Page 20 of Letters of Faith
He nods his head against the top of mine.
“What did it say?” Grayson asks. There’s a wavering in his voice that I’m not used to, and I can’t place why—hesitation, maybe?
“He—um, didn’t want me to lose my faith because of his death. He wrote the letter the day we found out he had cancer. At that time, he still hoped to make it, but he wrote the letter just in case. I think he knew I would be angry if I lost him?”
“Are you angry?”
My laugh is bitter as I pick at the edge of the blanket.
“Of course I’m angry—at myself for being so weak, at Nate for leaving, and at God for not saving my husband—and I hate it because none of that anger makes sense. Nate couldn’t help that he left. He was sick, and God—well, I know that he doesn’t answer all our prayers in the way we want him to. I feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum because I didn’t get my way, but I’m so mad at him.”
Grayson’s arm squeezes me tight, and I wish it were enoughto heal me—to shatter all the hurt that pokes at me like glass.
“I wish I could tell you that anger goes away, Georgia, but I’ve been angry for a long time. I’ve heard all my life that God is good by people who have shown no goodness to me, so I’m probably not the person to help you there.”
His body heat seeps into mine as his arm stays wrapped around me, muscles bunching as he holds onto me, and I soak in that strength, hoping one day I can find my own.
“There was—uh—there was one more thing. From the letter, I mean,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek and debating how to explain the rest. I decide it’s best to drop it like a weight, letting the effect hit all at once. “He said I should move on—you know, find someone new to love.”
Grayson’s body stiffens, not moving a single inch. Even his chest has stopped moving as he holds his breath. With my head still against his shoulder, I tilt my head back, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs—once, twice, three times. His arms loosen, and I sit up to look at him. He still hasn’t said anything, and worry sits in my stomach, the size of that weight I just threw down.
When another second passes, the silence begins to become too heavy.
“I’m not cheating on Nate,” I say, the words harsh even to my ears, but if Grayson can’t accept that I could maybe love someone else someday, how am I supposed to?
His face softens, but I look away. I don’t want to see the pity there—not from him.
“Georgia, I didn’t think that. You just surprised me, is all. I didn’t know you were considering trying to find someone else.”
“I wasn’t—I’m not,” I deny. “It’s just the letter made me realize that I’m lonely. I miss the connection I had with Nate, but there’s no replacing Nate. That’s what I would be doing, replacing him, wiping out his memory as if he wasn’t one of the most important people in my life.”
Grayson clears his throat, considering what I said as he looks up at the stars.
“There’s no replacing Nate, Peach. The right person won’t let you forget him. They won’t be intimidated by his memory. The right person will love him because he loves you,” he says to the sky, but when he gets to this next part, he lowers his head so he’s looking directly at me. I want to look away, but his gaze is like a magnetic field, pulling me to him. His hand reaches out, and his palm lays against my jaw. My breath hitches, the heat of his hand seeping into my skin. My eyes are drawn to the orchid on his arm. I want to ask him why he got it—if he knows that Nate brought me an orchid every year for our anniversary because it’s my favorite—but I don’t, too afraid of what the answer will be. “If you ever decide you want to find someone, I’ll be here for you. No questions asked. No judgment, but he better be good enough for you.”
The muscle in his jaw works as he says that last part. Nate was one of the most important people in my life, but he wasn’t the only one. Grayson’s been a part of my life as long as Nate. He’s always been important, but lately, it feels like his role in my life is changing, morphing into something I don’t recognize.
Chapter 9
Georgia,
This is it.
The doctor came in a couple of hours ago and said there’s nothing left for them to do. I’m going to die, but before I do, there’s something I need to do.
Since the day we found out I had cancer, you’ve taken care of me. A husband’s job is supposed to be to take care of his wife—provide for her—but you’ve taken on that role because I physically can’t. Now it’s time I do something to take care of you.
Today, I watched you as the doctor told us that I only have two more months, and my heart broke for you. You were devastated, but I knew you were planning to fight—even when they told us there were no options left. Then I had to tell you that I’m tired. I felt like the biggest jerk in that moment. I know you want me here with you, and I wish more than anything that I could stay with you forever. I would spend lifetimes with you if I could, but our timing is not our own.
When I found out I had cancer, I wrote you a letter, and if you are receiving this one, that means that you’ve gotten the other one too. I meant every word. Your faith and love are the two most important things you can have in life, and with me gone, I know you will struggle with both.
After writing that first letter, I started thinking of ways to help you move on with life, not just stay stuck in my death.
Because let’s be honest, Georgia, you’re a hermit. You fold into yourself when you’re hurting because you don’t want to inconvenience anyone else with your pain, but let me tell you something. That’s complete and utter BULL.
Roll your eyes. Go ahead. I know you want to.
Because in order for you to listen to the rest of this letter, I need you to know how well I know you.
