“That’s one way to put it.”
“Developers, health inspections, community workdays, apparently a relationship with Mr. Wyatt Rivers himself that has the whole town talking.” He chuckles. “Mavis would have loved every minute of that.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so. She never did anything the easy way. Why should you?”
He picks up a pen. “Now, are you ready to make it official?”
He slides a stack of documents across the desk. I read them carefully. Transfer of ownership, the final release of the estate, the confirmation that all conditions of the will have been met.
“Sign here,” Harlan says, pointing. “And here. And here.”
I sign. My hand is steady.
Eleanor Whitfield.
“Congratulations,” Harlan says when I’m done. “The Rusty Spur is officially yours, free and clear.”
I stare at the papers, at my name, at the reality of what I’ve accomplished.
“I did it,” I whisper.
“You did,” he leans back in his chair, winking. “Oh, there’s one more thing.”
He reaches into his desk and pulls out a cream-colored envelope, slightly yellowed around the edges, with my name written on the front.
“Mavis left this for you. Instructions were to give it to you on this day, if you made it through.”
My hands tremble as I take it. “She wrote me another letter?”
“She did. Left it with me for safekeeping.”
I turn it over in my hands, almost afraid to open it, because Mavis has been known for surprises. But whatever’s inside, it’s the final word, the last thing Mavis will ever say to me.
“You want some privacy?” he asks.
“Oh, no. You can stay.”
I open the envelope and pull out two sheets of paper covered in her familiar handwriting.
My dearest Eleanor,
If you’re reading this, you made it. You stayed. You fought through whatever challenges came your way, and I’m sure there were many. You became part of Copper Creek, just like I knew you would.
I have a confession to make. This was never really about the bar. I mean, the bar matters, don’t get me wrong. It’s been my life, my life’s work, my greatest joy, the place where I found myself after leaving Atlanta all those years ago. But I could have left it to anyone. I could have sold it and donated the money to charity. I could have left it to the church outright.
I left it to you because I wanted to give you what no one else ever gave me. Permission to fail.
Your mother, my sister’s daughter, was raised the same way I was. Taught that perfection was the only acceptable outcome, that mistakes were something to be ashamed of, that showing weakness was the greatest sin of all. I escaped that world, but your mother embraced it, and she passed it on to you.
I watched that from a distance, Eleanor. All those years, I watched. I saw a little girl who grew tomatoes in secret because her mother thought gardening was beneath her. I saw the young woman who gave up her dreams to run her mother’s business. I saw a polished, perfect exterior and the loneliness underneath.
And then I thought, she needs what I found. She needs Copper Creek. And if I don’t help her, she’s never going to find it on her own.
Here’s the part I haven’t told you yet.
She also needed Wyatt Rivers.
