I sold all I had and purchased a one-way ticket to reconcile with my first love. But fate had different intentions. A heart attack mid-flight landed me in a town where I had to choose between giving up and taking the long road to love.
At 78, I sold all I owned. I sold my apartment, my old pickup truck, and even my vinyl record collection that I had accumulated over the years. Things no longer mattered.
Elizabeth wrote to me first. The letter arrived abruptly, buried amid bills and adverts, as if it had no idea how much influence it possessed.
“I’ve been thinking of you.”
That is all it said. A single line took me back decades. I read it three times before allowing myself to breathe.
A letter. From Elizabeth. My fingers trembled as I unfolded the remainder of the page.
“I’m wondering whether you ever think about those days. I remember how we shared laughter and how you held my hand that night at the lake. I do.” I always have.”
“James, you’re an absolute idiot,” I told myself.
The past is the past. But for the first time in years, it didn’t seem so far away.
We began writing back and forth. We started by exchanging brief notes. Next, we began exchanging longer letters, each one delving deeper into the passage of time. She told me about her garden, how she still played the piano, and how she missed the way I teased her about her awful coffee.
Then one day, she mailed her address. That’s when I sold everything and purchased a one-way ticket.
Finally, as the jet ascended into the sky, I closed my eyes and imagined her waiting for me.
Will she still have the same sparkling laugh? Will she still tilt her head while she listens?
However, a peculiar pressure in my chest caused me to stiffen. I felt a searing, stinging ache down my arm. My breath caught. A flight attendant rushed over.
“Sir, are you alright?”
I attempted to respond, but the words would not come. The lights above blurred. Voices mingled. Then everything became dark.
When I awoke, the world had changed. A hospital. The walls are a pale yellow color. There’s a beeping machine beside me.
A woman sat beside the bed, holding my hand.
“You terrified us. “I’m Lauren, your nurse,” she replied softly.
I swallowed, my throat dry. “Where am I?”
Bozeman General Hospital. Your jet had to make an unplanned landing. You suffered a small heart attack but are now stable. The physicians say you cannot travel for the time being.”
I let my head fall back on the pillow. “My dreams had to wait.”
“Your heart isn’t as strong as it used to be, Mr. Carter,” the doctor explained.
“I figured that much when I woke up in a hospital instead of at my destination,” I said quietly.
He offered me a weary smile. “I understand that this isn’t what you expected, but you should take it easy. No flying.” There will be no unnecessary stress.”
I didn’t respond. He groaned, jotted something on his clipboard, and then departed. Lauren stayed near the doorway.
“You don’t strike me as someone who listens to doctors.”
“I don’t strike myself as someone who sits around waiting to die, either,” I said in response.
She did not flinch or warn me I was being irresponsible. She only cocked her head slightly to examine me.
“You were going to see someone,” she said after a moment.
“Elizabeth. We wrote letters. After four decades of stillness, “She asked me to come.”
Lauren nodded, as if she already knew. Perhaps she did. I’d been chatting a lot about Elizabeth in my half-conscious times.
“Forty years is a long time.”
“Too long.”
I anticipated her to ask more questions about my past, like doctors did with symptoms. However, she didn’t. She merely sat next to my bed, hands on her lap.
“You remind me of someone,” I remarked to myself, rather than to her.
“Yeah? Who?”
“Myself. “A long time ago.”
She averted her gaze, suggesting that my words had resonated more deeply than I intended.
Over the following three days, I discovered more about Lauren’s background. After losing her parents, who had hoped to become physicians, she grew up in an orphanage. In their honor, she took the same journey.
One evening, while we drank tea, she recounted a heartbreaking memory: she had once been in love, but when she became pregnant, the boyfriend departed. Soon after, she lost the baby.
Since then, she had immersed herself in work, claiming that being busy was the only way to escape the weight of her emotions. That feeling seemed quite familiar to me.
On my last morning at the hospital, she entered my room with a set of automobile keys.
I frowned. “What’s this?”
“A way out.”
“Lauren, are you…”
“Leaving? Yeah.” She breathed and shifted her weight. “I’ve been stuck too long. “I’ve remained trapped for an extended period.”oking for anything, James.
I examined her face for signs of uncertainty and doubt. I found none.
“You don’t even know me,” I said.
She grinned. “I know enough.” And I’d want to help you.”
We drove for several hours. The road extended ahead, like an unsaid promise. Dry air rushed past the open windows, carrying dust and the smell of asphalt.
“How far is it?” she said after a time.
“A couple more hours.”
“Good.”
“Are you in a hurry?”
“No,” she said, staring at me. “Just making sure you’re not going to pass out on me.”
I chuckled. Lauren had entered unexpectedly in my life and became someone I felt really attached to. At that point, I recognized the actual thrill of my adventure. I didn’t mind that it had turned out to be considerably longer than merely a flight.
Upon our arrival at the letter’s specified address, we discovered it was not a house. This was a nursing facility.
Lauren switched the engine off. “This is it?”
“This is the address she gave me.”
We stepped inside. The air smelt of fresh linens and old books, as if someone was attempting to make the room seem more like home. On the patio, older people saw the trees swaying while others looked at nothing. A few nurses stepped between them, providing comforting words and blankets.
That wasn’t correct. Elizabeth despised the notion of growing old in such a place. A voice at the reception counter interrupted my thoughts.
“Can I help you?”
I turned to speak, but Lauren froze beside me. I followed her glance to the man sitting behind the desk. He was not much older than her. He had dark hair and beautiful eyes.
“Lauren,” he whispered.
She stepped back. I didn’t have to ask. The way her shoulders became tense… I knew. Lauren knew him. He was known to Lauren from a previous life.
I let them have their moment and moved on, venturing deeper inside the institution.
And then I saw her.
Elizabeth sat at the window, her slender hands resting on a blanket stretched across her lap. Her hair had turned totally gray, and her face showed the soft wear of time. She smiled at me.
However, that was not Elizabeth’s grin. That was her sister’s. I came to a halt, the weight of realization bearing down on me.
“Susan.”
“James,” she muttered. “You came.”
A sour laugh escaped me. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”
She dropped her eyes. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
So you lied?”You led me to believe…” I breathed hard and shook my head. “Why?”
“I found your letters.”Elizabeth tucked them away among her belongings. She didn’t stop reading them, James. This continued even after a significant amount of time had passed.
I swallowed forcefully, my throat stinging.
“She died last year. “I fought to keep the house, but I lost it too.”
Silence spread between us.
“You had no right,” I concluded, my voice frigid.
“I know.”
I turned aside. I couldn’t look at her any longer. “Where is her grave?”
She gently told me the solution. I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more. Then I went away. Lauren was still at the front.
“Come on,” I said to her, my voice weary.
I wasn’t sure what the following step would be. But I knew I couldn’t handle it alone.
The cemetery welcomed us with a harsh breeze. It howled through the woods, stirring the dead leaves beneath my feet. I tightened my coat around me, but the cold had already penetrated deep within.
The stone bore Elizabeth’s name. I let out a trembling breath.
“I made it,” I muttered. “I’m here.”
Unfortunately, I was too late.
I looked at the engraving, tracing the letters with my eyes, as if repeating her name would bring her back. Lauren stood a few steps back, giving me room. I scarcely noticed her. The world has shrunk to only me and this gravestone.
“I sold everything,” I informed her. My voice sounded raw, as if I hadn’t spoken in years. I gave up my home and belongings for this. And you weren’t even present to see it.”
The wind picked up and carried my words away.
“Susan lied to me.” She led me to assume you were still waiting. “And I was stupid enough to believe it.”
Silence. Then, deep inside me, a voice responded. Soft and toasty. Not hers. Mine.
“Susan did not deceive you.” She was simply lonely. Like you. So what now? “Will you run away again?”
I closed my eyes and allowed the weight of those words to soak in. Loss influenced my entire existence. I had spent years fleeing from it, attempting to outrun ghosts.
But what is there to lose now?
I sighed gently and turned away from the grave.
We returned to the city and located a tiny motel. I didn’t ask Lauren where she went in the nights, but I knew. Jefferson. The man is at the nursing home.
“Are you going to stay?” I questioned her one night as she went in, her cheeks flushed with cold.
“I believe so. I got a job at a nursing home.”
I nodded. It did not surprise me. She’d discovered something she hadn’t even realized she was seeking.
And maybe I did, too. I purchased back Elizabeth’s home.
Susan was apprehensive at first when I invited her to join me.
“James, I… I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not,” I said plainly. “All you wanted was a house.” So did I.”
She dried her tears and nodded. We eventually hugged one another.
Lauren also moved in.
Every evening, we sat on the lawn and played chess while watching the sky change hues. For the first time in years, I felt at home.
Life had rewritten my plans, forcing me to make mistakes. However, in the end, one voyage provided me with far more than I could have imagined. All I had to do was open my heart and trust in fate
