Dear Lucille

Dear Lucille,

It’s been so long since we’ve seen one another. I thought I would write a letter to you, so that we could catch up. I have quite the tale to tell you. I doubt you will know how to react, and am sure this may be difficult to read. But please, read carefully and let me tell you my story, for I can hold it in my chest no longer.

Half-an-hour before my heart breaks forever, I am laughing.

The party is good—better than good. At the time, it seemed to be the perfect start to my new, perfect life.

The wine is flowing, and I have certainly had a few too many glasses. After all - this is the best day of my life.

I had just been married the morning before - a quiet affair that took place in the small church I had grown up in. I was christened there, did I tell you?

The minister had known me since I was a child. He beamed as he ordained us married. At some point the beaming had turned into tears.

" I've never been this unprofessional," he rasped, wiping at his eyes. "It's just - To see you grown up and ready to settle down, start your own family,it’s…." He trails off and turns away, still wiping at his eyes. He doesn't say anymore. He doesn't need to. We both know what he left unsaid. How did I survive this long?

As a sickly child, I wasn't expected to live past three.

The circumstances around my illness were strange to say the least. Always hushed whispers and pitying glances. I was never made aware of what the origins of my illness were. Only told that God loves me, very, very much, and that I should pray. Always pray. My life began at the chapel, and seemed as though it would end there. I prayed so much that I considered my true path in life to be joining the convent that raised me. That was until I met John. Oh, my sweet and handsome John Quire. From the moment I saw him, I was instantly taken and knew he was special. He’s a good man - funny and kind. I thought to myself - Mother would love him, too. Lucille, isn’t that what every girl dreams of? He proposed to me within months.

The party is great. I dance, twirling around, my dress swirling around me. All the guests are dressed in fancy dress - how like John! To make something so funny! A post reception event where everyone is dressed in silly little costumes - who had ever heard of such a thing!

The two of us, silliest of all, dressed as groom and bride- and it wasn't even our wedding anymore!

I look into his eyes, and in between the last beat and the next we are kissing - just as chastely as we can manage. I am so happy. The crowd erupts - some cheering, some awing. My sister, Annie, the one with the red hair and freckles (Do you remember her? I introduced the two of you, that Sunday you were visiting.) begins to cry. One shouts at us- " Get a room!"

It's all love. Everything about it, so loving. Me and him, surrounded by family.

I still recall what happened right before I received the news that changed my life.

Dipping backwards, I whooped- the loudest I had ever dared to be. John, supporting my weight in his arms, gazed at me as he said, "This is the happiest day of my life." It was the happiest moment of mine. And yet. And yet-

My childhood doctor had been standing still in the corner the entire time. He was always a somber man. I had never seen him smile at all - only smiles that were meant to be comforting and reassuring. But underneath, you could see the pinched expression of pain he was always trying to hide. Pain and something else I hadn't quite understood yet. I never felt reassured by him much at all. Just scared and like I was all broken up and maybe even he couldn't fix me.

But he had, and all was good. But it wasn't good, was it?

As I twirl and dip and swoon in the arms of my groom, he says nothing. Until finally, he wobbles his way over to me - supporting half his weight on his cane as he was, he can hardly walk.

"A dance? For the old man?"

Overcome by the joyous atmosphere and my fourth glass of wine, I throw my arms over him, almost knocking him down. Just like you, I always was prone to fits of excitement.  In the orphanage, I learned to conduct myself as was befitting of a young lady. Here, it seemed all that was forgotten.

"Dr.Stevenson, I owe you my life. How could I say no?"

A grimace. (Wasn't that odd? A grimace, of all things, at a dance. You should have been there to see it, so out of place among all the happy smiling faces. But you never came, even though I sent you a card, you never did respond. Must have been busy, how unfortunate. )

And we begin to dance. At first, as we spin around the room, he can barely keep up. But for an old man with a cane, he's surprisingly spry, and soon begins to match my pace. His moves become more and more elaborate, and even he begins to feel the infectious energy in the room- all the excitement. I laugh, hugging him tightly.

"Doctor," I whisper, "I just never understood when I was a child. All I understood was that your office was cold and the medicine was unpleasant and hard to swallow. But I understand now. Thank you." I pulled back and -

Oh. That expression. I had never seen that before. Suddenly, very suddenly, he simply looked tired and full of regrets.

That's when he told me. Told me in these exact words that I don't think I'll ever forget. Took a deep breath, nice and slow, like someone does right before they tell you real big news. And his news was big. Whispered it right back to me, nice and quick, like he had been holding it back for ages.

"I must confess, in all my years as a doctor, I have never been so lost for words. The tragic nature of your case- I couldn’t bear to tell a mere child something so heavy. But I must tell you now. You may be able to have children. But it's not likely."

I too, am lost for words. Time stops.

“How?” That's all I could manage to say.

“Your mother. I didn’t think it should be kept from you any longer. I’m sorry.”

At all once I understood what he had so poorly been hiding behind those sad, painted-on smiles. Complete and utter disbelief.

Why was I never told? The circumstances underneath which I was taken away. I was told by everyone that I had been loved, that it had been a tragic moment when I arrived at the orphanage. That my mother couldn’t bear to give me up. Lucille, it turns out that all this time, I had been lied to.

I had known that wasn't completely true. I had lied to myself only partly, always wondering what had really happened, but content to imagine the flowery tall tales I had been fed.

The party ended. We sent them home early, everyone. Everyone except Robert. We sat, me and John and Dr. Robert Stevenson, all of us sitting at the large table which had just held our guests. Now empty, his hushed words seemed to echo loudly through the large room. He told us what my mother had done. How she had hurt me. 

Poisoned me constantly, giving me things like rat bait for breakfast, hoping that I'd get sick. How she would take me to doctors, feigning ignorance, shock and concern. Reveling in the attention, tolerating seeing me in pain if it meant that she would be able to get even a sliver of affection. No matter if I had to die for her to get it. She could always make another.  

Why? I just wonder, Lucille. How could a woman do such a thing to a child? It was immoral, it was wrong, it was a betrayal of all The Good Things. The responsibility and duty of a mother to protect her child. I am filled with self-righteousness as I tell myself how I couldn't even fathom thinking of doing such a thing.

But inside, much more selfishly, I was wondering how my own mother could do such a thing to me. Wondering why she couldn't just love me. Wondering if I wasn't good enough for her, will I ever be good enough for anyone? As soon as I was born, my own mother said that I was expendable. Would John look at me one day and feel the same?

He grasps my hand tightly, tugging at my arm. Turning the music back on, he holds me tightly, swaying me gently in his arms. One step, two steps, then three, and we are dancing. Really dancing. Tears are flying from my eyes, and I am laughing again. Only minutes after my heart breaks, I am laughing. Forever is a long time, afterall.

He whispers in my ear, again, as though we are still in a packed room, though it's just the two of us swaying to the music; our own private dance.

"I am simply the luckiest, happiest man in the world right now."

I whisper back, keeping up our charade. “Well, then I suppose I am the luckiest woman.”

In that moment, in his arms, I know he will never let me go. That was truly the most treasured moment of my life- the two of us, facing the first of life’s many challenges together.

My heart hurts for you; you cruel, selfish woman.

All Sincerity,

Your Daughter - Becca Ann Quire.