Out of Breath (Breathing, #3)(97)

I took a breath, fighting to appear calm for her. These were the insecurities that fed on her over the years, embedded by the women who I despised more than anything. These were her darkest secrets, and she was finally letting me see them. I wasn’t about to let someone else hurt her.

‘I’ll read it for you,’ I told her. ‘If it’s bad, then you won’t ever have to see it. And if I think you can handle it, then I’ll give it to you.’

‘Okay,’ she replied with a quick exhale, trying to breathe away the anxiety. She continued to twist her hands when I stood up. I started towards the master bedroom and glanced back to find her following me.

My hands were trembling, and I didn’t know how to make them stop. I was going to let him go into the room and read it alone, but then I couldn’t. I had to be there, to watch his reaction, even if he told me I couldn’t read it.

Evan flipped on the light, and I slid onto the bed. He sat on the edge, holding the heavy linen envelope in his hand, and raised his eyes to meet mine. I bit my lip and nodded, encouraging him to open it.

He slid his finger under the seal and pulled out the letter. The paper was thick and folded precisely in half. I could see enough to tell that it was handwritten. As Evan’s eyes moved along each line, down each page, my heart pounded impatiently.

‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. ‘But it’s still going to affect you. Would you like me to read it to you, or would you rather read it yourself?’

I hesitated before answering. ‘I’ll read it.’ I held out my hand. ‘But stay. Please?’ Evan scooted beside me, my shoulder pressed against him.

I took a deep breath and unfolded the paper.

Dear Emily,

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize that our first encounter must be so impersonal, but I thought it would be best under the circumstance. My name is Laura Thomas. I am your paternal grandmother.

After what transpired in Weslyn, George thought it was best to move here to live with me in Florida. I was pleased, since I had not had much time with my grandchildren. The circumstance surrounding their relocation was unfortunate, but I was determined to make them feel loved and welcome all the same.

During this time, the children spoke of you often. They asked about your well-being and when they would see you again. As you can imagine, it is a sensitive subject, and something we could not knowingly answer. George has avoided addressing any questions pertaining to you, and I, unfortunately, do not know you well enough to answer them myself.

Jack, in time, has ceased his questions. However, Leyla has persisted, constantly creating drawings for you, and has even begun to make up stories about you to her teachers and classmates. Both children have been under the care of a wonderful therapist to help them adjust to a life without their mother, and the therapist is concerned.

I have asked if it would be beneficial to request communication with you, and the suggestion was encouraged greatly. George does not know of this correspondence, and would not favour this idea. But Leyla is very important to me, and you, Emily, are very important to her.

So, I am kindly asking if you would consider reacquainting yourself with your cousins. We could begin by correspondence, either written or electronic. Then perhaps we could work up to phone conversations, and in time, if you are willing, visits.

I will understand any reservations you may have regarding this request. I am sending this in the best interest of Leyla. You are welcome to respond to the email or mailing address printed at the bottom of this letter.

Cordially,

Laura Thomas



I folded the page in half and set it on the table next to the bed, my hands continuing to shake. I leaned against the pillow and let the sterile words of my grandmother sink in. She wasn’t contacting me because she wanted to meet me, or because she was sorry for missing out on so much of my life. After the sting of that abated, the true message tore at my heart.

I could tell Emma was trying to fight it, to lock out the emotion that was making her chin tremble.

‘It’s okay,’ I consoled her. ‘Just let it out, Emma.’

She collapsed, leaning into me, and I pulled her against my chest. She didn’t sob like I expected, but her cheeks were slick with tears.

‘I miss them,’ she finally murmured, her voice broken. ‘I miss them so much. All I ever wanted was for them to be happy.’

‘I know. They miss you too. Em, that just means they love you as much as you love them.’

I held her while she cried for them. When she’d caught her breath, she eased away, wiping her flushed cheeks.

‘I don’t want to cry any more,’ she said, blowing away the tears. ‘It feels like all I’ve been doing is falling apart and crying.’

‘You can’t keep it all inside, Emma. Cry. Scream if you have to, but don’t let it destroy you. I wish you wouldn’t underestimate your strength.’ I raised my hand to the side of her face and ran my thumb over her damp cheek.

‘Thanks,’ she said, attempting a smile – meeting my eyes and lingering until I felt the compulsion of our connection in every part of my body. I let my hand fall, needing to look away from her before I did what I wanted to do. Emma turned and pushed the decorative pillows to the floor, adjusting a pillow and lying down on her side, facing me.

Evan followed my example and knocked the small pillows on his side to the floor before shifting down to lie across from me.