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The more she read, the more certain she became that he would get it. Her
. He wouldn’t vilify her for the things she’d done wrong. Of all people, he understood how important it was to forgive and go forward.
She’d forgiven herself for her youthful transgression years ago. Sam hadn’t forgiven himself yet. Guilt dripped from every cobweb strung up in the corners of his apartment. Her gut told her that he believed if he let go of those feelings he’d be releasing his wife, something he wasn’t ready to do. Whether that was because he loved her too much to move on or because he didn’t know his next step was anyone’s guess.
She took the last sip of wine and set the glass aside. Tonight she wouldn’t be getting toasted while she read. His pain demanded more respect.
My buddies think I’m doing better than I am. They still invite me over to watch the game and I just know that one of them will suggest we hit up a bar one of these nights. They’d never tell me to sleep with another woman to get over you but that’s how it’s done. Let go of one woman, grab the next…but that’s a game I won’t play. Though I know you’re doing enough hurting for us both, suffering the way I am makes me feel like I’m doing my part. Sharing the burden I made you carry.
Maybe one day I’ll get used to sleeping alone again. I think what scares me most is that you’ll get used to it first.
Rory let out a long breath and tucked the letter back in its envelope before she moved on to the next. This one had been written a couple weeks later. The tone hadn’t changed. Despair and more despair. The next three letters were more of the same. He seemed to become more comfortable with his feelings, almost resigned to them.
Then she noticed the four envelopes in the center of the stack encircled with three yellow rubber bands. These must be different.
Dear Brandy,
Since I write love letters to your mom, who doesn’t want to see me anymore and seems pretty resistant to changing her mind, it only makes sense I’d write to you and your sister too. I think about you girls all the time. You’d be a toddler now, running around causing mischief, and I’d be the dad who followed you around and asked you to tidy up your toy box but who never yelled because you didn’t. I think I’d be so awed by you, by knowing that some weird alchemy of your mom’s traits and mine had made you into the perfect little creature you’d have to be, that I wouldn’t be able to yell ever. Or spank. Back when I was growing up my dad always told me I’d discover what it was like to have a crazy son of my own one day. Well, that hasn’t happened yet. I’ve only ever been a dad to daughters, two beautiful, precious little girls that I never got to hear cry or laugh or watch take their first clumsy steps. I never got to hear them call me daddy.
I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a father. When your mama told me she was pregnant, the first thing I wanted to do was escape. I wasn’t ready. At nineteen, who’s ready for much? We’d partied too hard and made some mistakes and then there was you. I figured I’d regret you and those mistakes but I never did. And though I didn’t fall in love with your mama until after she wore my gold ring, it didn’t make that love any less real. You brought us together and gave us hope. In so many ways you saved us.
Rory rubbed a hand over her face, needing to erase the mental imprint of Sam’s handwritten words on that yellowed paper. She doubted she’d ever be able to.
God, had any weepfest movie of the week ever been more raw? She could feel his pain in every word. And his love. Though the picture of Dani and Sam that she’d held in her mind for so long had definitely been inaccurate, she had no doubt that theirs had been a love story at the core. They’d suffered tragedies and bad luck but they’d also shared some good times and deep emotion.
She made herself go back to them, get through the rest. Fifteen minutes later, after she’d read all four through a blur of tears, she got up off the couch. She longed for a hot shower and something to scour her heart of his anguish. Not alcohol. Nope, only one thing—one person—would do.
She needed to hear him laugh, to be the one who made him. Tonight it would feel so good to just fucking laugh.
Once she’d showered and donned the faded boxers and old baseball jersey she slept in, she crawled into her tidily made bed, whistled for her cat Snowdrop and smiled as the brown and gray tabby leaped up beside her. As usual, she gave her mistress a giant headbutt hello.
Sam should get a cat. One as affectionate as Snowy, she mused as her kitty rolled over and stuck her paws in the air. Rory patted her furry belly and grinned. “Too bad you’re spayed huh, sweetheart?”
All she got was a rumbling purr in return.
Settling back into the pillows, she grabbed the bedside phone and the card she’d tucked beneath it. She’d written that number in at least three places and programmed it into her cell.
“Obsessive much?” she muttered, hitting the digits she’d already almost memorized.
He answered on the second ring. “Ah, so you decided to call.”
His voice alone made her smile. Step one to laughter achieved. “I did. And you decided to answer.”
“Well, it was a tough choice. Watching the end of the fight—which sucked anyway—cleaning out the litter box for Junior or—”
“Wait, Junior? Who’s that?”
“He’s a cat.”
She couldn’t help laughing at his patient tone. “I figured out that part from the litter box. But why do you have him?”
“I nabbed him from the pound.”
“Oh really? Yay!” She hated that she squealed but she couldn’t believe he’d somehow read her thoughts. “Just this afternoon?”
“Yep. I stopped by and they were having some big adoption thing. Due to overcrowding, they let me take him. If my paperwork checks out I’ll get to keep him. Otherwise they’ll return him to his sunny life in a wire cage.”
With effort she ignored his sudden bitterness. It wasn’t easy seeing so many pets caged up at the shelter and she had a feeling Sam empathized with them more than most. He had his own cage of sorts, though he came and went. “So you named him Junior? He’s not oversized and hairless, is he?”
