Page 123

“When the first one appeared in my mailbox, I thought it was a mistake and wrote another and another, but they all came back unread.” Will sniffed again. “And now I know why. Can’t say I blame her.”

Pausing on an envelope postmarked January 1969, Oliver held it up. “Your return address is St. Louis. Others say Detroit or Boston.”

Will nodded. “I was a bit of a journeyman in my later years, got traded several times.”

“And despite the upheaval”—Oliver leafed through the second bundle, finding more letters from St. Louis as well as Vancouver—“you kept writing.”

“And hoping. All I needed was for her to answer one, let me know how you both were, but 1971 rolled around, and I stopped.”

“How come?”

“I saw you.”

Stomach tensing, Oliver looked up from the mail. “Where?”

“In Stockholm. I flew over in June, hoping to see you and your mother at your school’s end-of-year celebration. She’d mentioned your school by name in a few letters, so I took a chance. You’d just turned thirteen. I brought you a birthday card and a present, had flowers for your mom.”

“But why fly over then? It’d been years since you visited.”

Will swivelled in his chair and rubbed his chest. “That’s a fair question. My marriage had broken up, and at thirty-six years old I knew I’d be retiring from hockey soon, granting me freedom to move, and…well, you and Linnéa were still in my thoughts.” He scratched the greying stubble on his jaw. “To be honest, you never left. My feelings for the two of you were one of the reasons why my marriage failed. Turns out, my first wife didn’t enjoy playing second fiddle.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed.

“I saw the collapse of my marriage and impending retirement as a second chance, hoped Linnéa would be open to resuming what we once had and allow me to be a real dad to you. Only, we’d do it properly this time, living in the same place, on the same page.”

Pursing his lips, Oliver shook his head. “But she sent back your letters. If that doesn’t scream ‘not interested’…”

“I know. Sounds like a fool’s errand, right? I wasn’t kidding myself. I knew there was a good chance Linnéa would’ve told me where to go, but I thought: screw the risks—I’m choosing love.” He sighed. “And Linnéa, well, she truly was the love of my life. You both are.”

Oliver’s heart panged. “But if you visited that year, why don’t I remember us meeting? And why didn’t Ma ever mention it?”

“Because it never happened. I arrived at your school, hoping to see you, and I did—from a distance. You were hugging a man who moments earlier had been holding your mother’s hand. You all looked so happy, settled. I didn’t want to intrude or ruin that. I’d done enough damage over the years, so I walked away.”

“And never told her?”

“Oh, I tried. I sent one last letter when I got home, but like the others, it came back unopened.”

Oliver flipped through the remaining envelopes and found it, postmarked July 6, 1971.

“I couldn’t call,” said Will. “Your number had changed years earlier, her old work line was out of service, and it would’ve been creepy to phone your school. Someone somewhere was obviously telling me to let you both go, so I did. I returned to Vancouver then left the NHL in ’72 for the WHA. That was my last team, the Ottawa Nationals. I retired after one season. Funnily enough, that’s when they relocated here and became the Toros. I decided to stay here, close to my father who was having a tough time without my mother. I married, then divorced my second wife, and worked in real estate until ’81 when Dad died.”

The grandfather I never met. A lump lodged in Oliver’s throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. He’d been sick for a while, but anticipating the worst didn’t make his passing any easier. I’m an only child, so I sold the old farm and used the money to finance this place. We opened in ’83.”

“It’s great,” said Oliver. “You can tell it’s a labour of love.”

“Cheers, I appreciate that.” Scratching his shoulder, Will paused for a beat. “So, does Georgie know?”

“I told her a week ago.”

Will nodded. “I can only imagine what she thinks of me.”

Oliver chewed his bottom lip, not wanting to speak for Georgie. A subtle swerve was best. “You know, the man you saw with us that day was out of the picture a year later. Ma never dated again after that.”

“Why’s that?”

“I think she didn’t want me getting attached to another father-type figure, only to have him leave.”