Chapter 8 - The Last Letter
The words struck me with a force I hadn't expected.
After Phoebe died, her belongings came to my house in cardboard boxes from the hospital and the wrecked car.
Among them was a letter she'd written but never mailed.
It was addressed to Emmett.
I had given it to him two days after the funeral, still sealed.
There had never been a secret about that letter, at least not between us.
But Emmett turned toward me as though Claire had named something private.
“Arthur,” he said, “what exactly did Phoebe write?”
“I don't know.”
“You never opened it?”
“Never.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Claire told me you did.”
My chest constricted.
“She said you'd read it and decided some parts would hurt me.”
“I wouldn't do that to you or to Phoebe.”
Emmett nodded, but the sadness in his face remained.
He reached into his jacket and handed me the blue envelope from the reception.
The original letter was inside.
“Read it,” he said.
“I don't want to stand between you and your daughter anymore.”
I unfolded the pages.
Phoebe's familiar handwriting slanted across the paper.
She had written it during a brief work trip when Margot was still a toddler.
The letter contained ordinary things: a joke about the kitchen faucet, affection for Emmett, a reminder to buy strawberries, a wish that their daughter would always feel safe.
Then came the sentence I had heard Emmett quote at the wedding.
If anything ever happens to me, please don't let anyone turn loving me into a reason Margot has to be smaller.
I read it twice.
Below it, Phoebe had added another thought.
Dad will know how to tell her our stories, but you must promise to make new ones with her too.
Tears blurred the ink.
She had trusted both of us.
There was nothing in the letter to divide us unless someone wanted to twist its meaning.
Emmett took it back with shaking hands.
“Claire said Phoebe wanted me to move on completely.”
“She said keeping your old traditions would trap Margot in grief.”
I looked toward the guest-room door.
“Our traditions never stopped Margot from living.”
“No,” Emmett said.
“They kept her connected.”
He sat down heavily at the kitchen table.
“Arthur, I need to tell you something.”
His gaze fell to his wedding ring.
May you like
“Claire already put our house up for sale.”
