The Birthday List(98)

“No!” I jumped up from the floor. “Bad girl.” I yanked the book from her mouth and pointed my finger in her face. “Bad girl, Nazboo. No. No. No. We don’t chew books.”

Damn it. She wasn’t entirely to blame. In my hurry this morning, I’d forgotten her rawhide sticks.

I walked out of the office and to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to wipe off the book. Once it was dry, I recognized it as one from the Jamie pile.

“Jimmy isn’t going to want this one now.” The cover was destroyed with teeth marks and slobber, though the inside wasn’t too bad. I thumbed through the pages, surprised when a letter tucked into the middle popped out.

Folded in thirds, the top flap had been inscribed To Jamie on his 35th birthday.

“Oh my god.” I gasped and covered my mouth.

This was it. The letter I’d thought was lost. The letter Jamie had written to himself in ten years.

The letter Jamie had written the day he’d died.

This letter was one of only two things on the birthday list Jamie had done himself. I’d searched for this letter. I’d torn the house apart the year after his death searching for it but I’d never been able to find it. But here it was all along, tucked into a book that Nazboo had used as her chew toy.

And now I could finally read the last words Jamie had ever written.

Tears threatened, but I swallowed the burn in my throat and took two long breaths. Then I went to my small dining room table and took a seat. Carefully, I opened the letter, smiling at Jamie’s sloppy handwriting. It only filled the top half of the page. Of course his letter wasn’t long—that hadn’t been his style.

I inhaled, filling my lungs completely, before reading his words.



Old Me,



You’re getting up there, dude, so before you hit forty, I wanted to give you some advice. Don’t have a midlife crisis. Don’t be that guy. It’s sad and pathetic and would really piss me off. Look around. I’m sure you’re still cool since you’re me. Your wife is smoking hot. Life is good. So stay cool, and be good to Poppy. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you.



Don’t fuck it up,

Young Me



I laughed as tears filled my eyes. This was just . . . so Jamie. This letter was all the wonderful, ridiculous, sweet things that my husband had been.

And I was just so glad that I’d found it. Now I could put it with his birthday list, where it belonged.

Thank you, Jamie. Thank you for helping me find this.

Whether it was Jamie or not, I didn’t know. I was just grateful that another coincidence had led me to his letter.

These incredible coincidences.

And maybe it was silly, but I was thanking serendipity for bringing me Cole.

I sniffled, smiling again through blurry eyes as I reread the letter. Then I folded it back up and took it to my purse, tucking it into Jamie’s journal. Tomorrow, I’d let Jimmy read it too. He’d like that.

After the journal was safely stowed, I bent low to scratch Nazboo’s ears. “I guess you’re not in trouble. But no more chewing books, got it?”

She licked my face.

“I’m taking that as a yes.” I stood and nodded to the garage. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find some boxes.”

Another hour later, I’d boxed the keep pile and loaded it into my car. I’d finished trashing the throw pile and was checking my phone to see if Cole had texted. He hadn’t, so I decided to start packing the kitchen.

An hour later, when all the drawers had been emptied and cleaned, I checked my phone again, still seeing nothing from Cole.

“He’s probably just busy,” I told Nazboo.

Her brown eyes opened, but otherwise, she didn’t move from where she’d fallen asleep next to the fridge.

“I’ll send him a text.”

I fired off a quick note, asking if he had any idea when he’d be done at the station, and then I went back to packing.

The minutes ticked on, and my phone stayed silent on the counter. My eyes darted to the screen so often, I lost focus on packing. But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on sorting dishes and random kitchen appliances, I couldn’t stop myself from constantly checking my phone. And every time it turned up blank, my panic grew.

There was something eerily familiar about this. Something entirely unwelcome. Memories plagued my mind from the last time I’d been in this kitchen, desperate for my phone to chime.

He’s okay. He’s just at work. I reminded myself over and over that Cole was fine. That the anxious prickling on the back of my neck was just because I was here. That finding Jamie’s letter had freshened old memories. This is just déjà vu.

Despite my best efforts not to compare the past to the present, when the doorbell rang, a lance of terror cut through my racing heart. I held my breath as my unsteady feet rounded the corner of the kitchen.

My eyes searched the window of the door, and for a moment, I was taken back five years. It took me a second to separate the memory from reality, but when I did, the wave of relief that crashed over me nearly knocked me over.

Cole’s handsome face was on the other side of the glass.

I hurried down the hall—Nazboo rushing to catch up—and turned the lock.

“Hi,” I breathed, pressing a hand to my still pounding heart. “That was the most intense déjà—”