by Mary Campisi
Please don’t squander your time and your life on a man like Connor Pendleton. He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t appreciate you, and doesn’t respect you. Find your own happiness. Take a day off, step away from the computer, look around. Have you wandered into the kitchen lately when you’re visiting and smelled Greta’s cooking? Or watched her roll out a pie crust? It’s as impressive a feat as choosing a good stock.
I don’t want to see you “stuck” in a life you don’t want with a man you don’t love. Duty is a cruel taskmaster. Do not be governed by it. Our company was built on performance, commitment, and expectation. But to what? Money? Power? Advancement? Your Uncle Harry could not live that life and your grandfather could not accept that.
Do not let others define you. We are all human with weaknesses and frailty, me more than most. My shortcomings are not yours. My failings do not belong to you and are not because of you. There is a whole world outside of Blacksworth and Company Investments. Explore it. Drive to the country. Eat a bowl of beef stew. Look around. Listen. Live your life, not mine, not your mother’s, not anyone else’s.
I love you, Christine. I have loved you from the moment I saw you and will love you until I draw my last breath.
I will see you soon!
Love,
Dad
Nate folded the last letter and placed it with the others on the couch. He would have rather done three straight days of inventory than read those letters. Too much emotion, too much pain, too much damn speculation and not knowing. His wife’s voice sifted through his thoughts, pulled him back.
“He really was going to leave us.”
Such sadness, such resignation. Nate cursed the irresponsibility of a man who was supposed to be all about honor and decency. Right. As long as nobody dug too deep, and life didn’t get too complicated for him. Then what? He’d straddle the problem, the one he’d created and let both sides dangle “You don’t know what your father would have done. People say they’re going to do things all the time, but how many get around to actually doing it? There’s the guy who’s going to write a book, or quit the job he hates, or ride cross-country in a motor home. And what about the woman who vows she’ll leave the husband who’s cheated on her so many times she doesn’t count anymore? They all talk big, but when it comes time to act, they can’t do it.”
The sniff said the tears were coming. “Part of me wants to think he’d make the tough choice and follow his heart, but another part feels…abandoned.”
“I know.” Charles Blacksworth had abandoned Miriam and Lily, too. Maybe he’d been about to change all of that, who would ever know? “Whatever his plans, they died with him on that icy road.”
“It’s obvious from a few of the references he made that he wrote the letters shortly before he died.”
“True, but we’re never going to know if he planned to mail them.”
Christine eased her head from his chest, met his gaze. “What other reason would he have to write them?”
Those blue eyes filled with confusion, uncertainty, and a tiny bit of hope. Nate wanted to help her find peace, but her father hadn’t made it easy, not with six letters and too many unanswered questions. “People do things for all kinds of reasons. For all we know, writing the letters could have been a way to unburden himself, like going to confession and asking for absolution.”
She nodded as though considering this possibility. “I guess.” Her gaze landed on the stack of letters. “I’m not sure what to do with them. Would it be better or worse for your mother to know he wanted to marry her and planned to get a divorce? Think of that, Nate. She’d accepted their situation, but can you imagine learning he’d finally found the courage to do what was in his heart and then he died?” Her voice drifted, spilled over him. “I’m not sure I could take learning that about the man I loved.”
“If he planned to mail them.”
“You’ve got a jaded view of my father, so it makes sense you wouldn’t think he’d change. But why couldn’t your mother believe he’d gone to the cabin right before he died, wrote the letters, and planned to return the next week to deliver them?”
Was this a trick question? He was a literal guy, so he’d give her a literal answer. “Because it might not be the truth?”
“But we don’t know that.”
“No, we don’t. So, you’re saying we should let everyone create their own story with their own ending?”
A tiny nod. “How else will we be able to move on?”
He rubbed his jaw, not liking where this was going. “I’ve never believed in fairy tales or closing your eyes and pretending something didn’t happen. I tend to look at the odds and someone’s history, but that’s just me. Before you hand out these letters, think about what could happen, positive and negative. If there’s more negative, don’t do it. Take Harry’s letter, deliver it, and you’ll destroy the guy. You need to shred the damn thing and be done with it.”
“You don’t think he’d want to know that my father didn’t think of him as a failure, that he believed in him?”
“Hell no!” How could his wife not see the destruction inside the letter? “If Harry reads that, then he’ll also read the part about the affair and how your father needed to confide in him. Come on, do you think your uncle will recover from that? It would take him down so fast, there’d be nothing left of the poor guy. Do not tell him. Destroy the damn thing.”
She gathered up the letters, her voice all business, as though they were discussing a balance sheet. “I have to think about it.”
“Fine.” When she pulled away like this, it was best to leave her alone for a while. “Now how about we pack up that ashtray you’ve been toting around and get the list going for Pete so we can get out of here?”
“Nate? It’s not that I don’t trust your judgment; I just need time to think about everything.” She placed a hand on his forearm, worked up a smile. “I’d never do anything to hurt Uncle Harry. You’ve got to trust me on this.”
“I do trust you, but a lot of people have been hurt by others trying to do the ‘right’ thing. Who can say what’s right and wrong? I sure as hell can’t, and neither can you. All I do know is that I won’t stand by and watch Harry’s world collapse on top of him.”
“I would never wish that on him.”
He didn’t miss the displeasure in her voice. “I know you’d never intend to hurt him, but do you know how many people say that right before they destroy the other person? Don’t be that person, Christine, or you could blow up a whole lot more than your uncle’s happiness.”
3
Elissa Cerdi believed in love at first sight, happily-ever-after, and the goodness that lived in everyone. Some called her naïve, impractical, even foolish for guarding her beliefs, but she knew what she knew and what she wanted. She’d witnessed her parents’ marriage—the love and respect they shared for one another—and had vowed she’d settle for nothing less. People who didn’t think true love possible were the naïve ones, or maybe they’d lost the ability to hope. Elissa refused to give up hope because if you didn’t have hope, what did you have?
As for finding goodness in others, had she not discovered it in Mrs. Blacksworth when the poor woman’s family deserted her? Accused her of horrible deeds the woman could not have committed? How could an only daughter reject her mother, especially one who was dying? Christine hadn’t known of Mrs. Blacksworth’s illness; that had fallen on Elissa, a weight she’d gladly carried. When the money and fancy lifestyle were stripped away, what else was left but the desire to not die alone, to leave this world with grace and dignity?
Mrs. Blacksworth had not died alone or without the grace and dignity she so rightly deserved. Elissa would like to think she’d eased the woman’s passing. Yes, her employer had demanded she accept a substantial amount of money for the final-wishes favor she wanted Elissa to execute once she was gone. There’d been no need for extra money; Mrs. Blacksworth had paid her well and Elissa would have performed the final-wish favor—deliv
er the remaining letters from the notebook—without an extra penny. It was the right thing to do in honor of a friend, and Mrs. Gloria Blacksworth had indeed been a friend, a sad one with a broken heart.
Could the family not have understood that the harshness in the woman’s words were born of disillusion and heartache rather than cruelty and a desire for vengeance? There was one more letter to deliver and then Elissa would have fulfilled Mrs. Blacksworth’s last wishes. She offered a quick prayer for the woman who’d stopped believing in joy and hope long before she drew her last breath. “Holy Mother, I pray Mrs. Blacksworth has found peace and knows the joy and hope that lives in all of us. May you keep us in your prayers and guide us always. Amen.” One quick sign of the cross, followed by, “And bless your children, Elissa and Zachary, as they plan their future. Thank you, Oh Holy Mother. Amen.”
Prayer helped her stay focused on what mattered in life, like the people she loved. Like Zachary Wintstone. Next week, they’d announce their love and intentions to the rest of the world in a small engagement party at The Presidio. Zachary’s parents dined at the upscale restaurant several times a week, and he’d told her they’d insisted the gathering be held there. Elissa would have agreed to anything as long as the man she loved was by her side. She sighed, opened the door to the lobby of the apartment where he lived. Once they married, she’d pack up the tiny place she rented on the other side of town and move in with him. Once she married…
How lucky could one girl be? Zachary Wintstone was handsome. Brilliant. A wonder boy with computers and the world of technology. They’d met in a coffee shop nine months ago. The connection was instant, fierce, all-consuming—just like she knew it would be. Her mother had maintained when the right one came along, Elissa would fall hard and give her whole heart to the man. She’d been right about that, but then, her mother knew about relationships and life.
If only she’d been more open-minded about Mrs. Blacksworth. Why were people with money so often misunderstood and misjudged?
Elissa walked across the lobby, pressed the elevator button, and waited for the ding that would take her to the eighth floor and her future home. Zachary’s place had the little extras that welcomed visitors, made them feel at home: the overstuffed pillows, the cylindrical vases stuffed with silk daisies, the bowl of fruit on the kitchen table…even the selection of hand soaps showed a personal touch—so like her fiancé. She smiled at the thought of shopping with him, selecting picture frames for their wedding photos and, later, those of their children. The smile spread when a woman with a baby stroller entered the building. Model-beautiful with long black hair and a body that didn’t look like it had seen pregnancy. Was she the mother? When the woman reached the elevator, Elissa peeked inside the stroller, took in the black curls and pink skin of the baby. “Girl or boy?”
The woman’s green eyes softened, her voice a rush of wonder. “A boy.”
Only a mother had that particular glow and spoke with such reverence. Elissa had witnessed it in her own mother when the youngest child was born. One day, she would know such a feeling. “What’s his name?”
“Christopher.” Another rush of emotion swirled through the woman’s voice. “He’ll be three months old next week.”
“He’s beautiful.” She and Zachary wanted two children, a girl and a boy, the order didn’t matter, and the gender didn’t either, not really. A healthy baby was all she needed. Elissa studied the newborn, thought of the good fortune and love the child’s parents must share.
“Thank you.” The woman beamed, growing more beautiful, if that were possible. “He’s our own little miracle baby.” She pushed aside a lock of dark hair, her eyes misting. “Placenta previa at twelve weeks. We almost lost him. But God and mountains of prayers saw him through.” A sniff, a tear swipe, followed by a quick sign of the cross and a glance at Elissa. “Do you have children?”
The elevator dinged open, giving Elissa an extra two seconds to compose herself as the impact of the woman’s words hit her. Placenta previa. Miracle baby. It took brave people to venture into parenthood, to risk the love and loss of a child. She cleared her throat and said, “We’ve got a few things to settle before we start a family.” Like an engagement party, a wedding, and a honeymoon. Elissa held the door open for the woman to maneuver the stroller into the elevator and pressed the button for the eighth floor. “Which floor?”
“Eight, please.” A smile spread over the woman’s full lips, brought out the dimple on the left side of her cheek. “Children will change your life. You’ll never look at your partner or the world the same way again.” She met Elissa’s gaze, held it. “You’ll see.”
“I hope so.” Elissa glanced at the baby. “You certainly don’t look like you’ve just had a baby.” She let out a soft laugh. “I don’t even want to think about what I’ll look like.” Another laugh, followed by a sigh. “My mother says everybody thought she was carrying triplets when she was pregnant with me. That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
“It’s all worth it.”
“I know.” The truth was, she’d face stretch marks, spider veins, heartburn, and whatever else maternity threw her way for a chance to be a mother. One day soon, she and Zachary would sit down and talk about a timeline for parenthood. After all, if you didn’t have a game plan, how were you going to get anything accomplished? Zachary claimed she was too focused on fitting life into a schedule, that most times life had to be lived, not controlled. But why couldn’t a person live a controlled life? There was nothing wrong with spontaneity, and she subscribed to it every now and again, but she didn’t want her existence to be determined by the sun, the stars, and the direction of the wind. Or whatever. She liked order. She needed routine. No surprises, at least not the ones that upended a person’s day-to-day existence and spiraled them into a universe that had no center and no direction.
The elevator dinged for the eighth floor, and Elissa held the door open. The woman pushed the stroller onto the plush carpet and waited for Elissa to join her. “Do you live here or are you visiting?”
Now that was a matter of opinion and interpretation. “My fiancé lives here, but I’ll move in once we’re married.”
“Really?” The woman’s face lit up. “Mine, too.” She hesitated, her cheeks turning a dull rose. “I’ve only been in Chicago a little while. I’m from Seattle, but when I found out I was pregnant, he wanted me closer. I’ve got a place a few miles away, but I’m moving in with him soon.”
“Congratulations.” There was something about this woman that drew Elissa to her, made her want to get to know her better, call her a friend. She didn’t seem to know or care that she was beautiful or that others would no doubt stop and stare. That made her more human, and that made Elissa curious. “Maybe once we’re settled, we could all get together. I’ll fix dinner and you could bring your fiancé and the baby. There’s plenty of room.”
“I’d like that. Thank you.” She held out her hand, “I’m Julia.”
Elissa shook it. “Elissa.”
“Nice to meet you, Elissa. I look forward to meeting your fiancé.”
“Same here.” Would the man be as gorgeous as she was? Probably. Wasn’t that always how it worked? The beautiful people attracted the beautiful people, but if he were as unaware of his attractiveness as Julia was of hers, then he was a rare find. Zachary called Elissa beautiful, but he was blindsided by love because her nose was too long, her cheeks too full, her eyes too far apart, and, of course, what woman didn’t think her butt was too big? Only those who thought it was too small, and the universe didn’t have many of that type running around. If Zachary analyzed her with the skill he used in his work, he’d notice all her flaws. But he said Elissa’s physical appearance was a weak imitation compared to the beauty that rested inside—in her heart, in her soul. Every single time he told her this, she cried.
Julia raised a hand and said, “Until we meet again.” Elissa watched as she strolled down the hall, paused seven doors down, pulled out a key and fit
ted it into the lock. Seconds later, she and Christopher disappeared inside Zachary’s apartment.
There comes a time in a woman’s life when she knows the man she loves is lying to her, even as she’s hoping with her whole heart that she’s wrong. But deep down, she knows she isn’t wrong, knows the half-baked stories he’s feeding her that make no sense are full of untruths. She can close her eyes and pretend, or she can face the truth and confront him.
Love. What a sad joke.
She’d had so many plans, each one grander and more intricate than the last, all built around hopes and dreams. Elissa had spent the last several hours with timelines and spreadsheets, dropping in dates and events. The date she met Zachary in the coffee shop, the first dinner…the first time they made love. How had any of this been possible? How had she not known another woman was carrying his child? When he’d said he had a meeting in Seattle, was he visiting Julia? Maybe they’d had a quiet dinner and spent the night together. Anything was possible. Who knew? Who really knew?
Nobody.
Julia said she had a fiancé. That was another level of incredible. There’d been no reason for her to lie…and there’d been every reason for Zachary to do so. Had he proposed to Julia when he found out she was pregnant? Or had that come later, maybe after the birth? Maybe he’d gotten a two-for-one deal on engagement rings and proposed back to back? Why not? Sure, why not? There were so many possibilities and Elissa had suffered through most of them. All she wanted now was to disappear so she’d never have to speak to or about Zachary Wintstone again.
But the Cerdis were made of stronger stuff. Had Great-Grandma Antoinette Cerdi not immigrated with three small children only to lose her husband to pneumonia the next winter? And had that same woman not kept her family fed by gardening, baking bread, and making her own pasta? She’d mended their clothing, accepted hand-me-downs from the neighbors, and never uttered a word of despair. If Great-Grandma Cerdi could stand strong amidst such heartache and grief, then Elissa could do the same…eventually…after she buried her dreams of happily-ever-after and acknowledged that she’d chosen a liar to share her life and her heart.
