The Last Letter(38)

“The bears were a gift to the twins from my grandma. One pink, one blue, just like everything back then. But Colt fell in love with the pink one. Had to have it with him all the time, so the blue one became Maisie’s. When they were three, Ryan came in and took Colt camping overnight. Maisie was always more of an indoor girl, and she begged to stay home, so I let her. But Colt almost refused to go. Maisie knew it was because they couldn’t stand being separated. So she grabbed the blue bear, told him it was Maisie, and sent him on his way.”

“So that’s actually Colt’s bear?”

Ella nodded. “He sends it with her every time she’s hospitalized so they can be together, and he has the blue one at home.”

Yeah, that gnawing pain had moved to my heart.

“You have incredible children.”

Her smile was genuine, and I nearly lost my breath when she turned slightly, sharing it with me. “I’m blessed. I wasn’t sure how I would do it when Jeff walked out, but they were always so…they were everything. I mean, sure, they were exhausting, and loud, and messy, but they brought out the color in life. I can’t remember what the world looked like before I held them, but I know it wasn’t half this vibrant.”

“You’re a great mother.”

She made a motion to shrug off my compliment.

“No. You are,” I repeated, needing her to hear me, to understand my awe of her.

“I just want to be enough.” Her gaze darted to the clock, like it had every five minutes since Maisie had disappeared past those swinging doors.

“You are. You are enough.” She blinked at me, and I cursed my tongue. I was going to give myself away if I wasn’t careful.

“Thank you,” she whispered, but I knew from the way she looked away that she wasn’t sure.

“So what’s next? Monopoly? Life?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood and distract her.

She pointed to the wooden box at the opposite end of the table. “Scrabble. And you’d better be careful. I have no qualms about kicking your butt, even if you are nice enough to sit with me all day.”

I wasn’t nice. I was a lying, manipulative asshole who didn’t deserve to sit in the same room with her. But I couldn’t say that. So instead I grabbed the box and prepared to get schooled.

…

“So you grew up in foster homes?” Ella asked me as we made our sixty-fourth loop of the floor.

Maisie had been in surgery for six hours, and we’d had an update from the surgical team about fifteen minutes ago that all was going well and they were trying their hardest to save her kidney.

“I did.”

“How many?”

“I honestly can’t remember. I got moved a lot. Probably because I was a horrible kid. I fought everyone who tried to help, pushed every rule, and did my best to get kicked out of my placement, hoping that would somehow make my mom come back.”

I didn’t expect her to understand. Most people who grew up in normal houses with a quasi-normal family couldn’t get it.

“Ah, the sweet, illogical logic of a child,” Ella said.

Of course she got it. That was what drew me to her in the first place. Her simple acceptance of me through our letters. But from what I’d seen, she was like that—accepting.

“Pretty much.”

“Which was the best home?” she asked, again surprising me. Most people wanted to know the worst, like my life was fodder for gossip to feed their salacious need for the tragedy of others.

“Uh, my last one. I was with Stella for almost two years, starting around my fifteenth birthday. She was the only person I’d ever wanted to stay with.” Memories hit me, some painful, some sweet, but all glossed over with the kind of filter only time could give.

“Why didn’t you?” We reached the end of another hallway and turned around, walking back.

“She died.” Ella paused, and I had to turn around. “What?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her hand squeezing my biceps. “To finally find someone just to lose them…”

My instinct was to rub my hands over my face, shake it off, and keep walking, but I wasn’t going to move a muscle with her hand on me, no matter how innocent the touch was. “Yeah. There are really no words for it.”

“Like someone picks up your life and shakes it like a snow globe,” Ella offered. “It seems to take forever for the pieces to settle, and then they’re never in the same place.”

“Exactly.”

She’d captured the feeling with the precision of someone who knew. How was it I’d never found anyone who understood what my life had been like, and yet this woman defined it without blinking an eye?

“Come on, we haven’t quite worn a path through the linoleum yet,” she said, and started our sixty-fifth lap.

I followed.

…

“This is taking too long. Why is it taking them so long? What’s going wrong?” Ella paced back and forth in the surgical waiting room.

“They just haven’t updated us in a little while. Maybe they’re finishing up.” I watched her from where I leaned against the windowsill. She’d been calm, collected even, until we reached the hour when they’d estimated the surgery would be done.

As soon as that hour passed, something flipped inside her.