My hands trembled as I opened it and pulled the neatly folded note out.
Dear Calum,
If you’re reading this letter, that means I’m not here anymore. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was dying. I figured it was a moot point—I’m pushing ninety-three, I’ve been dying for a decade already. Never thought I’d make it this far, never thought I’d outlive your Nan, and I did. I’ve missed her every day over the past sixteen years.
But I’ll tell you something…my years with Mary were the best years of my life. The ones without her, they were good because I had my family, a family I had because of my love with her. Your mom, you, and your sister are the music, just as Mary was. I want you to experience that because all the platinum records and music awards in the world can’t fill up the hole in your heart.
It’s not too late, you know. It’s not too late to track her down and tell her you regret it. In fact, I’m making that my last request of you. I know you regret it, and I know you’d take it back if you could.
Tell her, even if it changes nothing.
Tell her because it might change everything.
Never forget how fleeting life is. You don’t have an infinite amount of time, so learn how to forgive. Forgiveness lessens the load you have to carry in this world and frees up your hands to catch and hold on to the good things.
Remember to forgive yourself, too.
Love always,
Gramps
I sat heavily down on my mattress, the note still in hand. The page was cold and smooth between my fingers, and a loaded sigh escaped my lips as I fell backward onto my bed.
My grandfather’s last written words were similar to what he had said many times to me over the last several years, so they didn’t come as a surprise. However, the fact that I wasn’t tuning them out or shutting them down was shocking.
It’s difficult to argue with the dead.
I glanced at his handwriting once more, deliberating. His words had awoken something restless in me, something I’d been trying to tromp down for so long. Something I’d grown tired of fighting.
I pulled out my phone from my pocket, holding it with my free hand while I clenched Gramps’ note in the other.
Unlocking it, I realized I had several missed texts from the guys. I quickly replied to the group text, telling them I’d made it safely, before opening my gallery.
I found the album where I stored old cell phone snaps. It seemed like another life, so far out of my reach, yet I was never able to delete them. I’d transferred them onto every new phone I got, saving them in a locked album.
Usually, I only pulled these pictures up after a heavy drinking night, when I wanted to torment myself. I was stone-cold sober tonight—although the urge to torture myself was still acutely present.
I typed in the password and clicked on the last photo. It was of the two of us lying in my bed—thisbed. I stared at it for a hell of a lot longer than I should have, letting it take me back to that night.
Harper’s lips were so swollen from my kisses, and her smile as she ardently gazed at me still rocked me. She’d always been too authentic to hide her feelings, and that was one of the things that had captivated me so completely about her. Her wholesome transparency, the way she wore her feelings for me with every smile, it held me fast—no matter how far I ran.
With Gramps’ penned words still fresh in my mind, I clicked out of the gallery and opened the search engine. With clumsy thumbs, I typed in her name.
It had been years since I’d last Googled her. My brow creased when several new hits came up. I clicked on the first one, my eyes hungrily lapping up the article.
A brand new bookstore and café opens in Mahone Bay!
Harper Morrison and Ellery Pelletier bring a delightful mixture of literature and caffeine to Mahone Bay with the opening of Books and Brews. The café serves excellent coffee, delicious treats, as well as soup and sandwiches. The bookstore is loaded with new titles by independent authors as well as traditional works.
The article linked to the bookstore’s own Facebook page, Twitter, and Instagram accounts. I scrolled down, heart pounding unsteadily in my chest.
There were a few photographs of the opening day. There were pictures of Harper standing with a blonde woman out in front of a purple clapboard storefront, the shop name proudly captured along with them.
I clicked on that picture, zooming in on her as much as my phone allowed me. She looked incredible. The girl I left behind had grown into a gorgeous, confident woman. She’d chopped her long chestnut locks into a bob that drew my eye to her jawline, then her lips.
That one little pixilated glimpse of her wasn’t enough for me, but all of the recent photos were of book table displays or treats from the café, artistically taken. If she had them, her private accounts were securely locked down.
All I had to go on was the name of her business. My fingers tapped against the glass screen of my phone.
