Page 12 of Letter for Two
“Mother,” Georgia said as they came into the living room. “This is Ethan and Sophia. They live in the Bartletts’ old house.”
A woman seated in an easy chair near a tall window looked up at them as they approached. She had hair the brilliant shade of white that never failed to look sophisticated. Her face bore the tell-tale wrinkles of age, but her eyes looked as alive and alert as a twenty-year-old’s. And she was their Eleanor.
“How is the old house?” Eleanor's frail frame trembled as she sat there, but she kept her gaze firmly on them.
“It’s charming.” Ethan sat on the sofa nearest her. “And the ash tree in the front yard, I’m told, was a sapling when you lived there.”
Eleanor nodded. “I helped my nieces and nephew plant it while I lived with them.”
Sophia leaned against Ethan as he talked to Eleanor about the house and neighborhood. He had a way with people. Had he developed that ability out of necessity in his profession, or had the talent led him to his chosen career? Either way, Sophia knew he was good with his patients. She hoped they appreciated him.
Ethan leaned back and shifted so his arm rested around Sophia. He’d done that the night before at Mrs. Garcia’s. He tucked her into the crook of his arm. Sophia gladly settled there.
“They brought something for you, Mother,” Georgia said when the conversation lulled a bit. She gave her mother the yellowed envelope with the letter folded alongside it. “This was delivered to their house, but it’s addressed to you.”
“For me?” Curiosity filled every line of Eleanor’s face. She put on her reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. “1966? My, but this was late in coming.”
Sophia and Ethan watched in silence as Eleanor read the letter. Her eyes slowly filled with tears.
“Mother?”
Eleanor pressed the open letter to her heart. “It’s from my Jerry. My sweet, sweet Jerry.”
Georgia watched her mother with an equally teary expression. A lump started to form in Sophia’s throat as well.
“Oh, I can’t tell you what this means.” Eleanor’s voice broke a little. “He says he misses me, that he hopes I’ll find something to pass the time while we’re apart, that he’ll see me again soon.” Her lips and voice trembled. “I can hear him saying those words, those exact words to me now. Then he was off to Vietnam. Now he’s...”
Sophia pressed her lips together to keep them steady.Now he’s passed on.Eleanor missed her husband, likely more than she had when he’d gone to war. And this letter, lost for so many decades, was like a voice from the past, helping ease the loneliness.
Eleanor insisted on hugging them both several times and thanking them over and over. She and Georgia were in tears by the time Ethan and Sophia left. She got as far as the curb before she had to blink back a tear herself.
Ethan hadn’t gone around to get in the car. He stood beside her, one hand on the door handle. “Sophia?” He looked a little concerned.
She shook her head and smiled at him. “I’m so glad we got that letter to her. It meant so much.”
“So am I.” Ethan glanced back at the house. “She obviously misses her husband. It’s nice to give her back a piece of their life together.”
“Makes me hope we’ll get another sixty-year-old letter,” Sophia said.
Ethan opened her door. “Maybe we will.”
In another minute, they were on their way. Night had fallen and, with it, a calm peacefulness.
“We make a pretty good mystery-solving team,” Ethan said.
“Yeah. Look out, Scooby-Doo,” she said. “Although I was sad that no one blamed something on us ‘meddling kids.’”
“That would have been awesome.” There, again, was that deep chuckle she liked so much.
They talked about inconsequential things all the way back home. It was an easy conversation, comfortable, and blessedly not awkward. But it also wasn’t deep or personal. Not promising.
She’d only fallen more in love with him over the hours they’d spent searching for Eleanor. She desperately wanted him to feel the same way.
Chapter Six
Putting on a blue button-up business shirt and black dress slacks to meet Sophia for their daily mail sorting was probably overkill. But if he was going to ask her out, he wanted to make a good impression. That was also the reason for the red roses.
She’s gonna know I’m crazy about her.He didn’t really care anymore. Two evenings spent with his arm around her had driven home an inarguable fact: having her in his life was too important to leave up to chance. Maybe she’d brush him off or laugh at him, but at least he’d know.
