With Love from London(97)
I knew the local doctor well enough, but not as a patient—only a customer, who brought his twin daughters in on weekends to pick out new books.
“When I went in last month,” Millie added, “he ran some labs and it turned out that my vitamin D levels were quite low. I’m taking a supplement now. I bet you’re deficient, too. None of us get enough sunshine in this bloody city.”
“Okay, I’ll make an appointment,” I said, glancing out the window. It might have been an impossibly gray day, but after reading Edward’s card, all I felt was the warmth of the sun.
A FedEx truck pulled up in front of the store a few minutes later, and the driver carried in a stack of packages, including one very large box. He set them on the counter as I signed for them. “You must be new,” I said to the man. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “I’m Fernando. It’s my first day on the job.”
“I’m Eloise, and this is Millie.”
“Pleased to meet you both,” he said, glancing at our window display, then turning to Millie, who had decided to tape one more pink heart on the right side of the window. “It looks nice,” he added as she began climbing down the ladder. But when she missed the third step, her foot slipped, and Fernando offered his hand to steady her.
“Thank you,” she said, blushing. “I’m…glad you were there. I might have twisted my ankle.”
“That would have been a shame,” he said, holding her hand for a long moment. Millie towered above his diminutive frame, and yet somehow, they looked…adorable standing next to each other. I smiled to myself. A pair of funny Valentines.
After he left, I sorted through the deliveries, turning to the large box when the address caught my eye. “Millie,” I said. “Look, it’s from…Frank’s sister in…Seattle.” I recognized the name immediately—Ellen Reeves—even though I’d only met her a handful of times before Frank and I divorced. What on earth could she have sent me?
Millie stood beside me as I ran the sharp edge of a pair of scissors along the box’s taped seam and pulled the edges open. Inside was an enormous assortment of mail—hundreds and hundreds of letters. I reached for one, then another, and another. My knees felt weak. All were from me, addressed to Valentina, and every single one was unopened.
“Millie,” I cried, my hands trembling. “He…kept the letters all those years. He never let Valentina read them. Not one of them.”
She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, El, I don’t know what to say.” She searched my face. “I know you always suspected something like that was happening, but,” she said with a sigh, “this is cruelty…beyond comprehension.”
When I noticed an envelope taped to the inside edge of the box, I opened it and read it aloud:
Dear Eloise,
This may come as a shock to you, and I’m very sorry. After my brother, Frank, passed, I found these letters in his study, and I felt that you deserved to have them. As a mother myself, it seemed inconceivable that he would have kept them from Valentina, but I’m sure Frank had his reasons and I won’t question those, especially now. I considered giving them to Val, but I didn’t feel it was my place. Instead, I’m sending them back to you. I hope you will one day come to forgive Frank. I can only imagine that he had many regrets at the end of his life. Despite his challenges, he was a good man. And I know he did love you once, very much. Again, I’m very sorry.
Kind regards,
Barbara
One Year Later
It’s the first of December, and when Millie and I arrive at the store that morning, we find Liza wrangling a strand of white fairy lights. She quit her assistant job a few months ago and came to work for us on a full-time basis, which was a great comfort to me. If I remember correctly, the letter of resignation she sent to her boss consisted of only two words: “Piss off.”
“I found these in the back room,” she says. “I thought we could decorate today.”
I smile, lifting a faux evergreen wreath from the open box beside her, which I hang on the front door. “Here,” I say, grabbing the end of the strand. “Let me help.”
“Thanks,” she says, pointing to the window seat, where dozens of plants with ruby-red leaves stand at attention. “The poinsettias came in today, look.”
I smile, remembering my childhood Christmases in Santa Monica. “Mummy loved poinsettias.”
Fernando appears in the doorway with his morning deliveries. He waves at Liza and me, then gives Millie a quick kiss. Her engagement ring sparkles from across the room.
“I brought in the mail,” he says, depositing a large pile on the counter.
Millie sorts through the stack, then pauses when something catches her eye.
“Look, Val—you got a postcard,” she says, handing it to me. “From Daniel.”
I smile at the photo of the Taj Mahal, then flip it over to read his note.
“So,” Liza says, leaning over my shoulder. “What did he say?”
“He says India has been amazing and his project is almost complete. He plans to come back soon, maybe by Christmas.” I set the postcard down. “He says hi to you two.”
“That was nice of him…to think of you,” Millie says.