Excitement shimmers through me for a few seconds before reality strikes it down. “I have twenty pages of crap.” I’m not kidding. I hate what I’ve written recently. It’s like every creative bone in my body has liquified.
Cam flicks her finger against the top of my closed laptop. “You’d better get to it then.” She leaves me alone after that, and I attempt to produce something passable.
Write, delete.
Write, fling silent expletives.
Write, tell myself I’m living in a fantasy if I think I’m capable of attempting this. I should go back to being a therapist and this time I’ll promise not to yell at my patients.
After two hours, I give up my table to a grateful looking mom toting a toddler. I try not to think about how that could’ve been me, if the St. Lucia trip had gone differently.
I’m sifting through mail in my tiny entryway when I see it.
A mailer, forwarded from my old address, with the name Peter Whalen and an address stamped in the return corner. Iopen it, and an envelope slips out. I catch it before it falls, and turn it over. My heart thumps as I read my own words.
A Very Heartfelt Refusal To Read
I peer inside the mailer, hoping for an explanation. Why send this to me now? There’s a sheet of paper, something handwritten. I pull it out. The top is stamped with the law firm’s name. Below, the lawyer writes:
Avery,
I came across this recently. I understand you didn’t want it on that day, but perhaps now you’ve changed your mind. At any rate, it’s in your possession and you can choose what to do with it.
Best,
Peter
I walkto the living room and drop everything but the envelope onto the table. My hand quakes as I slip my finger under the paper flap, and a tiny hot pain flashes across the pad of my finger. I ignore the paper cut, and keep going, tearing my way across.
Sitting back, I extract the trifold blank sheet of white paper and unfold it. The entirety of my body feels numb, except for my rapidly beating heart.
Avery,
I could say I’m sorry into eternity, and it wouldn’t be enough. You didn’t ask for any of this, and I cannot continue allowing you to be punished alongside me. I don’t want you to drive out here every weekend. I don’t want you to have to tell people your husbandis in prison. I want you to live a life free from my chaos. Travel. Enjoy life. Write. Take our story, and use it. I’m giving you permission. I love you, with everything I am. All of me loves all of you. Now I see that sometimes loving and letting go are the same thing. Please go be happy.
Gabriel
I lie downon the couch, stunned. Ruby licks my face. I should be crying, but the tears don’t come. I’ve been turned inside out, my heart lying in a ditch somewhere. I picture Gabriel writing this letter to me. He’s more than halfway through his three-year sentence now. Does he regret it? Letting me go?
My phone rings, and I have to hunt it down. I don’t recognize the area code.
“Hello?”
“Avery? This is Jill Church. Dani’s aunt.”
I look at my own surprised reflection in the entryway mirror. “Hello, yes. Hi, Hill. I mean, Jill.” I shake my head at myself. “Sorry,” I laugh.
“Don’t worry about it. I know you weren’t expecting my call, but Dani gave me your number and I thought I’d reach out while I have a few minutes before my next meeting.”
“That’s so kind of you,” I say, my brain tripping over itself trying to figure out what to say next.
Jill solves that problem for me. “Look, this isn’t the way things usually work. Dani said she’s known you for years, and asked me to give you a shot.”
“Yes, she?—”
“Shoot.”
“Excuse me?”
