April 1, late evening
Will Delaney. That was the name written on his ticket. I had taken a mental note of it, as well as the address on his luggage tag. He lived in New York. The Upper West Side. He might as well have resided in another state. Except for medical appointments, I didn't venture uptown very often. I preferred losing myself in the crowd downtown, with its grubby, narrow streets and colorful storefronts.
Will squeezed my hand as the plane lifted off, and I drew in a sharp breath.
"We'll be there before you know it," he said as if to reassure me.
I leaned against his shoulder and savored feelings of comfort and excitement. We remained that way for I don't know how long until finally a flurry of jumbled words rushed out of my mouth.
"Who are you, Will? We hardly know a thing about each other, but I feel as if I've known you forever. And you never answered my question: Why did Destiny want us to meet?"
My heart was beating a mile a minute as his lips touched my cheek. He whispered into the curls that tumbled recklessly over my ears.
"I'm 34, was born and raised in New York, and after some time wandering the globe, I finally decided to commit to something—my photography. I opened up a gallery a few years ago. Now I travel around looking for inspiration. I spent the past couple of months looking for you, but that isn't an easy task in New York. Then Destiny helped me out. And that about sums it up. As for your other question, it's best if Destiny explains everything. That's her responsibility. When she stirs something up, she has to be the one to follow through on it."
"And she doesn't always? Follow up, I mean."
"She tends to get distracted. That isn't the case this time, though."
He shook his head and sank into silence.
"What's going on with her, Will?"
"She has leukemia," he said. "She was diagnosed about three years ago, right after, well, after a rather personal family tragedy. It's been a constant struggle, but things have been going downhill over the past few months."
Sadness filled my heart. For this woman I hardly even knew, tears sprang into my eyes. Silently, I blinked them back. I wanted to know more, but I didn't dare ask. It was as if, out of respect for Destiny, there was a certain barrier I couldn't cross.
"I saw your artwork in London," Will said a few minutes later.
I slid farther down in my seat.
"Yeah, pretty pathetic isn't it? I'm not an artist."
"No, actually it's moving—a window into the soul."
"Well mine was pretty screwed up when I did that."
He squeezed my hand again, and I gazed out the window into the night sky.
"What happened, Kat?"
"It wasn't about food," I murmured, almost as if I were in a daze. "It never was, as a matter of fact. That's exactly why it became the focus of my attention. To push away the sadness I didn't want to exist. I don't know where this sadness came from, or what it was all about. Blanche—my sister—and I had a very ordinary childhood. And then I snapped. Mom thought it was because of the dieting shit that my friends talked about—but they weren't anorexic. Mom said I was vulnerable, so that's why I got sick and they didn't. But why was I vulnerable? No one could figure it out. That remains the mystery. So I have to live with it or die. And I haven't been very good at suicide."
I felt my face reddening and my heart racing again.
"I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's a lot more than you bargained for, I'm sure."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I want to understand you. The truth doesn't frighten me."
"And you don't think I've suffered from an imaginary illness?" I asked, thinking of Paul.
"Of course not. Why would I?"
"Just wondering."
We were quiet for a moment, then I turned back to him.
"Why didn't you forget about me?" I asked. "There are plenty of women in New York."
"I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. It's as simple as that."
If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote – thank you!