Authors: Emily March
“Sure.”
He handed over the file. “We’re doing some work on the store and tore out some flooring in the basement. Uncovered a hidey-hole, and this was inside.”
“What is it?” she asked, eyeing the elastic string that wrapped around a button to keep the file closed.
“Some letters addressed to your mom. A couple addressed to your grandfather. Other papers, but I didn’t snoop any further once I figured out who the file belonged to. It was dusty. Obviously been down there awhile. I figure your mother just forgot about the file.”
Letters to Mom?
Lori’s stomach sank. Could these be
those
letters? She eyed the file envelope with a sense of curious trepidation. “Thanks, Logan. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
Lori set the file in the backseat of her new car and drove toward Angel’s Rest. She parked in the lot nearest the creek and assisted her grandmother from the car. From her backseat, she grabbed a canvas tote filled with water bottles and a tin of ginger cookies. At the last minute, she stuck the file into the bag, too.
“What am I supposed to do?” Ellen asked.
“You are going to come with me. We are going to sit beside the creek and enjoy the sunshine.”
“Okay.”
Lori linked her arm with her grandmother’s, and they strolled along the stone path to the pair of white wicker chairs that sat beneath the shade of a big cottonwood tree. She drew a deep breath of rose-perfumed air and listened to the music of the bubble and rush of the mountain creek and willed herself to relax. In all honesty, Lori had proposed this outing as much for herself as for her grandmother. She shared her grandmother’s love of mountain streams. She, too, found them soothing.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d needed soothing as much as she needed it today.
At creekside, she guided Ellen to a seat in the wicker chair, then took her own seat beside her grandmother. Inhaling a deep breath, she sent up a short, silent prayer for peace. She took her grandmother’s hand in hers and gently squeezed it. “See that little pool across the creek, Nana? I remember one time when you and me and Granddad stretched out on our bellies and hung our heads over the pool and watched a trout. He was so still, but every so often he’d flick his tail. I wanted to try to catch it with my hands, but Granddad convinced me just to watch it.”
Ellen’s brow furrowed. “Where is Frank?”
“He’s gone, Nana,” Lori softly responded, her heart twisting.
“He’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“I knew that.” She lifted her hand and placed two fingers against her temple. “I’m not so good here anymore, but”—she put her fist over her heart—“this still works. I miss him. I miss him so much.”
“I know, Nana. Me, too.”
“Love hides, but it’s always here.” Sunlight glinted off the diamond anniversary ring Ellen Reese wore every day in addition to her wedding ring, as she thumped her chest. “Always. Remember that.”
“I will, Nana. I will.”
Lori closely studied her grandmother’s face. She sometimes experienced a flare of clarity during which the old Nana surfaced. Back in May she’d had an entire afternoon when she came out of her fog almost entirely. Mom had called Lori, and the three generations of Reeses had enjoyed a wonderful hour-long conversation. It would be awesome if she’d come back while Lori was home. She’d sounded a little bit with it just then. Could it be? No, her eyes didn’t have it.
She squeezed her grandmother’s hand once again and repeated, “Love is always there.”
Lori’s gaze drifted to the tote bag. “Would you like a cookie, Nana?”
“No, thank you.”
Temptation rose within Lori, and it had nothing to do with the tin filled with delicious-tasting calories. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. That brown file could be a real Pandora’s box. She chewed on her lip, then chomped on a cookie and chugged her water.
Before ten minutes passed, she surrendered. While her grandmother dozed in the sun, Lori opened the file and reached inside. She found a stack of papers, two letters from a bank addressed to her grandfather, and six envelopes addressed to Sarah Reese in a masculine scrawl, postmarked Australia. The envelopes had been opened.
With trembling fingers, she pulled a letter from one of the envelopes—three sheets of paper, folded twice.
Dear Sarah
,
First let me say I screwed up. Royally
.
The letter went on for pages and detailed Cam Murphy’s life from the time of his release from juvenile detention to when he settled in Cairns, Australia. It was both an explanation of the events of his life and, Lori realized, a plea for understanding. A couple of paragraphs toward the end caused her heart to catch.
I think about our little girl often. I picture her with your lovely eyes and dark curls. I have many regrets in my life, Sarah, but leaving you and our daughter is at the top of the list. I wish I could have believed in myself, trusted myself, more than ten years ago, but I can’t rewrite history
.
The future, though, is different. Say the word and I’m there, Sarah. I missed the terrible twos, but I’ll help with the teens. The enclosed check is a small start. No matter what you decide about my coming home, you can plan on my sending checks
.
He finished by listing contact addresses and numbers, and closed with his hope to hear from her soon.
Lori slowly lowered the letter. She was breathing as if she’d just run five miles. She reached for the second letter, devoured it, then ran quickly through letters three, four, and five. With each letter, the length shortened and the tone sharpened.
The sixth letter wasn’t really much of a letter at all.
Sarah:
If receiving my letters is as painful for you as the eternally empty mailbox is for me, then I apologize for having hurt you yet again. Your continued silence sends a crystal-clear message. I won’t write you again. I will, however, continue to contribute to our daughter’s support through an account I set up through my local bank
.
He provided information on who to contact to access the funds, then added:
I admit to the fear that I may be failing my daughter once again by taking this path. However, I have confidence in the fact that the Sarah Reese I knew and loved would always, always, put her child first. You must believe it is in our child’s best interest to have no contact with me, so I’ll accept that. If that ever changes, please let me know. If you ever choose to tell her anything about me, I hope it will be this: Right or wrong, I tried to do what I thought was best for her. Someday she should know that I love her. I always have, and I always will
.
Cam
Lori didn’t realize that she had tears streaming down her face until her grandmother patted her knee and said, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
The question came from her heart, though she knew better than to expect an answer. “Why did you keep Cam Murphy away from us, Nana?”
“Cam Murphy broke my Sarah’s heart. She doesn’t think we know, but we do. We have to protect her. We love you both.”
“Oh, Nana.” Lori swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Why does love have to cause so much heartache and grief?”
“Now, Lori,” chided a voice from upstream. “Love isn’t the problem. Love is the solution.”
Lori looked around to see Celeste Blessing standing in the middle of Angel Creek, wearing waders and holding a fly rod. Embarrassed, flustered, and feeling way too vulnerable at the moment, Lori tried to pretend that she had not been overheard. “Hi, Celeste. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you when we sat down. Are we disturbing your fishing?”
Celeste dismissed the question with a wave. “Not at all. Here, I fish for relaxation more than with the thought of catching anything. I’m glad to see you. Now, what’s this about love causing heartache and grief? Is the weekend with your father not going well?”
“No, not really.”
“What’s the problem?”
Lori didn’t know how to respond. Contrary to Lori’s expectations, her mother’s slutty behavior yesterday afternoon appeared to have gone unnoticed by the gossips in town. But had Mom shared her sex-life secrets with her friends? Uncertain, she attempted to be discreet and replied with a shrug. “It’s complicated.”
Celeste clicked her tongue. She splashed toward the bank, set down her fly rod, complimented Ellen on her outfit, then addressed Lori. “Lori Elizabeth, you are dear to me. I have a request to make of you.”
“I love you, too, Celeste,” Lori interrupted, “but if your request has anything to do with Cam Murphy, I’m going to say no.”
Celeste frowned over the top of her sunglasses. “I didn’t plan to mention your father.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Lori gave a sheepish smile.
Celeste removed her waders, then folded her hands over her bosom. “My request is that you look deep inside yourself and find your inner angel.”
“My what?”
“Your inner angel. You see, Lori, your inner angel will show you how to drop the anchor of emotional burdens and fly. Your inner angel knows where to find light to chase away the darkness. Your inner angel helps you balance when the world pushes and pulls. And, most important of all, your inner angel has a wingspan that is broad enough to lift the hearts of those in pain.”
“I don’t think I have an angel inside me, Celeste.”
“Sure you do.” She patted Lori’s shoulder. “You actually have a powerful angel inside of you.”
Lori thought Celeste was so cute when she went off on one of her angel tangents. “I do?”
“You do. Your inner angel possesses angel thoughts that have the power to heal. Don’t be afraid of them, Lori. All you need to do is send them out into the world and you can effect great and glorious change, true and lasting healing.” Celeste leaned down, squeezed Lori’s shoulder, and spoke softly into her ear. “Seek your angel with an open heart, an open mind, Lori Elizabeth, and you will find her. You will find unwavering inner strength and an abundance of joy. Your angel will lead you to your dreams.”
Cam dreamed of angels on Saturday night.
Surrounded by darkness, the
Freedom
floated on a flat, glassy sea, its sails hanging limp. Cam stood at the wheel, alone, possessed of the certain knowledge that
Freedom
’s voyage had lasted aeons.
Before him, far away in the distance, the sun dipped toward the snow-whitened crest of a mountain range. Cam focused on the crimson and gold of sunset, and a deep, profound yearning filled his soul.
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight
.
But the
Freedom
stood becalmed. Cam’s heart began to pound. The light of day was dying, and he couldn’t get there. He remained stranded, trapped, lost on the cold, lonely sea.
The dulcet voice as soothing as harp strings whispered in his ears.
Call up the wind, sailor. You have the ability. You have the power. All you need do is forgive. Resentment is an anchor holding you back from that which you desire most. Find the angel within you; cut the anchor line and beat your wings. The winds of forgiveness will stir a hurricane of healing and call up a tide of love that can carry you home
.
On deck of the
Freedom
, Cam shook a fist at heaven.
I tried. I tried, but I failed!
So what?
asked the voice.
Isn’t the privilege of flying worth falling on your face a time or two?
The privilege of flying
.
Flying
. A coveted dream. Wasn’t that what called him to the water? Wasn’t sailing the next best thing to having wings of his own?
Why settle for second best, sailor? Why remain earth-bound? Reach for your wings, Cam Murphy. They’ll carry you to heaven
.
Cam awoke to a sunny Sunday morning.
Covered in feathers.
He blinked. “What the hell?”
A quick inspection of his bed solved the puzzle. His pillow was ripped at the seam. Mortimer must have started to eat the pillow at some point. No wonder he’d dreamed about the angel again.
A dream. Just a dream
. He stood, yawned, and scratched his chest. A silly, stupid dream. He didn’t have an inner angel. The only way he’d fly anywhere was in a 747.
In the bathroom, he started the shower and waited for the water to get hot. When steam began to rise on the cool morning air, he stepped into the shower. Darned if he didn’t hear the chime of angelic laughter in his head.
If you believe that, Cam Murphy, then why did you just check out your back in the mirror?
Sunday was Sarah’s day off, but she usually awoke early out of habit, and today was no different, despite a sorry night’s sleep. Her mother had awakened her three times as she wandered about the house. Each time Sarah had trouble getting back to sleep, plagued as she was by thoughts of Cam.
A naked picture of her had led to the fight that night, not beer, and not his father. Cam had hurt Andrew while trying to be a hero—trying to be
her
hero—and
now
he tells her about it? All these years later? Stupid male pride. And yet how wonderful that he’d tried to protect her and Nic that way. At their age, they’d have been devastated by the violation of their privacy. Beneath that pride, Cam had a good heart. He’d told her he was worthy of her trust … Was he? Was she making a terrible mistake?
Now, with dawn a rosy glow outside her bedroom window, she abandoned the effort and rolled wearily from her bed. Plans for the day included the late church service, then brunch at Ali’s restaurant before driving Lori to the airport to catch her flight back to Virginia. She’d be busy, which was good, but she’d drag all day if she didn’t do something to boost her energy level.
She decided to go for a run. A quick mile might be just what she needed to chase away the weary and the blues.