“What changed?” Her daughter’s soft gaze exuded the kind of compassion Donna couldn’t always comprehend—the kind that sprang from somewhere within her being, not from personal experience or intimate understanding.
Donna shifted, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans to pull out her phone. For a moment, she merely held it in her hand, facing the magnitude of sharing this piece of her heart for the first time. Pinching the thin slip of paper, she pried it from the crevice of her phone case. “This.” She handed the neatly folded square to Cassie. “It’s the letter my mom left me after she died. The first time I read it, I was so angry. Angry at my mom. Angry at myself. The night I left rehab, I hit rock bottom. I got so drunk, I nearly died.”
“Your friend Gretchen saved your life,” Cassie whispered, and Donna nodded, remembering the first time she’d told her daughter the story—how Gretchen and her AA sponsor never left her side through her withdrawals, supporting her as she took her first real step toward recovery.
“This is the part of the story I left out.” She nodded toward the letter.
“And you want me to read it?” Cassie held it in her open palm tentatively, as if it were a butterfly that might flutter away with the tiniest movement.
Donna offered a small smile as her consent, and Cassie gingerly slid her finger into the crease, unfolding the letter.
As her daughter silently absorbed the words on the page, Donna mentally recited each one from heart.
My darling daughter,
As I write this, my heart breaks that I never got to hold you one last time. But even in my sorrow, I understand why all my letters went unanswered. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, when you were hurting as much as I was. I had succumbed to my grief, and it took the grace, patience, and unconditional love of steadfast friends to help me see that I’d lost so much more than your father. I’d lost myself. I’d lost you. And I’d lost my granddaughter.
By the time I realized to what depths my despair had driven me, I could no longer repair the damage I’d caused. I’d pushed you too far to ever forgive me.
Please, my darling, don’t make the same mistake. The only thing worse than living with regret is facing death, knowing you’ve run out of time for a second chance. Your daughter needs you to fight for her. Whatever it takes. I should have fought for you sooner—for both of you—and I’m so deeply sorry I didn’t.
In my passing, there will be some things you won’t understand. Please know that there are reasons for every decision, each one guided by love.
Lastly, dear one, don’t look to the past through the bottom of a bottle. It only distorts and magnifies our pain. People—even people who love us dearly—can let us down. Sometimes, we can feel alone. But don’t lose heart. Stand rooted in hope without fear of the future, for if the Lord takes care of the sparrows, how much more will He take care of you?
All my love, always,
Mom
“The sparrows,” Cassie murmured, grazing her fingertips across the handwritten letters, as if they spoke to her heart with special meaning. A tear slid down her cheek, and she gently brushed it aside. “When she mentioned the things you won’t understand, do you think she meant the clause in her will stipulating I had to complete the Christmas Calendar to inherit the house?”
“Yes, I do,” she admitted as a surge of gratitude crashed into her. “I think, in her own strange way, she was hoping we’d both wind up here. Together.”
“That we’d find our way back home?” Cassie whispered, meeting her gaze.
Donna nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Just when she didn’t think she could handle another drop of emotion, Cassie slipped her arms around her neck, burying her face in her hair. “I love you, Mom.”
Her heart bursting, Donna returned her daughter’s embrace, savoring the same sweet, delicate scent forever imprinted on her memory. “I love you, too, sweetheart. Always.”
CHAPTER33
CASSIE
Clasping Luke’s hand, Cassie ambled along the well-worn path, her heart soaring so high, her feet barely touched the ground. Luke lugged their picnic basket laden with chicken pesto paninis and enough pasta salad to share. With the plethora of special Poppy Creek events to choose from, Cassie found it difficult to declare a favorite, but the Butterfly Stroll came close.
That morning, on the final day of the Founders Day Festival, they’d met their friends and family in the town square and departed, as a group, to the trailhead just beyond Main Street. Cassie couldn’t help stealing periodic glances over her shoulder at her mother and Rhett, who walked close behind them, lost in their own intimate microcosm.
As they traversed farther into the forest, sunlight dispersed through the treetops like soft golden rays guiding their path. The sweet melody of songbirds echoed in the branches, serenading the day’s adventure, and the babbling stream accompanied their journey until they crossed the footbridge, heading east toward Larkspur Meadow.
When they reached the clearing and stepped from the tree line into the grassy field, Cassie’s breath caught. A blanket of gold poppies, dotted with swaths of purple lupine and baby blue eyes, spread out before them.
“Are you okay?” Luke asked when she halted abruptly. “Are you tired? We can take a break.”
“I’m fine. It just—” She paused, uncertain how to describe the sudden burst of emotion.
“Reminds you of Lydia’s diary?” Luke smiled as he squeezed her hand, and she met his loving, understanding gaze. He knew her so well.
Last night, as they lay in each other’s arms, in the sweet, tender moments before sleep, she’d shared Lydia’s words, processing more of her thoughts. Somehow, merely by listening and offering his support, he’d helped her make sense of her new, upside-down world. And he’d opened her eyes to a beautiful vision of what the future could hold if she embraced her newfound opportunities. Opportunities like mayorship. And meeting her grandmother, Anne Burns.
