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Teague
“Stay with me. For a minute.”
I sounded like a child but couldn’t find it in me to care. I needed Pepper close. When she was around, I forgot about all the other problems in our lives.
She blinked at me as I shrugged off my suit jacket. I needed this monkey suit off now. It was another reminder of the puppet I’d become for my father. He said wear a suit to work, so I had.
“Okay,” she said so softly I barely heard her.
More of my tension melted away. I sent her a silent thank you when she slipped off her shoes.
I emptied my pockets on her dresser. Pepper’s space wasn’t immaculate, but it was tidy. Lived in. A loved space. A home.
“Are you going to South Carolina to pick up new dogs?” I motioned to the overnight envelope on the dresser.
She stiffened. “No.”
She had a life I knew nothing about. One I was curious to connect the pieces to see what made her the person she was. While I wanted all of them now, demanding answers wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
Tentatively, she walked toward me. As if whatever was in that envelope was dangerous and needed to be opened by a bomb squad.
She refused to look or touch it. Her swallow was audible when she stopped in front of me.
“It’s from my hometown.” She cleared her throat. “From a lawyer in my hometown,” she corrected.
I bristled at the word lawyer despite that contact by one could mean anything . . . though it was probably nothing good.
“Are you—” I didn’t want to assume or offend her as I tried to choose my words carefully. “In trouble?”
She half-heartedly shrugged, and her shoulders slumped even more than usual. “I haven’t opened the envelope.”
I nodded. It was weird how the contents of a simple envelope could hold such power.
“I got a letter from my mother on my twenty-third birthday,” I blurted. The day it arrived had been routine enough. I’d been sorting through the mail like usual. When that letter was on top and the handwriting and return address registered, it nearly sent me to my knees.
“I thought she passed away when you were young?” Pepper asked, her brow furrowed.
“She did.” I loosened the top few buttons of my dress shirt. My tie was in the truck somewhere. “But she wrote a bunch of letters to the three of us. I still get them at random times.”
“Was she sick before she passed away?” She tilted her head.
“Not that I know of. She was just—” I paused to think how to phrase my thoughts. My mother was a special person. A bright spot to anyone who met her. She managed to show my father had a heart—at least at some point. “Thoughtful. Intuitive. And unique. The letters are so very her.”
They were a gift I treasured. The randomness of the delivery dates somehow made me look forward to them even more . . . if that were possible. Mom had been there for us all these years even though she was gone.
I didn’t know if she’d have given us the letters at the same times if she’d been alive, but the randomness felt calculated. How she’d known the moments that we’d need her had always baffled me. But it never failed I’d get one when I needed it.
Now would be a good time.
I knit my brow.
“What is it?”
“I wonder if she had them sent to my father too?” How would he feel if he received one? I didn’t know him well enough to figure out if he’d be stoic or angry or as happy to have a piece of her as I was.
They’d loved each other. That much I remembered. She’d been gone so long it was hard to remember the glimpses of the man he was before she died. I imagined if any part of that man still existed then those letters would be as precious to him as they were to me.
And that meant we had something in common.
