Page 83 of Silent Count
I don’t know if you know this, but your aunt’s been writing me over the years. She’s told me about the things you’ve done, and I just want you to know I’m proud of both of you. I know that might not mean much coming from me, but it’s the truth.
I’ve been busy these last fifteen years. Got my high school diploma and even took some college classes, mostly just to pass the time. Had a few jobs here and there and even started up a little gardening club. Keeps me busy. Most of my days are spent in Bible study now.
I know it seems too late to be finding guidance, but a man like me needs something to hold on to. What I’ve learned over the years is that I wasn’t a good man. Wasn’t raisedby a good man, who wasn’t raised by one either. Guess it just kept going down the line.
The best thing that ever happened to you and your sister was being put with my sister.
I’m glad Laura gave you the kind of life your mom and I never could. She’s done right by you, like I always figured she would. She was always the smart one and from what I hear you take after her more than you ever did your old man.
I ain’t gonna waste your time with some long apology. Don’t think that’d fix anything anyway. But I am sorry—for what you and your sister went through because of me and your mom. You didn’t deserve that.
I’ve been trying to make peace with the Lord before I go, and I hope maybe one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me, even just a little.
Goodbye, Chelsea. You and your sister take care of each other, and always follow the light.
Robert Sullivan
Not Dad. Robert Sullivan. He has never been a father to me or my sister though, and I guess he knows that and has at least an ounce of respect for us not to insult us by calling himself Dad.
I fold up the paper and put it back inside the envelope. My hands are no longer shaking, and I’m not really sure what I should feel right now. I thought maybe I would be a little more … upset, but all I feel is detached.
I set the letter next to me on the bed and walk around to the other side of my bed and get my phone off the charger.
Chelsea: I read it.
Aunt Laura: And?
Chelsea: He’s dying.
Aunt Laura: I know, he told me in his letter to me. What else did he say?
Chelsea: Hang on.
I pick up the letter, take a picture of it, and send it to her.
Aunt Laura: How do you feel?
Chelsea: I feel…nothing. Nothing may be a good thing. I honestly thought I’d feel distraught after reading.
Aunt Laura: Okay, that’s fair. Do you want me to come back over?
Chelsea: No, I’m fine. Honestly.
Aunt Laura: If you change your mind and need me, I’ll be there.
Chelsea: I know, and I love you for it.
Aunt Laura: I love you. So much.
Chelsea: I’ll see you tomorrow.
Aunt Laura: Night.
The letter is still in my hand from taking the picture of it, but I have the overwhelming urge to burn it. I don’t want any part of this man to touch the life I’m creating for myself. And just having this here feels like poison.
I take the letter and envelope in my hand and walk into the kitchen and grab the lighter we use for candles. I definitely can’t set off the smoke alarms, so I go to the sliding doors leading out to the tiny porch we have and open it. The burst of cold hits me, nearly taking my breath away.
Flicking the lighter, I watch the flame glow. Then I place the letter under it and watch it catch fire. I set the paper on the ground, then toss the envelope on top of it. I stand there, watching it burn until the fire goes out. The ashes scatter as a gust of icy air blows through.
