Chapter 13 - the letter meant only for margaret)
Eleanor waited until three months after sentencing.
Then she called Margaret.
"I have something."
Margaret almost laughed.
"If it's another folder of fraud, burn it."
"It isn't."
"Another envelope?"
"Yes."
Margaret closed her eyes.
"Robert was apparently very enthusiastic about stationery before he died."
Eleanor laughed softly.
"This one is personal."
Margaret collected it the next morning.
She did not open it in Eleanor's office.
She took it home.
She made coffee.
She carried the cup into the garden.
The white roses were blooming again.
Robert had loved them because Margaret had pretended she did not want roses at their wedding.
They were too expensive.
Robert bought twelve anyway.
Forty-seven years later, she still accused him of ignoring the budget.
He always answered, "Best bad investment I ever made."
Margaret sat on the stone bench.
She opened the envelope.
Maggie,
If Eleanor gave you this, then the legal mess is probably mostly finished.
I hope I was wrong about Vanessa.
If I was wrong, throw this letter away and spend a few minutes insulting me.
If I was right, I am sorry.
Margaret smiled through tears.
Robert continued.
There is something I should have told you while I was alive.
You were always the strong one.
I know that sounds ridiculous because I was louder, bigger and better at pretending I knew what I was doing.
But you were the person who held our life together.
I built the company.
You built the reason I came home.
Margaret lowered the page.
She cried until the words blurred.
Then she continued.
I also know your weakness.
You think peace is your responsibility.
It isn't.
You think when two people you love are fighting, you must become the bridge.
Sometimes bridges get walked on.
I watched you spend years protecting Vanessa from discomfort because you believed discomfort meant suffering.
I helped.
We were wrong.
There are consequences that injure people.
There are also consequences that teach them where the edge is.
If Vanessa crossed that edge, let her feel the fall.
Do not jump after her.
Margaret covered her mouth.
The next paragraph was shorter.
And do not give away the insurance because you feel guilty for being alive.
That money is not a payment for my death.
It is a promise I made while I was living.
Use it for yourself.
Travel.
Fix the stupid upstairs bathroom.
Buy the ridiculous blue car you liked and then pretended you didn't.
Keep the house or sell it.
I don't care.
Just don't spend the rest of your life proving you loved me by refusing to enjoy what is left of yours.
Margaret laughed aloud.
A neighbor's dog barked.
She kept reading.
Grace will need you.
Not as a rescuer.
As proof that one family mistake does not have to become a family tradition.
As for Vanessa, if she tells the truth, listen.
If she lies, walk away.
If she changes, allow her to change without pretending nothing happened.
Forgiveness without memory is just permission with prettier clothes.
Margaret read that sentence three times.
The final paragraph broke her.
You asked me once what I wanted you to do if I died first.
I said remarry someone uglier than me.
That was a joke.
Mostly.
Here is the real answer.
Live long enough that missing me becomes only one part of your day.
Not all of it.
I love you.
I loved you when we were twenty-four and broke.
I loved you when we were forty and exhausted.
I loved you yesterday.
If there is anything after this, I suspect I still do.
Robert
Margaret pressed the letter against her chest.
For three months she had survived by solving problems.
Attorneys.
Banks.
Courtrooms.
Insurance.
Grace.
Vanessa.
Daniel.
This was the first moment she allowed herself to be simply a widow.
She cried until the coffee went cold.
Then she went upstairs.
The bathroom faucet had leaked for eight years.
Robert always promised to replace it.
Margaret called a contractor.
Two weeks later she bought the ridiculous blue car.
Grace screamed when she saw it.
"Grandma."
"What?"
"This is a convertible."
"I know."
"You hate convertibles."
"I lied."
Grace laughed.
Margaret looked toward the passenger seat.
For half a second, she imagined Robert there.
Not as a ghost.
Not as a supernatural sign.
Just memory.
A familiar grin.
One eyebrow raised.
Best bad investment I ever made.
May you like
Margaret smiled.
Then she drove.
