She slid out a piece of ivory cardstock. A photograph drifted to the tabletop. She turned it right side up, revealing an old picture of her and her dad. She tilted the letter to the light.
Finley,
If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I’m sorry if I left you sooner or more suddenly than you wanted. If I couldhave, I’d have stayed alive as long as you needed me.
I want to make sure you know that you’re my sun, my everything. My daughter. My joy. My source of significance. Before you, I thought I knew what it meant to live, but I was wrong. It was only in you, in my role as your father, that I found out what it meant to truly live. My wish for you is that in loving someone, you, too, will discover what I did.
Thank you, sweetheart.
You made me so happy. I have no regrets when I look back on our time together. Only endless gratitude. You’re my legacy, and I couldn’t be prouder.
If I have to go out, and it seems like I do, then why not go out big with one last birthday treasure hunt? For the next clue, return to your roots and to the place shown in the photo.
Happy birthday.
I love you.
Dad
Tears blurred her vision, but she reread the letter anyway. Sniffed a few times, then studied the picture.
She’d been maybe four years old when this picture was taken at the home they’d shared. She wore a long-sleeved, long-skirted red-and-white dress she still vaguely remembered. The living room bookcase that held his record collection spanned the wall behind them. A small pile of gifts waited on the coffee table in the foreground. This hadn’t been snapped at Christmas, because the gifts were wrapped in shades of pink, yellow, and light blue. It had been taken on her birthday, then.
Dad had hoisted her onto his hip. He’d dressed his fit, rangy body in the type of clothing he’d always worn. Comfortable jeans and a lightweight plaid shirt, worn thin over time. He was grinning at her, and she was looking at the photographer, a wide and genuine smile creasing her face.
A lump formed in her throat. Thankfulness and loss swirled to the tips of her fingers.
The part of her life that his living, breathing presence had occupied would from now on remain vacant. Yet the part of her heart that had and did belong to him would always remain full.
“What in the world,” she whispered to her father, “have you hidden for me to find?”
You’re finally here!” Meadow called as Finley approached her friend Bridget’s front door. Meadow pulled Finley inside the condo. As always, Meadow was the more exuberant of the two. Bridget waited serenely in her foyer, then gave Finley a hug.
Both her friends were wearing cardboard crowns that spelled outHappy Birthday!Meadow slipped one into Finley’s hair, then they both exclaimed “Happy Birthday!” and blew noisemakers, unfurling them into Finley’s face with a honking noise.
“Thank you.” Her birthday morning had been important and emotional but also serious. It felt like a vacation to come here, to this condo she knew so well, to the company of her best friends.
“Ready for a day of celebration?” Bridget asked.
“Ready,” Finley answered.
“I printed out our itinerary.” Bridget handed them both papers.
Bridget and Meadow had planned lunch at a winery, followed by a visit to the spa, where they’d each splurge on two treatments. Then back here for dinner, a movie, and cake. Finley knew what had motivated her friends to book such a long day of activities: They didn’t want her spending the bulk of her birthday alone now that her father was gone.
“We’re running eleven minutes early,” Bridget said. “Come in, sit down, and tell us all about your new employee.”
Meadow guided her into the living room the way a sheepdog guides a sheep.
Bridget’s condo had become their default hang-out spot. Finley’s and Meadow’s houses were located outside city limits on opposite sides of Misty River. Bridget’s house was located in the middle, tucked into a cute neighborhood downtown. Plus, it was always tidy.
Finley had met Bridget her freshman year of college, when they’d lived on the same floor in the dorm at the University of Georgia. Bridget was shy, sweet, supportive, and highly organized. She’d invited Finley to her hometown of Misty River one weekend, and thank goodness Finley had said yes, because two momentous things had happened on that trip.
One, Bridget had introduced Finley to her hometown friend, Meadow, who was three years ahead of them in school. Two, Finley had fallen in love with the town and announced to both Meadow (whom she’d known for two-and-a-half minutes) and Bridget (whom she’d known a couple of months) that she’d move here as soon as she graduated.
She’d followed through on that promise. And when Finley had left her first job at the art gallery to work at Furry Tails full time, Bridget had taken her position at the gallery—and proved herself far better at it than Finley had ever been.
Meadow sat on the edge of her chair, practically vibrating with energy. Despite her name, nothing about Meadow brought to mind peaceful green expanses of grass. With a firm face and compact body, Meadow resembled the singer Pink. She’d played up the resemblance by cutting her hair in a short upswept style and dying it fuchsia. Today, she wore her usual uniform—a tank top and cotton pants designed with a crotch that hovered at mid-thigh.
