Page 129 of The False Flat

Erin, my dutiful, wildly successful, and very pregnant business partner, walked into the kitchen and whisked Gloria to the backyard, where William and Beau waited on the patio.

Erin and I had our own space now with an additional staff of two, and she was just finishing up her CFP certification. We still kept in touch with everyone from WeWork. I’d taken a month off, but now that I’d gone back, needing the distraction, Gloria came with me, content to sit in the play area Erin had created in the corner of my office. I hoped, by listening to client meetings, Gloria would learn she could do anything, even when everything and everyone told her she couldn’t.

Once they were outside, Deanna picked a plain white envelope from the small desk in the corner. “Grant told me to give this to you three months after he died. I don’t know what’s in it.”

My belly tightened, and shaking, I slipped the envelope into my purse.

As Deanna finished preparing the food, I watched William toss Gloria from one side of his lap to the other while Erin and Beau laughed. Profound thankfulness settled over me. I was determined to give Gloria what I hadn’t had as a child, what her father had given me as an adult, what I was trying to give myself: presence and family.

We talked about Grant over lunch, but unable to think much past the envelope in my purse, I told them Gloria and I needed to get home. Deanna understood, as she always did, and saw us to the door.

“You’re going to read it when you get home?” she asked, tucking her arm into mine as Gloria ran out the front door and immediately bent to look for four-leaf clovers.

I nodded, my eyes already filling.

She turned me toward her. “You’re going to be okay.”

I nodded again, swallowing past the tears.

She shook her head. “Say it.”

“I’m going to be okay.”

She smiled, rested her forehead on mine, and whispered, “We’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” I whispered back.

We separated, but we grabbed each other’s hands, needing one more moment of contact.

“Let’s not find out.”

“Deal.”

“I love you, Pen.”

“I love you, Deanna.”

When other people moved on, went about their routines, and couldn’t remember how long it’d been since Grant had passed, Deanna would tuck her hand in mine and squeeze. Like me, she would always know when the world had changed.

At home, I sat in one of the patio chairs Grant had handcrafted as Gloria and our dog, Bran, ran around in the backyard.

My hands shook as I loosened the seal and opened the flap. I had a flash of my brother’s journal, the one I’d waited so long to read. I wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

The yellowish parchment was thick and heavy, and the faint aroma of trail mix and nature wafted up from the page, what was—or rather had been—Grant.

As I pulled the paper from the security envelope, a key fell from the interior and onto the ground, where I left it, too hungry for the familiar handwriting I glimpsed as I unfolded the letter.

I read the first line and had to put it down again, tears blurring the words. When I was finally able to read on, I laughed out loud at the second sentence. It was so Grant, able to make me laugh even now.

My dearest Penelope,

Hi, my love. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I hope you miss me as much as I’m sure I miss you. Since I wrote this before I left, it’s hard to say for certain. Perhaps I’m in a place where I can’t miss anyone. But it’s impossible for me to imagine a place where I wouldn’t be missing you and Gloria.

We didn’t have long, but even if we’d known each other our whole lives, from the very start, I’d still say it wasn’t enough.

I looked up the definition of “soulmate”: a person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament. You are perfectly suited to me. And though it might sound cheesy and clichéd . . . you are my soulmate. Maybe it’s better said, you are my heart’s refuge.