The supple cover of Ryla’s last diary caught Quin’s eye every time she entered the room. Her art show had gone well, and many of the paintings sold. Since she hadn’t been able to find a heart research foundation to donate to, Quin had started a fund to help Karla pay her mortgage while she was getting her house ready to become The Tidewater Inn.
Ryla had written in her diary that if she could go back and do anything over it would be to reach out to friends and neighbors, not send money to foundations. Putting the art money aside to help a neighbor seemed like the best way to follow Ryla’s wishes after the fact.
Quin’s boxes were packed and ready to be shipped. All that was left to do was to book her flight back home, but she’d put that off too. Duggy nosed a wooden ball around the carpet, distracting her. Nothing else needed her attention at that moment besides the diaries. Part of her wanted to savor them once she got home. But Ryla had never been to New York. Her voice wouldn’t be the same there.
There were only about ten pages left to read. Quin picked up the book and ran her fingers over the embossing. The bumps and grooves were pleasing to her fingertips. Almost no time at all left to spend with her sister. The entries had probably taken Ryla a long time to write, especially the last ones, but Quin would read them in mere minutes. The injustice was a mirror of the rest of Ryla’s life.
Quin settled on the floor and watched Duggy race around for a minute. If his bunny mind could remember Ryla, it didn’t seem like it. He’d moved on. A piece of her wished healing would come so easy for her. But if it did, then life wouldn’t be cherished as much while people were alive and well.
She pressed the book open and creased the page. The obvious urgency in the uncustomary messy handwriting had stopped her at that spot days before. A change had happened that had made Ryla need to get her words out so quickly she hadn’t cared about her letters or legibility.
Dear Quin,
The pain that had stabbed her so harshly when she’d opened the books before gave way to a heart-rending longing to go back and do life over. To include her sister more. To reach out more…to not be so selfish, as Ryla had claimed. Because a solitary life can be selfish for the reasons Quin had done it.
I know you’re coming now. Just a few more weeks I have to fight. I’m so tired. I’m tired of the late-night wake up for meds. I’m tired of fighting with Paxton about telling one of you about my life and everything that’s happening. Just so you know, I still don’t plan to tell you everything in person. I just can’t. I don’t have the strength…or the time.
Here’s what you need to know. When I was about thirteen or so, I started to have weird heart rhythms. The doctors called it arrhythmia, but I don’t. It’s hard to spell and sounds clinical. I’ve grown to hate going to the doctor. At the time, the doctor told Mom and Dad to watch me and keep me out of sports. That was about it.
Fast forward ten years. I did what I was told, but I also kept away from other people. I had this sense that I wouldn’t live a full life, so why bring others into it? That was a mistake. I wish I’d had more people close by me. Instead, I’ve been surrounded by mostly strangers the sicker I get. But, back to age twenty-three… I went back to the doctor for my annual check-up and they found the rhythm had changed. A lot.
All the appointments sort of blur together at that point. I was so scared I honestly don’t remember much. I should’ve written it down. That appointment was what prompted me to start writing these diaries again. I had to leave something behind. Something that mattered.
Years went by and though I reached out to Mom and Dad, they seemed to think I was blowing everything out of proportion, and they didn’t want to come back here. Looking back, I wish I’d just come right out and said, “I need you here” but I didn’t. So, that’s on me.
I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want to use the big medical words and have you rush here to see me out of guilt. I wanted you to come see me because you wanted to. So I never said anything. Manipulative? Perhaps, but I needed to feel loved.
Tears coursed down Quin’s cheeks and she moved the diary before she could destroy Ryla’s writing with her tears. Because of her, Ryla had spent years feeling unloved. She’d responded to texts faithfully, but when the texts had slowed, she hadn’t reached out. She hadn’t wondered enough. It was no surprise Ryla hadn’t wanted to tell her; she’d thought Quin didn’t care.
Paxton has been a total pain, but he’s cared for me. I know that he does this for all of his patients, but he’s very good at getting to the heart of things and saying what needs to be said. Whether I wanted to hear it or not. Jury is still out on if I listened or not.
I don’t know what the next few weeks will bring, but I know I’m getting close to the end. I can feel the cold in my fingers and feet and it never goes away. From this entry on, I will treat each time I can write as a gift. That being said, Quin, know that I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m so envious of your talent and I know you will be great. Please, don’t be like me. Don’t be an island. Live and love. There’s life beyond Driftwood Bay and Rosewood House. It’s yours if you want it, but don’t hang onto it just because of me. You have my blessing to do with it what you want.
For Mom and Dad, I love them too. I know they weren’t perfect, and I blamed them for a lot. Fact is, my life has been a series of choices. I see that now. Only someone seeing their life as a whole can really look objectively at everything. There are things I would go back and change, but I’m thankful for the way they raised me. I have regrets, but they are few. For that, I’m thankful.
Quin closed the book and laid it aside. The diary had provided the farewell she hadn’t been afforded. Ryla had loved her. She hadn’t invited her here to tell her of the anger she felt, but she had shown her how hurt she’d been over Quin’s selfishness and chilly behavior. She’d been angry that Quin hadn’t been the sister she’d needed.
There was also no question about how Ryla had felt about Paxton. She hadn’t loved him. The guilt over possibly taking another love from Ryla, even after she’d gone, lifted completely. That guilt had been nudging her toward returning to New York, but now it was gone. There was one less reason to go.
Her bags sat by the end of the couch, waiting for her to catch a ride from Paxton. Her flight was tomorrow, but she wasn’t ready to go. For the last three days, she’d pulled the clothes she’d needed from her bag in the morning only to wash and replace what she’d worn back in the bag.
She slowly stood and unzipped the bag, then went into Ryla’s room. The dresser and closet were empty and clean. The bedding had all been changed. All of the medical equipment was gone. It was like a completely different room with the exception of the bookshelf.
“I promise I’m not staying for the wrong reasons.” She slipped the diary back in its place. She hadn’t really looked at the shelf outside of those diaries, books didn’t usually interest her unless they were art books.
On the next shelf was a turquoise blue leather-bound book. Quin hesitated and touched the spine. The pages had no rippling like the other diaries. She opened the front page and in Ryla’s scrawling script were the words: This one’s for you. It’s time to write your story.
She smiled as she set it on the bedside table, then put all of her clothes in the closet. She would have to return to New York to pack and sublet her apartment, but it wouldn’t be home anymore.
She pressed open the first page and dated it.
Dear Later Self,
The opening felt right. Ryla would have approved.