Page 4 of Write Me For You

June

Harmony Ranch, Texas

Three days later…

T he butterflies of anxiety in my stomach morphed into ones of awe as I drank in the view of the hospital that would be my home for the next few months.

It was like no other hospital I’d ever been in.

The pamphlet about the trial explained how it was once a working ranch, until it was repurposed and was approved as a hospital many years ago.

The drive up to the ranch on its own had seemed utopian.

The driveway was neatly graveled, and trees lined the side of the road.

I smiled when I saw in the fields that made up the property and the horses grazing in the grass paddocks.

I adored horses. Before my illness, I was a rider.

When the pain in my bones and limbs became too much, I’d had to pull back.

It broke my heart. I hadn’t visited the stables since.

It was too painful to visit the place that had once provided so much peace and solitude for me.

It was a slice of happiness that had been taken from me.

But I couldn’t help the smile that etched itself on my face as a chestnut gelding lifted his head at our car passing by.

My mama looked back at me, clearly seeing him too, and our eyes met.

Her expression mirrored mine. The sun was high in the sky, and the Texas warmth wrapped around me as I opened my window and inhaled the close, humid air.

It kissed my face, tiny droplets of heat penetrating my skin.

My nerves abated and a serene feeling embraced me.

I saw picnic benches and comfortable sitting areas, stables and barbeque areas. Lights wrapped around the trees that I knew would look magical as dusk fell and the burnt-orange Texan sunset enrobed the sky.

This place was utterly beautiful.

We rounded the corner, and the building came into view.

“Incredible,” I whispered. It was hard to believe that this place was a hospital.

It was like something from a movie—a sprawling wooden ranch house, with brown window frames and a brown tin roof.

The front entrance boasted large, rustic, wooden pillars and a wide wraparound porch.

Rocking chairs were placed along it, which would allow me to do one of my very favorite things: rocking in a porch chair as the sun rose and fell.

We had them at home, and a pang of homesickness washed through me, a sudden bout of fear following when I wondered if I would ever see it again.

I thought of our small, white home with its own porch and thick crop of trees to the side of it. The sound of the crickets at night, the water tower that could be seen just over the treetops, the stars that reigned above us like a million diamonds scattered in the sky.

I closed my eyes to fight away the fear.

I tried my hardest to not let it in, but this was it .

This ranch—as majestic as it was—was all that stood between me and death.

It was a surreal state to exist within, one foot in the afterlife and one still firmly rooted to this earth.

Living with a terminal disease so far had felt like I would wake up one morning and thank the Lord that it was all just a bad dream.

But every day I did wake, I remembered that it wasn’t a dream.

This was my life.

This was my fight. I was still in it. And I intended to win.

“Darlin’.” My daddy’s voice broke through my racing thoughts.

I opened my eyes to see we had stopped in front of the ranch.

It appeared even more imposing up close.

Daddy opened the car door for me, and I stepped outside.

I reached for my notebook that I always kept with me, for when inspiration struck.

I heard water bubbling and wondered if there was a pool. Probably. This place was incredible. There was a building off to the right side. “I think that’s where the parents stay,” Daddy said. I nodded, feeling relieved. I needed my parents close. I couldn’t do this without them.

Mama stood next to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulders just as the large doors to the ranch opened.

A middle-aged woman with a riot of curls; stunning, deep-brown skin; and a bright-pink suit came walking toward us.

Her smile was wide, and kindness radiated from her every movement.

“Hey, y’all!” she greeted, then began to shake our hands.

“Y’all must be the Scotts, and you must be June. ”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

She held my hand in both of hers. “I’m Neenee, the ranch’s director. And we are so happy to have you with us.”

“Thank you,” I said, as she gestured for us to follow her inside. “Y’all are the last to arrive. So I’ll show June to her room, then give you a tour. Then, Mom and Dad, I’m gonna need to steal you away to the office for some paperwork.”

“No problem,” Mama said, placing her arm around me once more.

I knew my parents were nervous too, but we were all optimistic.

We had reviewed the findings of this new drug, and it was working for so many.

More were cured than not. And for the first time in weeks, I had seen light shining in my mama’s eyes and my daddy standing just that little bit taller.

Neenee led us into the foyer, and I came to a dead stop. The walls were a deep mahogany, varnished and shining. The floors were too, with vintage-looking carpet and rugs adding a sense of comfort. A vast staircase was at the end of the hallway, sweeping and ornate. It broke into two at the top.

Stairs had become a little difficult for me.

My illness had left me with an obvious limp in my right leg.

Clearly seeing this on my face, Neenee said, “All of the bedroom suites are on the ground floor. Upstairs is reserved for the offices and the staff.” I smiled at her and reached up to make sure my headscarf was still in place.

Today’s color was sage green, to match the dress I wore, over which was an oversized, cream-colored cardigan that kept away the chill.

I felt the cold a lot these days, even when the Texas heat soared.

“Harmony Ranch is set on over one hundred acres, and the main property is just a fraction over twelve thousand square feet.” She stopped at an oil painting of an older man dressed in a suit.

“The man who built it, Mr. Owens, lost his teen daughter to cancer, and after his death, he wished for this place to become a place of hope for teens with cancer to keep fighting. It took years to get the ranch approved as a hospital, but it has become a beacon of light to those who come to heal here since.”

A burst of warmth filled my veins followed by sorrow for the man who had lost his child. I discreetly looked to my mama and daddy and saw sadness on their faces. I knew losing me was their biggest fear.

“If you’ll come this way,” Neenee said, and took us toward the room I’d be staying in.

I followed along and marveled at the decor—the intricate cornices, the artwork, the ornaments making the vast ranch house feel so homey.

Despite the size, there was a coziness to the place.

It wasn’t sterile and clinical, like all the other hospitals and treatments centers I’d been in.

This truly was a harmonious sanctuary. Nothing about it screamed “medical.”

We turned down three long hallways and stopped at a door where the room read Dove . “This is your suite, June,” Neenee said. She opened the door, and we followed her inside.

I gasped at its beauty. Rich, green-paneled walls brought a sense of peace to the room.

It was large but not so much that I felt lost within it.

There was a plush couch, a substantial TV-and-living space to one side, and a double bed at the other.

The linens were floral in the most elegant way.

On closer inspection, I realized that the bed was a clinical one.

It had the call buttons and the controls to move it to sitting position, for the harder days, when staying bed was the only choice.

There were large chairs to the side of the bed, clearly for visitors.

IV stands were collected in the corner, and a medical cabinet disguised as a tall dresser was beside the bed.

They had tried their absolute best to tone down why we were here and make it a place of rest and comfort.

I went through the closed door at the end of the room and was greeted with a bathroom.

The walls were paneled and dusky pink, with a claw-foot bathtub and roomy cubicle shower, with subtle handrails and stools.

There was an emergency pull and anything else I could need when I didn’t feel so strong, like a shower stool, a walker and long handled brushes to name a few.

When I came back into the main space, I noticed the wardrobe that rivaled the one to Narnia along the far wall. “It’s beautiful,” I said, feeling completely overwhelmed.

I could heal here , I thought. I could make it a home while I complete the treatment.

“You like it, honey?” my mama asked.

“I do,” I said, nodding. “I really do.”

“Some place, huh?” Daddy said and dropped a kiss on my head. “This’ll be a nice place to stay for a while,” he said just as a knock on the door sounded.

A young man carried in my luggage.

“Thank you, Bailey,” Neenee said as he placed them by the wardrobe.

Bailey smiled at us. “Nice to meet y’all,” he greeted, then left the room.

“June, will you be okay here to settle in while I steal away your parents for a while?” Neenee asked.

“Of course.” I smiled at them as they left, then held my notebook to my chest and turned a full 360, taking it all in.

I waited for the fear, the nerves about what lay before me, but they didn’t come.

A heady peace settled over me, and a flicker of excitement sprouted in my stomach too.

Something about this place felt special somehow.

I knew deep down that it was going to help me.

Change my life. Something about my being here just felt right… destined.

I sat on the end of the bed, noting it’s softness, but then turned to the French doors that led outside. I looked beyond them, and a happy laugh spilled from my lips when I saw that same chestnut gelding from the paddock had moved to the part of the field my room faced.

A loud laugh came through the door from somewhere else in the house.

Deciding to explore some, I was leaving my room when I heard the laugh again.

I turned left and, with my notebook still clutched to my chest, tried to track down what sounded like a group of people talking.

A smattering of nerves did rush through me this time.

In all the time I had fought my leukemia, I hadn’t made many friends in the same position as me.

We had to travel to big cities for my many treatments and all the back-and-forth traveling hadn’t afforded me many people to take into my confidence.

The truth was, making friends had never come easy to me.

I had many acquaintances, but no one I would consider a best friend.

I had always hoped those relationships would come later in high school, but then I was diagnosed with cancer at fifteen, and I watched those dreams slip away like sand in an hourglass.

I wasn’t lonely. I adored my parents, and I always had my characters in my books to keep me company. But I couldn’t deny that I longed to know what a true, close friendship felt like. Someone to completely confide in.

I made a right, then a left, marveling at the living spaces that were filled with board games and couches, a vast kitchen, and even a movie room.

The glass doors to the outside showed a large swimming pool and a firepit ringed with Adirondack chairs.

There were other outbuildings, no doubt filled with exciting things.

But as I turned right again, I realized that I was completely lost. The laughter from someone in the house had faded away, and I could no longer follow the intriguing sound to navigate through the many corridors.

I turned left, hoping it would help me circle back to something familiar, when I came to a sudden stop just before I barreled into someone turning my way. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said as I stepped back.

When I looked up, it was to see a tall boy in a blue shirt with the sleeves cut off, faded blue jeans, an orange baseball cap on his head—worn backwards—a football in his hands, and the most striking green eyes I’d ever seen. My breath lodged in my throat as I took in his whole face.

He was, simply put, the most handsome boy I’d ever laid eyes on.

“Wow,” he said, country-boy Texan accent thick as he stared down at me too. “You’re beautiful.”

I felt heat instantly flood my cheeks, and a small smirk pulled onto his mouth.

An unfamiliar sensation trickled down my spine.

A boy had never called me beautiful before, never even looked my way—especially not one that looked like him.

Disbelief quickly followed. Because when I looked in the mirror these days, I felt far from beautiful.

But despite my fluster, I couldn’t pull myself away from this boy. He quickly wiped his hand on his shirt and held it out. “I’m Jesse.”

I forced one hand to release the notebook clutched to my chest, placing it in his, and said, “June.” There was shyness to my voice, but when I saw a tint of redness kiss his cheeks too, I knew I wasn’t the only one experiencing this strange feeling.

One look at the lack of hair under his baseball cap told me he was obviously one of the patients here too.

I swallowed, heart flipping as Jesse smiled and dimples popped in his cheeks.

He was tall and, despite his illness, broad in frame with slightly muscled arms. He held on to his football, and I held on to my notebook—and I realized we were still holding hands…

I quickly pulled mine back, and Jesse shook his head. “Sorry about that, June.” His voice was as graveled as the driveway outside.

“That’s okay,” I said. I tried to walk away, but my legs wouldn’t move. There was something about this boy that kept me close. And the same peace that had washed over me in my room flowed over me again—as did the same flicker of excitement and the feeling that I was meant to be here.

Destined.