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1
RHEA
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
There was nobody around to hear the words I’d muttered disapprovingly, but saying them made me feel better.
This was getting old.
It was Wednesday, the end of the workday, and I had just grabbed the mail.
Despite the chill in the early March air, I stopped in my tracks to reread the letter. I knew it was foolish to think I might have overlooked something the first time I’d read it, but I was hoping for a miracle.
I wanted something, anything, to pop out and indicate I’d misinterpreted what I’d read.
Is this what life was going to be like from now on? Was I always going to dread heading to the mailbox?
For so long, I’d enjoyed this part of my job. I didn’t mind handling the necessary administrative work required to run our operation. Something as simple as the mail should have been just that—simple.
I used to thumb through the mail, toss the junk, set aside the bills, and review anything else that had the potential to be new business or a big headache. I liked doing my part.
Unfortunately, it only filled me with an overwhelming sense of doom to make that walk to the box every day.
And given how the last two and a half years had gone, I always felt my belly pitch uncomfortably whenever a piece of mail arrived that wasn’t easily identifiable.
Sometimes, the feeling was unwarranted. Other times, like now, I wished I could pretend I’d never gotten the mail and could have just gone home, made dinner, and had a nice, relaxing evening.
Technically, I guess I could still do that. It wasn’t as though there’d been any proof of me receiving this letter. But if I’d learned anything in recent years, it was that ignoring a problem never made it go away. If anything, it only made matters worse.
After I finished reading the letter a second time, my head dropped back, and I let out a frustrated sigh.
“That’s not the look I want to see on my daughter’s face after a long day of work.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as warmth moved through me. I lowered my chin, looked to my right, and saw my dad making his way in my direction.
Regardless of the stress my family and I had faced recently, there was no question we were lucky. I was, arguably, the luckiest of everyone.
Maybe I was the one who’d needed to oversee everything when situations like this arose, but it was my parents who did all the heavy lifting.
As my father made his approach, I took him in. There was so much about his looks that bore a sharp contrast to the man he was inside. Physically and emotionally, he was a strong man. But there was no doubt that years of hard labor kept him in shape as much as they aged him.
He was tall with a full head of salt and pepper hair. Years of spending time outdoors in the sun had left wrinkles on his handsome face.
Regardless of the toll life and work had taken on his appearance, Leon Marks was still young at heart. But I guess that was something he got from his parents, who were still alive and filling our lives with joy and laughter.
Smiling, I said, “Hi, Daddy.”
My father pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Hi, sweetheart. Why do you look so stressed?”
I didn’t want to tell him, but I’d never keep the truth from him, either. “We just got a letter in the mail that I’d like to throw away and forget about.”
Concern immediately washed over him, his brows furrowing. Instead of demanding answers, he jerked his head to the side and urged, “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”
I led my father inside, walked over to a table, and sat down. He sat in the seat opposite of me. For several moments, neither of us said a word. Surely, he was waiting for me to reveal what was on my mind, and I was simply dreading sharing it with him.
Eventually, he was the one to break the silence. “It seems impossible you could ever have a reason to look so stressed when you do what you do every day, Rhea.”
“Ice cream is supposed to make everything better, isn’t it?” I countered with a smile.
