15. “Damn,” she muttered, “it’s the doorbell.”

A moment later she was out of bed, wrapping her robe about her as she stuffed her feet into felt slippers. By the time she got to the front door, struggled with the security alarm, the dead bolt, and the regular lock and opened the door, the Federal Express truck was halfway down the road. She leaned over, picked up the flat envelope, and carried it into the house. She didn’t bother to look at the address; obviously it was for Ian.

In the kitchen she fixed the coffeepot, turned on the oven, and slid in a tray of sticky buns, the butter and frosting oozing down the sides. She poked around the refrigerator until she found the butter dish. The microwave would melt it to perfection. She poured a quarter inch of light cream into her oversize coffee mug.

While she waited for her breakfast, Emily ripped the blue rubber band from the morning paper. She yanked at her hair until she got it into an unruly bunch; the rubber band snapped into place. She really needed to get a haircut. She was too old for the long mane she carried around. “Crowning glory, my ass,” she muttered. Today she would get it cut and styled. It would be something to do, a way to pass an hour or so.

She poured coffee, checked the sticky buns, decided she couldn’t wait for them to brown. They were warm and would soak in the melted butter. She used a dinner plate, lining the buns up side by side as she drizzled the butter over them. She ate all six in under ten minutes, finishing her first cup of coffee. She poured again, adding cream as she did so. Now, with her sweet tooth sated, she could glance at the day’s horror in the paper. As if she cared what went on in the world. Her own personal world was in such chaos she had neither the time nor the inclination to read about society’s problems.

Emily rummaged in the drawer for a cigarette. A filthy habit. Ian smoked and he was a doctor so why shouldn’t she smoke? She fired up, blew an artful smoke ring, propped her aching legs on the kitchen chair, and drew the paper toward her, bringing the Federal Express envelope she’d tossed on the kitchen table closer to her plate. Mrs. Emily Thorn. The sender was Dr. Ian Thorn. Emily blinked. Why would Ian be sending her a Federal Express letter? She pushed it away. He probably wanted her to do something. Ian always wanted her to do something. Someday, just for the pure hell of it, she was going to tally up a list of things Ian had asked her to do over the years. If she didn’t open the letter, she wouldn’t have to do anything. But then Ian would call for a progress report. Better to open it and get it over with. Whatever it was Ian wanted her to do could be done after she got her hair cut. Ian used to love her long, curly hair, said it made her look wanton when she tossed it from side to side. Emily snorted in disgust. Still, she made no move to open the Express envelope.

Emily was on her fifth cigarette and fourth cup of coffee when she snatched the cardboard envelope, opened it, and took out the letter.

The trembling started at the corners of her mouth, then spread throughout her entire body. She wanted to lean back in the swivel chair, but her body was too rigid. She wondered how she could tremble and be rigid at the same time. “Damn you, Ian, damn you to hell.” Emily clutched the arms of the chair, twin lifelines, and stamped her feet. She remembered another day, long ago, when a letter had arrived from Ian. On the eve of her wedding. So very long ago…

“I can’t believe I’m getting married. Do you believe it, Aggie?”

“I see the white dress and veil so it must be true,” Emily’s best friend said.

“I wish I wasn’t so tired. I still can’t comprehend that I worked last night. I must be out of my mind, but Friday night tips are so good I didn’t want to give them up. Two banquets and I made a hundred and fifty bucks. Not too shabby.”

“You look worn out. And yes, you were out of your mind to work until three in the morning. Emily, you are killing yourself.”

“Maybe so, but look what I have in the bank. It’s all paid off for Ian and me. We’re finally getting married, seven years late, I grant you, but in a few hours I will be Mrs. Ian Thorn, wife of Dr. Ian Thorn.”

Aggie’s eyes narrowed. “It’s that white shirt and tie thing, right?”

“That’s part of it, but I love Ian. I’ve loved him since we were in the ninth grade. He’s a part of me just the way I’m a part of him.”

“Right now, off the top of your head, don’t think, just blurt the answer…how many times have you seen Ian in the past seven years?”

Emily’s jaw dropped. “Seventy-five? That’s a guess…it’s probably more…that’s a stupid thing to ask me, Aggie. You have no idea how hard it is for Ian to get fifteen minutes to himself. Most of the time he’s half dead. We spoke a lot on the phone, sent cards. A day didn’t go by when we weren’t in touch. We agreed early on that sacrifices would have to be made. We knew what we were doing. We made it. Today is the big day. I’ve never been this happy in my life. Ian…he’s…he’s so happy he can’t talk straight.”

Aggie’s lips compressed. “I’m glad you’re happy, Emily. I could never do what you did.” She shook her head.

“That’s because you and Rob didn’t have a dream, a plan. Ian and I did. I’m not saying that’s wrong for you two. It was right for Ian and me.”

“You always said you weren’t going to have a backyard wedding with the potato salad in plastic bowls,” Aggie groused.

“I did say that. It was silly of me. This wedding is only costing four hundred and fifty dollars. I’d rather have this and money in the bank. Ian agreed. I’m wearing my aunt’s wedding gown and Ian is wearing his best dark suit. You have a lovely dress. It’s simple, but it’s what we can afford.

“Ian’s friend is going to take some pictures. You made the wedding cake as your gift to us. So, what’s missing?”

“Nothing, I guess. I just want you to be happy, Emily.”

“You keep saying that. Right now I am the happiest almost-bride in Scotch Plains, New Jersey.”

“Sit still so I can cover the dark patches under your eyes. Don’t blink,” Aggie said, sponging makeup under Emily’s eyes. “I’m going to use some extra rouge, your skin is too pale. A little sun wouldn’t hurt you, Emily.”

“No time for sunbathing. Do you know what I’m giving Ian as a wedding gift?”

“What?”

“The bank book. He has absolutely no idea how much money I’ve saved these past seven years. Do you believe he never asked? Not once.”

“How much did you save?”

“I’ve got twenty-three thousand dollars. It’s not all in the passbook savings account. I invested some of it. Ian’s eyes are going to pop right out of his head.”

“What’s he giving you?” Aggie asked.

“I have no idea. I don’t even know if he knows the groom is supposed to give the bride a present. Giving me his name is enough for me.”

“Don’t forget all those white shirts he’s giving you to iron,” Aggie said tightly.

“Am I wrong or don’t you like Ian?” Emily asked.

“I like Ian. He’s very charming. When he wants to be. But I do think he’s taking advantage of you. Emily, you have worked like a dog since the day you graduated. You’ve been working seven days a week forever it seems. You’re always tired and you don’t remember what it’s like to feel good. You’re only twenty-five and already you have some bad varicose veins. You should have a doctor look at them.”

Emily burst out laughing. “I think I’m going to have a doctor looking at them for a whole week. I’ll respect his opinion.”

“It’s not funny, Emily. Jeez, I’m going to miss you.”

“We’ll write. Not a lot, but I promise to stay in touch. Ian still has another year and then his residency and more schooling if he wants to specialize, which I think he’s going to want to do, and then, Aggie, it’s clear sailing for both of us. I can start school, get pregnant, and have the best of everything. A few more years aren’t going to matter. At least we’ll be together. Be happy for me, Aggie.”

“I am happy for you, Emily. All I can say is Ian better make you happy or he’ll have to take me on. Rob and I will straighten him right out.”

Emily’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Aggie, I want to show you something. I want to share it with you so you won’t worry about me. Last night when I got home, so dead tired I thought my legs and feet were numb, I was just going to fall in bed with my clothes on, but I turned on the light and taped to the outside of the window was a letter from Ian. He must have stopped by late and left it. It was so like Ian I cried and cried. I know it by heart, but I’m going to read it to you. Listen to this,” Emily said, pulling the folded piece of paper from inside her bra. “I want to keep it close to my heart. This will set your mind at ease where Ian is concerned.”

“Let’s hear it,” Aggie said, perching on the side of the bed.

“That’s beautiful,” Aggie said.

“I’m going to read this every day of my life even though I know the words by heart. When I’m old and gray and sitting in a rocking chair with my grandchildren at my feet, I’m going to show them this and tell them that true love is worth waiting for, worth all the sacrifices that need to be made.”

Ian and Emily settled into their new life with gusto. Atlanta, Georgia, was far enough away from New Jersey that neither Emily nor Ian worried about family visits. Ian settled into the Emory School of Medicine while Emily got a job working at a tacky lounge called Sassy Sallie’s.

Ian studied. Emily worked. The only thing breaking the monotony was Ian’s days off, which were few and far between. Emily found herself working double shifts just so she wouldn’t have to be alone in the tiny apartment they called home. They were making it, though, unlike some of Ian’s married friends who couldn’t tolerate the long separations, the constant workload, and lack of companionship. Three couples had separated, the wives filing for divorce. At each new announcement by Ian, Emily hunkered down and worked more because of the worry in Ian’s eyes. “It won’t happen to us, Ian, I swear it won’t.” Constantly she reassured her husband that they were different and they both understood what was involved when they got married. “I want you to succeed, to fulfill your dream, and then I’ll get my turn.” Ian always smiled when she said that. The smile, the warmth in his eyes, was what kept her going. Until the day she started to feel ill.

“Listen, Emily, you look dead on your feet,” Carrie, the night hostess, said gently. “I’ve been watching you since yesterday. Go home and get in bed. You’re the only one who hasn’t come down with the flu, so it’s your turn. Sallie isn’t going to say anything. You’re the best waitress she’s ever had and she doesn’t want to lose you. You look flushed to me. Bet you have a fever. Get your stuff together and go home. We aren’t that busy. Look, the most you could make by staying till the end of your shift is maybe another ten bucks. Those guys drinking at the table in the corner are not big spenders. Go on, I don’t want to hear another word. Call in tomorrow and let me know how it’s going. If you can’t make it, don’t worry about it. Sallie has some reserves for the breakfast trade.”

Emily sighed. “I guess you’re right. Explain to Sallie, okay.”

By the time Emily arrived at the small apartment, chills racked her body. She made tea but could barely drink it, so she swallowed four more aspirin and crawled into bed, but not before she slipped into a warm flannel nightgown and piled all four blankets on the bed. It wasn’t until she was dozing off that she remembered that Carrie had slipped a bottle of brandy from the bar into her purse. She should have taken a few swigs.

Exhausted, she slipped into sleep.

The alarm shrieked at four-forty. Emily struggled to reach the button to turn it off so Ian could have an extra hour’s sleep. She always woke him when she was ready to go out the door. Not only did she wake him, she handed him his first cup of coffee for the day.

She knew when her arm refused to move that she was sick—really sick. Whatever it was she had, she’d felt it coming on the past two days. Her ears ached, her throat hurt, and her eyes were watering so badly she could barely see the numerals on the clock. She tried to move, but she was so cold her teeth chattered. The flu? Who got the flu in May? Nobody but her.

“Ian, wake up. I’m sick.” Ian mumbled something and then moved away from her. Without his body warmth she felt colder. Her teeth continued to chatter. “Ian, wake up. You have to call and tell my boss I won’t be in.” Ian bolted upright in the bed.

“What time is it? My God, it’s quarter to five. You’re going to be late, Emily.”

“I’m sick, Ian,” Emily croaked. “God, I can’t get warm and I have a fever. Will you get me some aspirin?”