Page 75 of Letters of Faith
“It’s never been you, Georgia—at least, not really. When my dad left, Nate was the only good man I had left, and I was jealous that you got his attention. I was a young kid who was missing my dad and brother, and I blamed you for that. I let that blame fester until I hated you, but—I realize it was never your fault. I just needed a place for all my anger, and you got the brunt of it. Mom and I,” she says, glancing at Ellie beside her, “we’ve had a long talk, and I’m workingon it.”
“How did you know about the letter?” I ask, not willing to accept the apology just yet.
Her face blooms redder than before, and I lean against the wall, waiting for her answer.
“That’s—um, that’s kind of why Mom’s here. She needs to tell you her story first before I can tell you mine.”
My gaze slices to Ellie, a slow panic building in my chest.
There’s a tired smile on Ellie’s face as she studies me.
“Can we sit?” she asks, and I nod, all my energy seeping out of my body.
The three of us walk over to the living room couch, and I sit in the chair beside the window while Harper and Ellie sit next to each other on the sofa.
Over the last couple of days, I’ve slowly started boxing up some of Nate’s things, and tears swim in Ellie’s eyes as she sees the boxes sitting in the corner.
“I was going to ask you if you wanted anything before I donated them,” I say quickly, afraid she will be angry at me for getting rid of some of the memories of her son.
She must realize that because she shakes her head and says, “It’s time, Georgia.”
I nod and sit back in my seat, an ache deep in my chest. It is time, but it doesn’t make it easy.
“What I’m about to say—-well, I just need you to promise to listen to me before you say anything, okay?” Ellie asks.
I bob my head, afraid to speak.
“Before Nate—passed,” she says, pausing and stumbling over her words, “he—uh—he asked me to do something for him. He had found out he was terminal, and his time was limited. There was a day you needed to run some errands, so you asked me to sit with him. I did so willingly, wanting as many days with my son as possible.While I was here, he asked me to bring him a pen and paper. I’d argued, telling him he needed to rest, but he’d insisted. He said it was important, so I gave in. He sat up in bed with his hands trembling and wrote a letter. After he was finished, he asked me for a favor—one that I could tell meant everything to him.”
She stops here, letting the puzzle pieces click together in my mind. My whole body is shaking, and I have to wrap my arms around myself to keep from falling apart.
“You are the one who has been sending the letters,” I say, my voice quivering.
She nods and continues, “Nate was so scared you wouldn’t be okay without him. He could see you floundering already, and he just wanted you to be okay. That boy loved you so much that he was willing to put himself aside to help you move on. I could see how much each letter caused him pain—both physically and mentally—but even when I insisted that he stop, he refused. He kept writing, and I was so proud of him for loving you like that. He was the man that his father could never be.”
“Why did you wait a year to send them?”
A vice grip around my lungs makes it hard to get the words out.
“When Nate asked me to send the letters, he made it clear that I was to send them at my own discretion. He wanted me to send them when he knew you would be willing to listen to what he had to say. After he passed, I worried that time would never come, but then I saw how Grayson took care of you and how you let him take care of you. I knew that eventually, that time would come.”
“Did you send Grayson’s letter, too?”
A sheepish look crosses her face, and she dips her head, nodding.
“Did you—uh—did you ever read any of the letters?” I ask.
“No, Georgia, no,” she says, shaking her head vehemently. “Those letters were meant for you and Grayson—never for me.”
A flash of disappointment runs through me. It’s not that I wanted her to read the letters. I’m glad she didn’t, but at the same time, part of me still wants to know what Grayson’s said—not because I don’t trust him, but because I’m curious to know what Nate said to him. I turn my head to Harper, who is squirming in her seat.
“Your mom didn’t read them, but you did, didn’t you?” I ask, anger creeping back in.
She swallows hard and nods. “But only Grayson’s, and not even all of it. It wasn’t finished when I read it. I should have never told you what I did about the letter because it’s not technically true. I mean, kind of it is, but I dishonored my brother’s memory by twisting his words, and I’m sorry.”
“What exactly did it say, Harper?” There’s ice in my voice as I stare at her. She apologized, and eventually, I’ll accept it. Not today, though. It’s going to take some time.
“I—I can’t remember.”
