Page 114 of No More Secrets
A collection of shoes that makes other women sigh with envy ...
A wardrobe by all the right designers ...
The right circle of interesting friends ...
My name on insightful articles perfectly crafted to tell you the stories that deserve your attention ...
I sit here in my apartment with its charming bay window that overlooks a neighborhood grocery store and barbershop in my Manhattan-approved, this-season’s-hottest outfit with my barely worn Manolo Blahniks sitting on the floor next to me. My circle of “friends” consists of advertisers, designers, and industry insiders who are all very busy and terribly important.
Many of you have probably seen the “Hot for Farmer” piece under my byline in a magazine that, from now on, shall remain nameless. It’s getting big hits online. Enough attention that maybe a new position could open up for me.
By all previous measures, I’ve made it. I am a success. I have everything I ever wanted.
So what if my “friends” are advertisers that require schmoozing, designers who can’t remember my first name, and a handful of acquaintances who know nothing more about me other than where I bought my last pair of shoes? Who cares that I spend every minute of every day trying to write things that will make you buy something? A magazine, a beauty product, a fabulous winter parka. Does it matter that the shoes hurt my feet? Or that I haven’t spent a Saturday night doing what I wanted to do since college? It’s fine. Right? I have everything I want.
I also have cancer. One year ago I was diagnosed with adult Hodgkin lymphoma. I spent weeks sneaking off for treatments and hiding my reactions to them. If work found out, paid medical leave could have been the kiss of death to my senior editor aspirations. I didn’t even tell my parents. I didn’t want them to worry. But mostly, I didn’t want to be vulnerable.
But that’s what cancer makes you, vulnerable. And scared. And I let it isolate me. After aggressive treatment through a clinical trial I went into remission. Six months out, my tests were clean. Tomorrow, I find out if I can say “had” or “have.” Tomorrow I find out what the future holds.
Recurrence is always a concern and so are the side effects of the treatments, including infertility. I hadn’t given kids and family much thought. At least not until once I met a man with a heart as big as the blue moon. One who made me start asking myself questions instead of just firing them at other people.
If you’ve been following my blog, you know that this summer I had the pleasure of spending time in Blue Moon Bend, N.Y., on Pierce Acres, a family-owned and run organic farm.
And it was in Blue Moon that I fell in love. With the town, with the people, with the sense of belonging and community that residents there are born with. There is no jockeying for position, no backstabbing, no trying to get ahead. Just neighbors helping neighbors. People trusting each other.
I fell in love with the town and I fell in love with a man.
Those photos? They don’t do him justice. You can’t see the soul of a man through glossy pictures. You can’t see the brave heart that carries the scars of a warrior. You don’t get a hint of the noble character, the steadfast loyalty to family and country. You aren’t able to understand what happened when he discovered the healing power of a foundation of vulnerability and honesty.
So I fell in love and I got scared. And I ran back to the city where I felt safe in my anonymity, my path.
And here I sit with a manufactured, runaway digital success. Alone.
So I quit. And I’m going to do something bigger and more beautiful than even I dreamed possible. I’m going to write about real things, about health and wellness and community. I’m going to share the stories of people who have fought and won against disease, who have created a new way, who are making a difference, of the men and women who are shaping our future. Those are the people I want in my life. The people you should want in yours.
I went to Blue Moon to write about goats and organic tomatoes. Instead, I fell in love and everything changed. I met a pig and went vegetarian. I realized the healing nature of mother nature from the food we use to fuel our bodies to the sunshine that warms our skin and the fresh air that makes you take that first deep breath when you walk out the door in the morning. Most importantly I learned that our real strength is in vulnerability. In facing and living the truth no matter who’s watching. That is where we are strongest. I learned this from Carter and you should have, too.
Carter, I owe you a huge apology for taking your trust and then letting someone distort your story. I owe you an even bigger apology for running away when I got scared. I never meant to hurt you. I can’t ask you to forgive me, but I can show you what I wanted everyone else to know about you. Here’s the piece I originally wrote, which was rejected by the editors who substituted it with their own content.
I’m sorry and I love you.
––––––––
Summer copied and pasted her article into the post and added some of the pictures she took during her time in Blue Moon. She headed the post with Carter’s first selfie. Two quick rounds of proofreading and she hit Post.
She closed the lid of her laptop and sighed. It was done. She was going to put on her boots and go for a walk in the park ... and then maybe panic about the future that she had just wiped clean.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Alow roll of thunder woke Summer the next morning, instantly reminding her of the rainy morning she had spent in bed with Carter. Her next thought — and another regret — was of the better part of the bottle of wine she had polished off before bed.
She sat up and reached for her phone.
10:20?
She had forty minutes to get dressed and cover the twenty blocks between her apartment and her oncologist’s.
Summer scrambled out of bed and dragged on a pair of jeans and a stretchy short sleeve sweater. She was reaching for a pair of sandals when the boots caught her eye. If anything would give her luck today, Carter’s boots would.
