“Hunt, you made it clear that you need to explore this newfound part of your life and I want you to be able to do that. You clearly have a connection to this woman and for the chance that you want to explore that after reading her letters for five years, I want you to have that freedom. Olive has told me about the look in your eyes when you read one of her letters. She told me you have a special smile just for this woman’s words.” I want to argue with her and tell her she’s completely wrong but I’d be lying if I said I felt nothing toward Ari. And Charlotte’s right—it isn’t fair to her. “Take some time and figure out what you want. If by chance, you realize it’s me, I’ll be here. And if it’s her, I understand completely.”
“Charlotte, I do want you!” But I want to know more about Ari, too, and I’m seeing right now that I can’t have it both ways. I didn’t ask for things to be like this. It isn’t fair.
“Then that’s the way things will end up.”
“Don’t throw this fate shit at me, please,” I tell her. While I’m saying this, I hear Ari’s argumentative words about our predestined paths in life. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to figure out if Charlotte is my less chosen path…my road not taken, or if Ari is.
“I don’t believe in fate, Hunter. I believe in choices.”
I stand up, as this conversation has a defined end mark that I am trying to step over. “I’m sorry for waking you up so late.” This fucking sucks. I’m thirty years old and I’m being dumped by the first person I’ve allowed myself to have feelings for besides Ellie.
“Anytime, really. We’re friends, we’re neighbors, and our daughters are connected at the hip. We’re stuck with each other.”Kiss of death words.Her voice rattles with an uncomfortable laugh as she tugs at her robe again. “Hunt, we’re adults; we can work through this. I don’t want there to be awkwardness, okay?”
“I’ve seen you naked,” I add with a teasing smile, testing the waters.
“And I’ve seen you naked,” she says.
“Whatever.”
“Ifwhateveris meant to be, it will be,” she responds.
I leave the conversation at that, quietly slipping out the door, unwilling to turn and look back at whatever emotion is written across her face. I know I’m the cause of her pain and confusion, and now mine, as well.
Thank God. Mom is asleep in the guest room and Olive is snoring away. I quietly pad across the floor barefoot, heading up the stairs, avoiding the spots that creak. Once inside my bedroom, I flip on the lights and slide open the closet doors, reaching up for the large brown box with Ellie’s name inked across the top.
I rest the box on my bed and open the flaps, exposing all of Ellie’s belongings that I could squeeze into this thing. I reach my hand down the right side until I touch the bottom, feeling around for the book I’m looking for. The moleskin fabric comes into contact with my fingertips and I slip it out carefully.
I’ve skimmed through her journal many times before, selfishly ruining whatever privacy she wanted while she was alive, but most everything I read were things I already knew, which is why I only skimmed the pages. The memories always seemed to hurt more than help. Now, though, I need to look harder for the parts of Ellie’s life she kept secret.
I get it. We all have secrets. We all have demons and we all have moments so personal that we can’t share them. I just never considered the parts she left out.
Turning page after page, I drag my finger down the center of Ellie’s beautiful words, the penmanship I always admired. I teased her that she was born to be a teacher, with her perfect handwriting. It’s the kind of script that is so clean and crisp no one would ever struggle to read it like most cursive writings.
As I begin to read, the words sink in and memories join them. I haven’t done this in a while so it feels fresh, as if the words were nightcaps to a perfect day I experienced only hours before. Ellie wrote in this journal once a month, recapping every important detail for the prior thirtyish days. She started this new journal the day we got married. She said it was a new chapter and deserved a new book.
My cheeks burn as I read her memories on the first night of our honeymoon, the inner thoughts she had while we commenced our marriage in Puerto Vallarta in front of our open porch doors, which overlooked nothing but the water, stars, and moon. The warmth around us felt like a cocoon shielding us from everything and everyone. It was only us that night, and I would give everything I have to be back in that moment with her.
The way she looked at me, as if all of her dreams had finally come true, made me understand the true meaning of life’s plan. Men don’t typically dream about their wedding day, but since the moment my hormones replaced the thoughts of Ellie only being a friend in my life, I had dreamt of that moment, in that bed, in that hotel room, on that night with her. Even though we had plenty of prior practice, that night felt like the first time all over again.
Flipping to the next page, I continue to read her poetic thoughts, stumbling over a certain line I know I never read before.
If only God had placed me on this earth to serve more purpose than just making a man slowly fall in love with me for seventeen years, I could promise him seventeen more years. ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ is a truth I will give my soul to for eternity, wherever that may be.
Ellie always had a way of talking in circles when she wrote, words that seemed to make little sense to me, though I knew there was always a deeper meaning behind what was delicately rolling off of her tongue via the tip of a pen. These written words, however, make sense to me now, but were her thoughts intuition or a secret? That’s what I don’t understand.
I skip forward several pages, finding another indented quote centered in the middle of the page.
A gift doesn’t always have to be tangible
It doesn’t always have to be enfolded with a bow
Occasionally it’s protected in blood and arrives without a label
While full of soul-rendering love, it can also produce sorrow
I offer this bequest
In the remains of my shadow
