I pick it back up, and tears well in my eyes before I even read the first line.
To my dreamcatcher granddaughter,
Hadley, my dear, I’m sure you’re confused right now, and I don’t blame you.You can be mad at me if that’s your wish, but remember, I’m gone from this life, so your anger is pointless.I’m with your grandfather now, living my eternity in bliss.
I know how much you love The Story Jar.I do, and I love it as well.It’s the reason I’ve kept it going when I should have closed the doors years ago.Gosh, maybe a decade ago.But I love books and stories that take me to faraway worlds I’ll never visit.I love watching a book capture the magic of a child’s imagination and that it happens in these walls.
The selfish part of me wants to keep it going.I think about the little kids out there being born into a world where their imaginations are slowly stolen by phones and social media.
The fighter in me isn’t ready to quit, and let’s face it, the second-best fighter in the Hargrove family is you.Yes, you’re second to me, sweetie, deal with it.
I’ve always admired your love for travel and adventure, being out there and finding the stories and making them your own.I’m sure you have wonderful memories of your explorations, and I have loved hearing about them in your postcards and emails and little videos you’d send me.I’ve seen parts of the world through you that I never would have otherwise.
I don’t regret the fact I rarely ever left Chicago.I love this city.But I do wish I had traveled with you at least once just to watch you discover something new.Every time you returned and told me a story, I felt every noise, every smell, every detail you described.
You’re a natural storyteller, Hadley.
So, you’ll have to excuse me for doing one more selfish thing and leaving you a failing business.I know you can revamp this.You have the ability to captivate people.You spark a desire in people, and they can live through you.
If you must sell The Story Jar, I understand.Don’t worry, I would never come down and haunt you.I promise.I know the demand I’m placing on you.Asking you to establish roots, to find a man, fall in love, and marry him.It’s ancient and something we’d read in a book, right?But you know most of those books have a happily ever after, and I want you to find your own.I have no idea how it will go for you, but I wish I could see you fall in love.
I’ve said enough.
I know the choice is unbearable.
Roots or exploration.It’s a tug-of-war many have played for generations.I know your reasons for not wanting to stay in Chicago.But it’s a big city, and there’s a lot waiting for you to fall in love with.
I love you, Hadley, my dear sweet grandchild.Some of my fondest memories were the ones of you tucked into a corner, nose in a book, while I watched your expressions morph as your eyes scanned the pages.
I think this life was meant for you, but what do I know?I’m just an old woman with bad knees and arthritic fingers.I lived a great life here, and if you give it a chance, I think you will too.
You’re my last hope, Hadley.Save The Story Jar for the little girls like you who might never have found their love of adventure and the books that spurred your imagination.
Love,
Grandma
P.S.You’ve spent your life chasing adventures across the world.Don’t forget sometimes the greatest one finds you right at home.
I fold up the letter and slide it back in the envelope before stuffing it back in my bag.I press the crease flat as if I can keep her words from escaping.
A knock lands on the door, and Vera peeks her head in.“Hey, you, while you’re here, do you mind watching the store?I just want to go check that Pete ate his breakfast.”
“Sure, Vera, no problem.”I get up off the chair, leaving my favorite bagel in all of Chicago on the desk and picking up my coffee.
As I step out in the hallway, the front door chime rings.I slap on a smile and let myself be seen.
Then I see who it is and remember that I never texted Easton back.I could use him to get my mind away from all this shit right now.
“Hi,” I say to the two women—one strawberry-blonde, the other brunette.With them are two little girls and two strollers.
“Hi,” they both say enthusiastically.
It’s weird knowing who someone is when they have no idea who you are.Especially when you’ve slept with their husbands’ teammate multiple times.So even though he’s told me about them and filled me in on gossip every now and then, Leighton and Callie have no clue that I’m Easton’s fuck-around friend.
Honor’s head is buried in her phone, probably laughing inside that I’m in this awkward situation.I try to get her to look my way, but she doesn’t even spare me a glance.
“Anything I can help you with?”
