1
MAGS
Standing in the middle of my kitchen, I stare at the envelope my daughter Charlie has just placed on the counter, tears stinging my eyes at the sight.
It's not that I didn't know it existed, I did. I've just been avoiding the damn thing for nearly eight years now. A big part of me planned tokeepavoiding it for another eight at least.
Then Duck Norris–that menacing waterbird from Bull Mountain Ranch–decided to stick his beak where it didn't belong and re-deliver the letterfrom my dear departed best friend who passed away not long after writing it.
“You OK, Mom?” Charlie asks softly, coming closer and sliding her arm around my waist. “I recognized Aunt Anna’s handwritin’ as soon as I saw it.”
“Yeah. I knew it was from her,” I reply, my voice surprisingly steady as I turn my head to meet my girl’s eyes.
Her gaze roams over my face. “But it’s still sealed.”
I nod. “It was hidden away. Obviously not well enough if Dick Norris found it.”
Charlie’s lips twitch and her partner, Austin, chuckles as he comes up to join us when Charlie steps away from me. “That’s a new name for him,” he replies. “He’s definitely earned a few by now.”
“Well, it’s true. It was in a box in the attic. How on earth did he get up there and steal it?” I turn to Charlie’s boyfriend, Austin, who lives over my garage with her but also hails from Bull Mountain Ranch where said duck lives. “Maybe you should check it out up there, Austin. If there’s a hole or whatever, it needs fixin’,” I add.
“Duck Norris has a knack for gettin’ into places where he doesn’t belong,” he replies. “Remember all the times he’s found his way into bathrooms, bedrooms–”
“Walked through the front door with an envelope in his mouth?” Charlie finishes.
Austin’s lips twitch. “That too. But I can have a look tomorrow in the daylight, Mags. Not a problem.”
I let out a big sigh as my eyes drift back to the letter on the counter. “Damn duck.”
“Are you goin’ to open it?” my dear girl asks. “I could do it for you if you wanted me to.”
“No!” I rush out, earning wide eyes from the two of them. “I’m not ready.”
Charlie frowns and looks over at Austin who simply shrugs. “Don’t you want to know what she said?”
I think I already know, that’s the problem.
“Leave her be, Doc,” Austin says, coming to my rescue. “Besides, we’re late for dinner at Sunshine Farm. Cora said she was cookin’ a full English roast dinner and I want to get there before Tobes steals all those delicious Yorkshire puddin’ things.” Cora being Austin’s sister in law who’s married to Rhett. And Toby being one of Austin’s other brothers who’s known for eating his weight ineverything.
“Yes. You two go. I’m headin’ back to the diner to help with the dinner rush anyway.”
Charlie snorts. “Dinner rush at the Loaded Hog. You mean the old timers and the Sunday School Sallys?”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’ll be it. Can’t leave the regulars waitin’ for too long. They’re my bread and butter, remember.”
“Hmmm,” Char replies. “You sure you’re goin’ to be OK? Whatever you want to do withthat,” she nods to the envelope in front of me, “I’m here for you.”
“We both are,” Austin adds.God, he’s a good man. My girl definitely picked a good one.
I find my strong-woman persona and pull her out of my pocket–so to speak. “Hey. I’m good. Now, go. Don’t keep the family waitin’. That letter has been there for almost eight years, a little while longer won’t do any harm.”There. That sounded almost believable, right?
Charlie gives me a tight hug, the kind that lets me know she’s not buying my tough act for one second, but she plays along anyway. “Alright, Ma. We’ll see you later then. Love you.”
“Love you too, Charlie Bear,” I reply, holding on to her a moment longer before releasing her. “You too, Austin. Drive safe.”
“Always,” he replies, rubbing my arm before lacing his fingers with Char’s and leading her down the hallway. As they head out the door, Austin gives me a knowing look and a subtle nod before following Charlie down the porch steps.
Alone in the kitchen, I finally allow my gaze to settle back on the envelope. With trembling hands, I pick it up and run my fingers over the familiar handwriting on the front. Anna’s handwriting—a mix of cursive and print that had always made me smile.
