There was a letter waiting for me when I arrived home Friday evening. I casually tossed the pile of mail on the counter and didn’t remember it until Saturday morning. When it slipped from the stack of bills and advertisements, I immediately knew the origin. I held it gently, tracing my name on the front in soft, yet confident script. Clutching the envelope to my chest, I called the office and left a message that I would not be able to attend the morning meeting.
He had never written before, but I knew the handwriting well. It had not changed in all these years. I took the letter where I could sit with a view of the bay, and breathed in the scent before carefully breaking the seal. The letter was succinct, but I could read the restrained emotion in his terse words.
Little One,
I am alone. Melinda passed away unexpectedly in November and the children have now returned to the States. Celeste is preparing your cottage. A new stove has been installed. I think you will find it cozy and inviting. Please do not wait for summer.
Yours
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.