The Department of Lost & Found (33 page)

I left my shoes by the concrete’s edge and walked toward the water, the cold beachy grains sticking to my soles as I went. Plunging my feet in, I stared up at the night: Plane lights blinked overhead as they made their way to the nearby airport. I looked up and thought of my grandmother who hadn’t been able to beat back the same cancer, of whether or not she was looking down on me, and of whether or not I’d made her proud. I’m not sure how long I stood there just gazing up at the sky. I heard the echo of the band behind me and the rush of the waves in front, and it was hard not to be hypnotized.

So when I heard my name, it was easy to think that I was dreaming. But when I heard it again, I turned toward it.

“Natalie,” Zach called, and I saw him moving closer.

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“Hey,” I said softly.

“Hey yourself,” he said back.

“Lila told me what happened. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was. But I called Sally Thursday night, and she convinced me. So I hopped on a flight early today.”

“Lila was pretty wrecked,” I said, as I circled my right foot in the sand.

“I’ve noticed that she’s recovering just fine,” he said dryly.

“But enough about her.”

“But enough about her,” I agreed.

“I thought it was a rule that no one could be more beautiful than the bride.” He leaned down to roll up the hems of his pants as the water lapped on his feet.

“Really? I’ve never heard of that one.” I grinned.

“Oh yeah, it’s true. Friendships have been known to be lost over that sort of thing.”

“Hey, when you have it, you’ve got to flaunt it,” I said, raising my hand to pat my invisible hair. “After all, haven’t you heard?

Bald chic is in this year.”

“Too bad yours will be growing back.” He looped his elbow in mine.

“Well,” I considered. “Maybe I’ll keep it short anyway. Maybe it’s the start of a whole new me.” I paused and glanced sideways at him. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

And it was true. In fact, in his crisp blue suit and perfect pink tie, I could barely believe that I’d managed not to throw him down on the beach and climb on top.

I took a few steps backward and sat down in the sand, sweeping my dress underneath my legs. Zach followed and plunked down beside me.

“So,” he said.

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“So,” I said back, staring out across the vastness.

“You no longer have cancer.”

“I no longer have cancer,” I agreed.

“Knocked that fucking disease right out of the park.”

“I did indeed.”

“So I guess that this no longer makes you unavailable?” We both kept gazing out on the rolling water.

“I guess that as of this moment, I am, in fact, officially and totally available.” I smiled.

“In case I should be interested.”

“On the off chance that you know someone who’s interested.”

I smiled wider.

We sat there until the band stopped playing its set. Zach wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close enough that I could inhale the crisp smell of his skin. We sat, and we stared out into the ocean and listened as the waves ushered in the sea of change. At one point, I put my head on his shoulder, and he ran his fingers down the nape of my neck where tendrils of hair used to lay. And then I realized that we’d come full circle. That after six months of horror and of fear and of, in many ways, liberation, we sat on the beach, miles away from the lives that we’d come to occupy, and once again, just like back on the night in his living room when he made me a chicken and I smoked too much pot, he let me lean. Of all the things that were beautiful there in San Juan—the tide, the stretch of beach, the love that was rising up inside of me—this was what I found most breathtaking. He let me lean.

When the music stopped, he helped me up, and we turned to head back inside.

“Hold on,” I said, and let my feet sink into the cool sand. I reached up to the back of my neck, undid the clasp on my four-leaf-clover necklace, and clutched it tightly in the palm of my 306

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hand. Then I took a step closer to the waves and with every ounce of strength in my body, I hurled it out into the vast sea.

“What was that for?” Zach asked. Rather than answer, I stood on my toes and leaned closer to him, pressing my body against his and tasting the salty aftertaste of beer on his lips. Finally, I pulled back, interlocked my fingers into his own, and walked toward the hotel.

“Who needs a good luck charm?” I said. “When you’ve figured out how to make it all on your own.”

R e m i s s i o n

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July

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t w e n t y - s i x

D
ear Diary,

I know, don’t hate me. It’s been over three months
since I’ve had time to write. The thing is ever since
Sally’s wedding, I’ve barely had a chance to catch my breath.

We’ ll start off with my health. I had my three-month appointment with Dr. Chin this week, and the news was smooth sailing. It
was strange going back there. I missed it at first—the order that it
provided—but now, it was like revisiting high school. And what I
mean by that is as I walked down the sterile corridors, the halls
brought back nothing but skeletons, memories of a time I’ d rather
leave behind and a person who had nothing to do with me at all.

I swung by Janice’s office while I was there, too. She was out
to lunch, so I wrote her a note.

Janice,

I was here for my checkup and wanted to say hello.

Really, what I wanted to tell you is that you were right: 310

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that we’re not so different from trees after all. What I really needed was some water, and happily, I’ve quenched my thirst.

Thanks again for all of your support. I’m sure that I’ll see you soon.

Love,

Natalie

Work? Wel , that situation isn’t quite as robust as my health.

When I got back from Puerto Rico, Senator Dupris called me in.

The senator asked me to sit down and wondered if I’ d had time
to think about “the incident.” She even formed quotation marks
with her fingers. I told her that I had, indeed, had time to think
about it, but that I didn’t have much to say. She attempted to furrow her overly botoxed brow, and said, “Natalie, rethink this.

You’ve been very loyal right up until ‘the incident’ (there go those
fingers again), and if you apologize, of course, I’m prepared to
move beyond it.” I told her that was very big of her, and she
agreed. But then I told her that I had no such plans to say I was
sorry because, in fact, I had no regrets whatsoever. That I’ d gotten
into politics to truly make a difference, and it seemed to me that
I’ d clearly lost sight of that. She peered at me like she didn’t understand, so I sat up in my chair, looked her in the eye, and said,

“With all due respect, Senator, I fol owed behind you because you
were my mentor, someone whom I wanted to emulate, but now
you’re hardly a role model, and you’re certainly not mine.”

She curled up her lips like she’ d just sucked on a lime, and
I stood to leave. “I appreciate the opportunity,” I said. “I’ve
learned a lot, and much of it I enjoyed. But I can’t fol ow blindly
behind anymore, not when I’ve finally learned how to see.”

So now, I’m trying to figure out my next move. Susanna
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Taylor has asked me to come work with her, so I’m mul ing it
over. Maybe I can get back to where I started—to being a good
man. I think I’ d like that.

Oh, other news. My hair is growing back! It’s strange: It’s
coming back with curls. I told my mom about it, she said that my
grandmother had hair like Shirley Temple, so we laughed that
maybe this was a sign from above.

I’m sure that you’re reading this and are thinking, cut to the
good stuff. Give us the real skinny, ergo, Zach. Okay, so I wil .

That night, the one on the beach when I put my head on his
shoulder and stared at the stars, we stayed up talking in his room
until the sun came up. And then we went out on the balcony and
watched day break over the horizon. And not to get entirely too
cheesy, but I couldn’t help but think it was somehow symbolic.

When we got back to New York, I broke the news to Lila.

Diary, it’s entirely understandable that she didn’t take it so well.

But three days later, she sent me an e-mail saying that if she
couldn’t have him, she was happy that someone she loved could.

And anyway, that gorgeous groomsman just moved here last
month, and Lila’s been absolutely glowing.

As far as Zach and me, there’s not so much more to add, other
than I feel like I’ve finally met my alpha. We talk about our future sometimes. Dr. Chin says that I might be able to have
kids—we’ ll wait and see—so I’m hopeful that I can. But even
if the chemo has withered my ovaries I think we’ ll be okay.

“We’ l adopt,” Zach says. “Or just live with a hundred dogs.

Either way, we’ ll make it.” I know that he’s probably right.

We also sometimes talk about the past. About my cancer,
about how without it, we might never have found our way toward
each other. We occasionally talk about my remission, about how I
need to outwit the disease for five years until we can exhale and
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feel like I’m truly not on borrowed time. But as Sally says, studies
show that positive attitudes extend the life spans of cancer survivors. So I try to focus on sunny skies.

Oh, before I wrap up, I want to say that Jake left me a message
three weeks ago. I e-mailed him back because he was on his way to
Tokyo, and it seemed like the simplest thing to do. For more than
one reason. He wrote me the next morning and said that he was
happy to hear that I was healthy. And happier still to hear that I
was happy. Then he said that the real reason he was cal ing was
because that song he wrote for me, wel , they were releasing it as a
single. He said that he regret ed never playing it for me, so should
I one day flip on the radio and hear “Letting Her Let Go,” to
think of him. I didn’t think he was being selfish to ask, in case you
were thinking that, Diary. I suspect he just wanted me to know
that he finally came through on one of his promises. I guess he
thought that it counted for something. And I suppose that it does. I
haven’t heard the song yet, but I’m sure that when I do, I wil indeed think of Jake. And then I’ l think I’m so glad that sometimes
promises are broken, that sometimes promises aren’t enough.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” I said to Zach last night. “Who’ d ever
have thought? Cancer didn’t just change my life. It gave me one
instead.”

He didn’t answer. Rather, he stretched out beside me on his
rich leather couch and slung his arm around my waist, pul ing me
into him. “That’s the thing about second chances,” he said after a
while. “If you learn from your mistakes and spin the wheel right,
you just might win the whole damn house.”

PS—Zach and I are headed to Fiji next week, thanks to
Bob Barker. I wrote him a thank-you note, and he sent an auto-graphed headshot back to me. Sometimes when I’m feeling lost
I’ ll take it out of my desk and smile. The price is right, indeed.

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A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S
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If I were to thank everyone who has ever nurtured my writing and my aspirations, this would undoubtedly turn into the world’s worst and never-ending Oscar speech. So, with as much restraint as I can muster, I will limit my thank-yous to those who have helped me along the way with this specific project.

That said, I must first thank my indefatigable agent, Elisabeth Weed, who offered to represent the book less than twenty-four hours after receiving my e-mail, and whose endless passion and efforts have earned both my gratitude and friendship. And I have nothing but sincere adora-tion for my crackerjack team at Morrow: my editor, Lucia Macro, who has been a tireless cheerleader, and Samantha Hagerbaumer and Tavia Kowolchuk.

Before anything else professionally, I am a magazine writer, and I must, must, must thank the countless editors who have sent work my way over the years. Every time you call or e-mail or pick my brain, I am both flattered and amazed, and with all of you (okay, with 95 percent of you), it’s been a true pleasure.

I would be nothing more than a solitary writer sitting in a lonely office if not for my friends at FLX. You are my home away from home, and I am constantly touched by your support and loyalty. Specifically, the NST Fiction group. To say that I literally would not be writing this without you does not say it clearly enough. Specifically, heartfelt thanks to Lauriana Hayward, Rachel Weingarten, Tricia Lawrence, Marie Karns, and Diana Burrell. To my early readers: Michelle Kroiz Winn, Andrea Mazur, Shan-non Hynes Salamone, Todd Shotz, Randy and Tamara Winn, thank you 314