by Mary Campisi
You are independent and single-minded and nothing will get in the way of seeing your goals achieved—not a man, a friend, or a child. When you suggested I embark on my own journey of self-discovery and leave my husband behind, I was so caught up in the excitement and the desire to live up to your expectations of me that I didn’t consider what truly lay in my heart. There is no life without Angelo—I love him. He IS my life. When he came home that day and discovered my half-packed suitcase on our bed, I know I broke his heart. I saw it with my own eyes, and for that, I will never forgive myself. On that day, I lost a part of his trust and I will spend the rest of my days trying to regain it, though how will I ever know if I’ve truly done so?
We are not so different, you and I. You commit to adventure and living a free life, while I see my freedom in loving my husband, my son, my community, in a simple, no-frills manner—baking bread for Angelo, sitting with a sick friend, delivering homemade chicken soup and tapioca pudding to the neighborhood ill. Simple tasks that fill my soul and bring me peace. I miss my husband’s unguarded smile, the gentle touch of his hand on my shoulder. Now, everything is hesitant and premeditated. What I wouldn’t give to have the old days back, when Angelo and I were caught up in the humdrum of routine. Because in that lay trust, and honor, and forgiveness.
I was never going to leave, not even in my dreams, not even when I told you the idea sounded big, bright, and filled with possibility. Those were words, and I’m sorry I said them, because they did not hold true meaning for me.
May you be happy and live a life that is rich with the freedom and adventure you so crave.
Peace to you, my friend.
Lucy
POP FOLDED the letter and placed it in the envelope. “Oh, my dearest Lucy, love of my life,” he whispered, “what pain have I caused you?” He clutched the envelope to his chest, fought the tears that threatened to spill his grief. “I am so sorry I didn’t believe you. So sorry. Will you ever forgive me?”
Could he stand to read another letter or would it serve to torment him more than this one? Why had he forbid Lucy to talk about the day he found her suitcase on their bed? She’d tried to give him an explanation and he remembered the tears and crying, with words like I would never leave you and Tula Rae doesn’t understand our ways, or She’s a free spirit but that’s not me. Once she told him she wasn’t leaving and admitted that dang Tula Rae was behind the idea to run free and far, he hadn’t wanted to hear more. No, indeed he had not. All he’d wanted was to get the suitcase unpacked and wedged back in the closet with the photo albums and the winter coats. The meeting with Tula Rae came next. Pop walked to the Heart Sent, stomped up the stairs to her room—far one on the left—and told her to stay away from his wife and stop filling her head with nonsense. Then he turned and stomped down the stairs, making so much noise Mimi came running out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of cookie dough and a spatula. She hadn’t needed to ask why he was there because she knew all about Tula Rae and her outspoken ideas. The whole town knew and they all wanted her gone—some more than others.
Word had it, two hours later Tula Rae rattled out of town in her beat-up station wagon, never to be seen or heard from again. Until Lucy’s death when she’d asked to come to the funeral. As if Pop would have let her. He’d written a reply that contained only two words but held enough anger to fuel a spaceship. Stay away. Pop whispered a prayer, fingered the second letter. Should he take a peek or let it be? The desire to touch the paper Lucy had written on and know what she’d been thinking made his choice for him. He opened the envelope, removed the letter, and unfolded it. This one was shorter than the last, the writing more precise like Lucy’s words and tone when she was annoyed.
TULA RAE:
Mimi Pendergrass delivered your letter this morning. She was not happy to see it arrive in her mailbox with a request to hand-deliver it to me. Please don’t do that again. Mimi is a kind soul and a good friend who has known more than her share of heartache. I would not wish to add to that pain. She and Angelo go way back and are like brother and sister. While she won’t tell him about this letter, if you make an attempt to contact either of us again, she will make sure he finds out.
I wrote you because I wanted to explain why I did what I did. Life has moved on and Angelo and I have found peace with each other again. We do not discuss you or the seconds when I thought I wanted a different life. I wish he would let me speak about it so I would know he has forgiven me. But he won’t and therefore, I must carry this pain with me until my last days.
I hope you are well and I hope you are happy.
Lucy
THE THIRD LETTER squeezed his chest so hard, it scared the heck out of him. Lordy, but wouldn’t it be fitting if Tula Rae gave him a heart attack? Well, no siree, that was not going to happen. Pop opened his mouth wide, gulped air, and let it out in a soft swoosh. Calm, that’s what he needed. Lucy would not be happy if she knew these letters were giving him a big upset and kicking his ticker into overdrive. Maybe this last letter would settle him down. He unfolded it, began to read.
TULA RAE:
I’ve thought of you now and again throughout the years and hope you’ve done all the things you told me you planned to do. I’ve never traveled more than a few hours from my home, but I’m not unhappy or discontent. My life has been a blessing, a mix of family and friends who care about me and allow me to care about and for them. It is who I am—a nurturer, a mother, a wife, a friend, a dispenser of wisdom and common sense. I am fulfilled and happy. I do miss my son and wish we could see him more. He is so filled with the need to achieve and driven by money that I fear he doesn’t realize he’s chasing an empty dream that will leave him sad and wanting. Perhaps there is no way to save him from that, though I wish I could be here for him when he falls, because he will fall.
My granddaughter is a joy and a reminder that life is magical and filled with possibilities. Of course, she believes she is invincible—that is the way of youth. But we know the truth, don’t we, Tula Rae? We know that we will leave this earth long before we are ready; some of us will have no time to prepare while others will have too long.
Why am I telling you this after such a long silence? Because I am dying, my friend—cancer— and this will be my last letter to you. Do not cry or feel sorry for me. I have lived a life that has filled me with more hours of happiness and love than most will ever know. Angelo is by my side as he has always been: my friend, husband, and most cherished companion. He wants to take my pain upon himself, says he wishes it were him and not me, but I would never wish that. Still, is that not the measure of the purest, truest love? I think it is, and I will close my eyes very soon for the last time knowing I have shared my life with such a man, knowing too that for the briefest of moments years ago, I forgot.
Be well, my friend. Live your life, find your happiness, and know I have missed you.
Lucy
POP SWIPED his eyes and stared at the letter. “I love you, Lucy, so much it’s hard to breathe. I wish I’d listened more instead of shutting you down because I was afraid to hear something I might not like. That’s on me, not you.” He cleared his throat, fought to make out handwriting through his tears. “People see me now and think I’ve always been full of calm and reason, but they don’t know, do they? You’re the one who knows.” He sniffed, swiped at his eyes. “I should have let you go with Tula Rae if you wanted to but I was so dang afraid you wouldn’t come back. You were too good for me; do you know that? I sure do.” His words covered the room and his heart with sadness. “I’m gonna keep doing right by others, helping find the good in the bad, the second chances where there’s not much hope. Maybe that’s my way of thanking the good Lord for bringing you into my life, shedding happiness on my days and nights.” A faint smile crept over his lips, spread. “I’m gonna make you proud and you know how? I’m gonna call Tula Rae. I don’t want to, no sense pretending, but I’m gonna do it anyway.”
Two hours later, Tula Rae showed up on his doorstep, hol
ding a casserole dish and a container of green beans. “Tomorrow night’s dinner, compliments of Mimi.” She sashayed right past him into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and placed the casserole dish on the second shelf. “Looks like somebody needs to fill up this fridge.” Tula Rae leaned closer, squinted. “How many jars of jelly do you need, Angelo?”
He shrugged, wanting to avoid the same interrogation Miriam Desantro had given him a week ago. So he liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and didn’t want to get bored with the same kind of jelly. A body should be able to try something different without people nosing around in his fridge. Besides, Lucy and Lily both liked the surprise jellies he kept there, said it made the sandwiches more interesting.
When he didn’t respond, Tula Rae closed the fridge, let out a laugh. “I got seven jars in my fridge at home and Earl’s always after me to down-size. I said, why do that? It’s mixing things up that makes the taste buds stay fresh. Don’t listen to anybody who tries to get you packaged into a corner; tell them life’s not meant to be lived on a single flavor of jelly.” Another laugh that switched to a cackle. “Boysenberry. Pineapple. Lemon.”
“Lemon?” Pop scratched his head, made a face. “Now that’s an interesting one.”
Tula Rae helped herself to a glass of hibiscus tea, poured one for him. “Yup. It’s a conversation starter and stopper.” She sipped her tea, eyed him. “You ever notice people form an opinion about something before they know anything about it? Can you grab a few pizzelles?” She waited for him to fix a plate, then followed him to the sitting area in front of Lucy’s portrait, set her glass on the small table, and plopped in the chair opposite his. “Squawk, squawk, squawk, but trick them into trying it and bam, they call it genius.”
The woman actually made sense and that surprised the heck out of him. He’d always thought of her as a rabble-rouser with no idea what or why she was causing problems. Maybe he’d been wrong about her unpolished comments and bold attitudes. Maybe she was more normal than he thought. “I’ve known my share of those.” He worked up a peace-offering smile. “Never could stand to admit they might not have seen things right.”
“Ha!” She slapped her knee, let out a howl. “You got that right. Now why don’t we skip the nice-makers since neither one of us is big on them and get to the point. Why’d you call me?”
“Did anybody ever tell you that you got a no-nonsense way of putting a soft spin on a hard question?”
She raised a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning there’s ways to say things that don’t get people riled up or wanting to tell you what to do with your comments.” He stared her down. “You know why I called you, know I did it for Lucy, and you even know I’ve worked up an apology for you, one that’s probably gonna choke me to get it out.” He could tell she hadn’t expected him to admit any of it because the harsh lines around her mouth softened a bit, the rivers of wrinkles smoothed.
“I suspected, but suspecting and knowing are two different animals.” She paused, shifted her skinny body in the chair, and darted a glance at Lucy’s portrait. “She’s watching us, you know that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“We both wronged her.” Tula Rae’s voice turned rough. “You by not trusting her to do the right thing, and me by trying to force her to be somebody she wasn’t and didn’t want to be. She was a good woman, a good friend and wife, and I’m sorry we didn’t just leave her be.”
Oh, Lordy, how he wished the same. Pop fought past the sadness and pushed out his next words. “Do you really think she was happy? Was it enough for her to be a wife and mother, a friend to the community? Or do you think deep down she really did want to run off with you to see sights she only read about in books and magazines?”
Tula Rae, the she-devil who’d upended his marriage and planted doubt in his soul, opened her mouth and gave him a gift he would carry with him until his last breath. “She loved you, Angelo. This was her world and she didn’t want any other riches because she said everything she needed or wanted was right here, in this house, in this town, and it all started and ended with you.”
“Lucy said that?” It sure sounded like something she’d say, but when a person let doubt creep in and unearth his logic, he was done for and nothing made sense, least of all a dead wife’s words. He needed those words to be true, but he didn’t want Tula Rae to make them up like she was kneading a ball of dough for bread. “Please just tell me the truth, no matter what it is. I’d rather hear the worst and have them be honest words than a fluff of fanciful thinking based on a lie.”
She didn’t like that. “Those are Lucy’s words.” Tula Rae clenched her bony hands into fists. “And they’re the truth. No wonder she said you were three cents short of a dollar in the brain department.”
Pop frowned, narrowed his gaze on her, and tried to determine if his wife really said that. The pain of it was, he couldn’t tell. “Lucy didn’t say that,” he hedged. When Tula Rae cocked a brow and remained silent, he sighed and asked the dang question he really didn’t want to know. “Did she?”
“Of course, Lucy didn’t say that, but she did say the part about being happy. The woman thought you were kin to one of them Italian inventors, said there was nobody like you.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head until that dang braid of hers flopped back and forth. “I tried to convince her otherwise, tell her you was just as human as the rest of us, but she didn’t want to see or hear none of it. No siree. Lucy didn’t want to hear anything about you that wasn’t dunked in pure gold. Ha.” The look she tossed him said she knew better. “But you ain’t pure gold, are you, Mr. Perfect?”
“Never said I was, never said I wanted to be.” What was wrong with Lucy thinking he was Mr. Wonderful? He sure thought she was Mrs. Wonderful, and he’d told her so more than a time or two. But a tiny piece of him didn’t like Tula Rae’s words because he knew the truth: his Lucy trusted him to always make the right decision and she didn’t go against him because of that. What if the decisions weren’t the right ones? The possibility gnawed at his insides, gave him agita.
“Don’t go getting all pasty-faced on me like you’re going to get rid of your supper. Shoo.” She snatched a pizzelle from the table, bit into it.
“Never thought you were a pizzelle person. According to Lucy, you preferred spicy or extra sweet.” He didn’t add “depending on which husband you had at the time” because that would just set a fire under her behind and turn her jalapeño angry.
“I like these.” Tula Rae studied the last bite of pizzelle. “Might have to get your recipe and see if I can doctor them up.” She popped a piece into her mouth, chewed. “What do you think a pizzelle would taste like with Tabasco sauce in it? Or sprinkled with powdered sugar?”
“There’s only one way to find out. We’ll get together and give it a whirl, then we’ll let our pizzelle judge decide.” Tula Rae would see what community and team spirit meant when Lily Desantro voted his pizzelles the best in the area. “How about it?”
“You got yourself a deal. Name the time and Tula Rae will be there.”
Pop checked his watch, acted like he wasn’t sure how this would play out, but he was three steps ahead of the woman. “Let me call our judge and I’ll let you know.”
“Fine by me. I’ll bring my own Tabasco sauce.” Her beady eyes zeroed in on him, narrowed. “You get the powdered sugar.”
7
Tess snuggled in her husband’s lap, her head resting against his chest, lulled into a calm by his breathing. This was peace. This was contentment. This was what she’d missed so much. They’d shared dinner like they used to, talked about the new projects in the workshop and the order Tess took that afternoon for a maple dining room table. It was for a family of six, two boys and two girls, a mother, a father, and three dogs. Tess learned about the dogs from the different barks that disrupted the conversation. According to Jennifer Turner, the mother, the dogs were all rescues: George, a Golden Retriever; Zelda, a mix that might be part Schnau
zer; and Clementine, a Chihuahua.
It had been a good day. Even Henry had seemed happier and playful as he jaunted back and forth between the house and the workshop. Cash checked in a few times with comments about dinner or needing something, but they both knew that wasn’t it at all. He’d stopped in to see her like he used to when he gifted her with a smile, a laugh, a kiss on the neck. It was his way of letting her know he was thinking about her, that he wanted her, that no matter what he was doing, she was a part of him.
The rapid-fire gunshot on the television swept through the room, but Tess ignored it. While she preferred movies with more drama and fewer guns, she’d tolerate it if it meant being close to her husband.
He stroked her hair, trailed a hand along her back, and pulled her closer. “Did you enjoy the strawberry shortcake?”
Strawberry shortcake was one of her favorite desserts. “It was delicious. Thank you.”
“Welcome. How about peach cobbler later in the week? Miriam Desantro said she bought a bushel the other day and she’s willing to share. I know how much you like peaches.”
“You mean how much I love peaches.” Tess let out a laugh and lifted her head. “I can’t eat these desserts every day or you’ll have to roll me out of my chair.”
“Maybe.” He paused, traced her lips. “But I’ll still think you’re beautiful. You’ll always be beautiful to me.” He placed a hand behind her neck, urged her forward. “Let me taste you. I’ve missed you so damn much.”
She cupped his face between her hands, kissed him slow and long. Oh, but she had missed him, too. The kiss turned hot, desperate, as Cash’s hands roamed her body, eased her skirt up her thigh, fingered her panties. “Oh, Cash.” Tess untucked his T-shirt from his jeans, settled her hand on his belt buckle. They would make love tonight and it would be intense and perfect…
