by Lisa Heaton
Continuing, it went on to say,
Finally! My work is acknowledged. Though I have had no reason to make a poster board lately, I am confident I still have the gift. As for mine then, it was nothing to write home about, if I recall. Actually, Bobby Taylor went before me and went on and on. So I never did mine, and Mr. Howell never noticed, probably bored to tears. Obviously, I wasn’t about to mention it. If you remember, I was terrified of talking in front of the class. Somehow, I dodged the bullet. So now, I guess innkeeper would be the answer.
And speaking of surprises again and again – that is a huge surprise. Your mom, really? I have to say, “And me of little faith,” though I shouldn’t have been. When God begins to touch a life, amazing things happen. I am happy, and I hope she continues to go with you. We both know she has lived a hard life, so if anyone needs Him, she does. I will be praying for her.
Thinking back, all I can say is she was always good to me. Though you and everyone else found her so difficult, for some reason we got along well. I was always glad about that. Somewhere beneath that hard exterior, I saw something others didn’t see. Maybe she saw something in me, too.
Okay, the cigarette thing kills me. Well, at least she put it out first. That proves there is a God. I can still see her now, eating dinner with a cigarette burning in the ashtray. She would stop and take a puff, then continue eating. How can you not find that funny?
Things here are slower. I know now we are on the downhill slide into winter. It has rained a lot, too much. I have been cooped up too much. These next few months will drag on and on. At least I have Thanksgiving and Christmas to look forward to. My parents will fly in for Christmas, but I suppose Emma and I will spend Thanksgiving alone. Or possibly, we will be joined by a handsome veterinarian that has wooed and pursued Emma until she is finally on the verge of breaking. Will keep you posted.
Have a safe Halloween. I know that is when the crazies come out. Will you work that night?
Well, going to throw a log on the fire. Will be moving back up to the main house tomorrow. Too cold for a Southern girl.
Blessings to you!
Robin
He read it again and again. Sitting there on his tailgate, he believed he might possibly be the happiest man alive. Clearly, the way she asked questions, her letter opened the door for him to respond. In hers, she was open, and sweet, and funny, everything she always was. It reminded him she was his best friend, and he was willing to settle for having her back in his life this way. He had his chance at more and blew it. But this, this new whatever-it-was, was enough. Without hesitation, he would take even the tiniest little scrap she would give him.
14
When Emma handed Robin Mike’s letter, there was a new, softer expression on her face. Gone was the critical, I hope you know what you are doing kind of look. After feeling so guilty about keeping something so significant from her, Robin admitted they were writing. Truthfully, Emma did not seem at all surprised. Having explained how she was feeling, conflicted, yet comforted somehow by having a part of what she lost back, Emma’s attitude changed from then on. Once she opened up the way she did, Emma told her, “Of all people, I understand.” Her words saddened Robin. They reminded her that Emma still longed for what she lost all those years ago. It was the truest kind of love that could span three decades.
“In your next letter to him, tell him I said ‘hi.’”
Smiling at Emma, Robin took the envelope. “I will.”
Robin went into the dining room and sat at a table by the wall of windows. What had been a relatively gloomy day was taking a brighter turn. Before she could get the letter open, Emma walked to the table and sat a cup of steaming coffee on the table before her.
“I thought you might enjoy this.”
“Thanks.” Anxious to read his letter, she could hardly wait to see what he had to say about her missing letter. Chewing on her thumbnail, while grinning at the same time, she read,
Dear Ms. Andretti,
Half a cow? Whatever. It was two and a half burgers. The last one didn’t count since there was no bun. And you, you still eat like a bird. Get it, Robin
– bird? Okay, I’ll work on my humor.
As for my faraway place, I am unable to visit often. I still don’t cook much, and I am so overdone with diner food. You know us cops, we do eat a lot of donuts, but what does the Good Book say? “Cop does not live by donut alone.” I may be paraphrasing a bit.
That’s right, I remember Bobby’s presentation. It was the longest, most boring thing I have ever heard in my life. I think Gina’s career choice of underwater basket weaving, or whatever it was, was even more interesting than his. What was his, microbiology?
Okay, so you didn’t do yours, but you still never reminded me of what it was about. And being an inn keeper now doesn’t count. That’s new news. Still, tell me more about that. What do your days look like, summer and winter? And what did you mean you are moving back to the main house?
About my mom, so far not so good news. She hooked up with some guy and hasn’t been back again. That’s typical, but still I will hope. I just don’t press her about it. It wouldn’t make a difference if I did. You said, “And me of little faith.” I understand that. I guess I still feel that way. I shouldn’t, I know. But she has been like this all my life, and I guess to expect some drastic change is hard to wrap my mind around.
Though I should not have been, I was always surprised at the way she was with you. She was different. And of course she saw something special in you, everyone did. You were always so sweet and compassionate with others. When everyone else, including me, judged her, you accepted her. That had to have meant something to her. In hindsight, I should have learned from you, and maybe things would have been better between her and me.
I can hardly imagine what the winters are like there. I remember the summer I was there was beautiful, but the winters must be brutal. As cold natured as you are, how do you survive it?
I can hardly believe that Thanksgiving is a week and a half away. The year will be over before we know it. It has turned out to be an exceptional year, though.
Stopping, taking a sip of her coffee, she wondered what he meant by that. Did it have anything to do with her? She noticed he did not mention what he would do for Thanksgiving, and she speculated. In years past, his mom never had dinner at her house. While they were together, he always came to her house. Beginning at fifteen, they were together every year for Thanksgiving dinner. That was a really hard year for him, the year his father went to prison.
Can’t wait to hear more about the vet. Is he an old guy? What’s he like? I suppose I just want to know more details of your life if you are willing to share them with me.
Halloween was crazy for sure. I requested off work so I could serve at the church. We had almost every kid in town there, or so it seemed. I worked the caramel apple table, which in retrospect was not the best assignment for someone with my appetite. Miss Allen said next year I can’t work a food table. Most likely, I will be stuck face painting or something. Know how you would always say, “You’re gonna be sick, eating all that”? Well, it finally happened. I was so sick at my stomach that night, and even through lunch the next day. Looking back, I have determined eating seven caramel apples was not such a good idea. I wrote myself a reminder for next year. (Now is where you say, “I told you so.”)
Remember to tell me about the move to the main house. Where were you before? A cabin, I guess.
Okay Southern girl, stay warm and dry, and write back when you get a chance.
And Rob, I’m glad you wrote. Honestly, I thought maybe you were sending me a message by not sending me a message. If it ever gets to that point for you, please just say so. Finding an empty mailbox is worse than knowing up front. Blessings right back at ya,
Mike
Robin determined this was his best letter yet. He was open and funny, while in his prior letters, she sensed his restraint. This time though, he wrote as an old friend and did no
t tiptoe around old subjects. He simply spoke from his heart. Every bit of it made her smile, or maybe glow was a better way of explaining it. She felt as if she were glowing, radiating sunshine right there in the dining room. Snickering to herself, she acknowledged how sappy she became after reading his letters, maybe sentimental was a better term. Whatever she called it, it was the same feelings as when they wrote back and forth during his deployments. As if she rode the waves of the ocean, his letters could make her soar high, and sometimes, they took her heart to the very depths of despair.
Having finished her coffee, she went into the kitchen for more and found Emma there.
“How was your letter?”
“It was sweet and kinda funny.”
“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” Her tone was not disapproving, rather, more protective than anything.
“Not at all.”
She took her letter and tucked it into her coat pocket. After bundling up, she slipped her hat on and went down to the dock. No matter how cold it was, if it was not raining, she went there to pray. Besides the cabin, it was the place she felt closest to God. Each morning, while watching the sun come up, even if only from the warmth of the kitchen window, she was reminded of His faithfulness. Something she discovered, a revelation from Him that amazed her still, was that all that time she felt so compelled to sit before the water and watch the sun rise, it was actually the Spirit drawing her back to Him. At night when she ran, it was the water she ran to. He is the Living Water. He was calling her to the depths with Him, as if to say, “Come to Me and live.”
In the mornings, only the sun could cause the shadows of the night to flee. He was the Son she looked for. Somehow, her physical world and what she ran toward was ever symbolic of her deepest spiritual longings. It was always Him. With eyes open to how relentlessly He pursued her, she fell helplessly and entirely in love with Him. He was her love story, only she missed it for the first thirty years of her life. Astonished He could love her so much and even more so that she was able to love Him with such a feeble heart, she looked out at the water and whispered, “I love because You first loved me.”
Having been out on the dock for nearly an hour, she read Mike’s letter again. Something in it disturbed her, and the more she read it the more troubled she became. Grappling with it, she finally acknowledged that she was jealous. There he was, living his life, at her church, in her home, and she was far away in the coldest place on earth, practically. He was eating caramel apples until he was sick, and she missed another fall festival. In no way was she angry at him, it was his home and his town, but it was no longer hers. That hurt terribly. Realistically, she knew she could never go back, not with the way things ended there. After the shooting, she became the most hated person in town. He was their hero, the football star who led them to the state championships, the war hero, the sheriff’s deputy everyone adored, and she was the one who shot him. The things they said about her and to her caused her cheeks to flush in humiliation.
After she was released from the hospital, she went directly to her parents’ home. Once there, she did not dare go out of the house. No one saw what she looked like in the aftermath of that night. Maybe if they had, attitudes would have been different. No one knew of his history of abuse, not even her parents. So the town was in shock, and with no coverage in the paper and no trial, they blamed her, not their hero. It began with phone calls at all hours. People were cursing her and her parents. They would wake up to find trash on the lawn, and worse. Soon after, her parents packed her up and took her to Emma’s. At the time, she had no intention of staying permanently, but while there, her parents made the decision to move to Phoenix where her aunt and uncle lived. Within a few months, she realized she had absolutely nothing there to go back to, so she simply stayed in New Hampshire. It was not what she chose, rather where she landed. As if a tornado picked her up and flung her hundreds of miles away, she was the victim of a storm that destroyed her home and left her no place to return, a misplaced object.
Later that evening, Robin sat in the gathering room before the fireplace. Emma had gone up to bed, and the house was quiet. It was then she decided to answer his letter.
Dear Apple Glutton,
That was by far the longest letter I have ever seen you write. I laughed, I cried, I mocked… Seriously, it was a great way to catch up. Thank you for so many details…really rare for you.
Your humor, “eat like a bird…” Stop, you’re killin’ me. Not! Okay, I will have to admit your “Cop does not live by donut alone” was good, actually, really funny.
Stopping abruptly, she wondered why she had not noticed before. Did he think of the implications when he mentioned donuts? Something unusual happened within her. There was a stirring inside she had not felt in many years, a longing for him, unlike anything she had experienced since he was overseas. Setting the paper aside, she realized she was unable to continue at the time.
It would be days before she could finish. When she finally did, she took the letter to the post office and watched carefully as it slid into the blue box. No more mishaps with her letters, she decided.
It was Thanksgiving Day and Mike was home alone. Although he had been invited to the homes of several families from church, he could not bring himself to go. So instead, he would do what he did the prior year, which was sit around and watch football. He at least had a turkey sandwich, but that was the extent of his holiday festivities. Without family, the day did not mean so much. His brother went with his girlfriend to visit her family. As for his mom, who knew where she was?
Unable to keep his mind on any game, he went and got Robin’s letter out of his bedroom. Sitting in the recliner, he read it again. The wait had been excruciating, but when it finally came, he was amazed by its length and content. She was her, but a totally different her, and he found he was so proud of the woman she had become. The things she said were so deep and meaningful, it made him conclude that she had become a better version of her without him. Obviously, he held her back all those years. In his estimation, looking back at the entirety of their lives together, it really was all about him. She was unable to remember what she wanted to be, likely because the focus was ever on him, what he wanted, what he dreamed of becoming. How could he have been so selfish?
Again, he read her words.
Dear Apple Glutton,
That was by far, the longest letter I have ever seen you write. I laughed, I cried, I mocked… Seriously, it was a great way to catch up. Thank you for so many details…really rare for you.
Your humor, “eat like a bird…” Stop, you’re killin’ me. Not! Okay, I will have to admit your “cop does not live by donut alone” was good, actually, really funny. But don’t quit your day job.
Having seen you, I have to believe you are being fed, and relatively well. I would feel sorry for you, but I really believe you can follow a recipe. Start at the top and work your way down. It is really kind of satisfying to eat a meal you have prepared for yourself, one that does not come from a box. I can hardly imagine, though, that you could be tired of the diner’s food. From what I remember, their food was quite good.
Gina’s career was not underwater basket weaving. She wanted to be a designer. Where did you get that? Too funny.
As for mine, I simply cannot recall. But if it helps, I really don’t want to be an innkeeper, well, maybe half and half. What I really would like is to become a counselor of some sort. I have been taking classes to try to finish my degree. I will someday, though I may be ninety-seven by then. But hey, old people can counsel, too.
I had a friend, his name was Chris. He was here at the inn last year and helped me work through some difficult things. Although he passed away last year at this time, he left a lasting imprint on my life. It was he who led me back to God and toward forgiveness. Something he taught me will be part of how I help others.
During one of our first conversations, he talked about mending the veil. Though the veil was torn when Christ died, allowin
g us access to God, some people spend their lives trying to mend the veil, so they do not have to see Him. In my case, I did so stitch by stitch. Michael was among the first I suppose, then the things that happened between us. Though I once was open to God, as a result of all the pain, I shut Him out of my life. I want to work with people like that and help them to unmend the veil the way Chris helped me, stitch by stitch. Some people, when they are saved later on in life, come right in and install a zipper. Some of this, the Lord has revealed to me through talking with Emma. When she was saved, she had complete access to God, but instead of seeking Him, immediately, she began to hide from Him. There are things in her past that keep her from opening up to and trusting Him. I know the reality of being stuck there, which makes me think maybe God has me here for this very reason, for her. And just so you know, she is making tremendous progress, and not because of anything I am doing, but what He is doing through me. So…that is what I want to be when I grow up, a counselor…I think.
What do my days look like? Now they are dull and uneventful. We piddle around and do this and that, and laugh a lot. I drink a lot of coffee and wonder why I am jittery. We sometimes get online and look at warm beaches and swear we are going, though we probably never will. I have a women’s group that meets here on Tuesday evenings. That, I love. There are a great group of women here, even if they do talk funny.
Summer here is fun and busy. Typically, we stay at full capacity throughout June, July, and early August. There are usually kids everywhere. I like that. We have great guests and crabby guests. Each and every day is different. I would think it’s like your job in a way, as you encounter different people and situations every day. There is nothing repetitive during the summer, which makes up for the drudgery of the winter.
