Your Perfect Year(124)

“Good plan.” Lisa grinned.

“What about you?”

Lisa shrugged. “I think I’ll do the same. But we can see each other during the holidays.”

“I’d love to,” Hannah said. “Provided we don’t go anywhere near a Christmas market.”

Lisa raised her hands. “No way! I know how much you hate them. All that bratwurst and mulled wine—yuck!”

They both laughed.

Ten minutes later, they were done and putting on their coats, ready to make their way to their respective parents’ homes. Lisa opened the Little Rascals door, paused, and picked up a package that had been left on the doorstep.

“Look here,” she said, holding it under Hannah’s nose. “It’s got your name on it.”

It was true; someone had written Hannah on the parcel.

“Is it Christmas already?” Hannah said, trying to make light of it, although she felt the heat shoot to her cheeks. Because she recognized the handwriting—Jonathan’s.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lisa asked.

“Yes,” Hannah said.

“Then open it!”

“You think I should?”

“Of course. What a question!”

“Okay.” They closed the door and went back in. They sat down in the little kitchenette, where Hannah, hands trembling, slit open the thick packaging with scissors.

She found an envelope and a gift wrapped in Christmas paper.

“The present first!” Lisa said impatiently.

“No,” Hannah said. “It’s my package, and I want to open the envelope first.”

She drew out the flap, since it wasn’t sealed. She took out the folded letter and began to read.

Dear Hannah,

I really enjoyed reading the manuscript, Hannah’s Laugh, by your sadly departed boyfriend, Simon Klamm. I would be delighted if Grief & Son Books could publish the novel, and I would like to make you an offer. Would you be interested in talking to me about it? I really think that Hannah’s Laugh is an excellent book, and I believe that your fiancé’s legacy will bring many people great joy.

Yours sincerely,

Jonathan N. Grief

P.S.

Dear Hannah,

You were right, I was a coward. And an asshole. I really want to apologize for what I did, only I fear there is no adequate apology I could possibly give you. But I think I can at least explain. If you want me to.

Jonathan

P.P.S. Even if you don’t want to hear my explanation and never want to speak to me again, the offer to publish Hannah’s Laugh still stands!

“Shit!” Hannah sniffled.

“Shit indeed!” Lisa remarked. “And now the package, please! Right now!”

Hannah nodded and tore open the paper. She saw a Filofax. A diary bound in dark-blue leather, with white stitched seams.

“I don’t believe it!” Lisa cried.

“Neither do I.” Hannah opened the little book.

It was a diary for the following year. With handwritten entries for each day from January 1 to December 31. Again in Jonathan’s handwriting. And for every date, a single repeated phrase: 1.1. Forgive Jonathan.

1.2. Forgive Jonathan.

1.3. Forgive Jonathan.

1.4. Forgive Jonathan.

1.5. Forgive Jonathan . . .

Hannah stared at the pages, stunned. Stunned and speechless. She breathed deeply, in and out. And then, slowly, she closed the Filofax.

“Come on, we’re going to see our parents,” she said.

“You can’t just go to your parents’ house as if nothing’s happened!”

“Why not? Nothing has.”

“Hannah, please! It’s wonderful, what Jonathan sent you.”

“True,” Hannah conceded. “But what he did is totally unforgivable.”

Lisa looked at her sharply. “Unforgivable? Who by?”

“Okay, by me. I can’t forgive it.”

“Really and truly?”

Hannah thought for a moment. Then she shook her head, slowly and sadly. “No. It hurt way too much. And . . .” She hesitated. “Jonathan did something really horrible to Simon with that letter. He hurt someone willfully and maliciously.”

“Yes,” Lisa agreed. “But I’m sure he didn’t realize the damage he was doing. At least, I can’t imagine he could have.”

“But all of us have to live with the consequences of our actions. Whether or not we intended them.”

Lisa sighed. “I guess you’re right.” She shrugged. “But I still think Jonathan’s gift is sweet. Whether he’s malicious or not.”

“It’s sweet, but it doesn’t make things right.”

“So will you consider his offer to publish?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Outside Little Rascals, they said goodbye with a long, tight hug, and then Lisa strode off toward the subway station. Hannah got in her car and drove off.

Ten minutes later, she parked her Twingo again. But not outside her parents’ house. She went up to the door of the building, looked for the right bell, and pressed it.

She almost cried out with relief when she heard the entry buzzer. Hannah ran up the stairs and was out of breath by the time she reached the top.