The Last Letter(7)

“Number eight, Solitude, Telluride, Colorado!” My hands shook as I took in the glossy photographs of my property. I knew they’d sent someone to review us but hadn’t known when.

“We’ve never been in the top twenty, and you just landed in the top ten!” Ada pulled me into a hug, her larger frame dwarfing mine. “Your grandmother would be so very proud. All the renovations you’ve done, everything you’ve sacrificed. Heck, I’m proud of you, Ella.” She pulled back, thumbing the tears from her eyes. “Well, don’t just stand there blubbering, read!”

“She’s not the one blubbering, woman,” Larry said, coming around to hug his wife. These two were just as much Solitude as I was. They’d been with my grandmother since she’d opened, and I knew they’d stay with me as long as they could.

“‘Solitude is a hidden gem. Nestled in the San Juan Mountains, the unique resort boasts not only a family feel in the main house, but over a dozen newly refurbished luxury cabins for those unwilling to trade privacy for proximity to the slopes. Only a ten-minute drive to some of the best skiing Colorado has to offer, Solitude offers you just that—a haven from the tourist-heavy Mountain Village. This B&B feels more like a resort and is perfect for those seeking the best of both worlds: impeccable service and the feeling of being alone in the mountains. It is the pure Colorado experience.’”

They loved us! We were a top ten Colorado B&B! I clutched the magazine to my chest and let joy wash through me. Moments like this didn’t come every day, or even every decade, it seemed, and this one was mine.

“The pure Colorado experience is what exists when the tourists go home,” Larry muttered but grinned.

The phone rang, and I heard Hailey answering it in the background.

“I bet the reservations are about to book solid!” Ada sang as Larry danced her around the perimeter of the table.

With a review like that, it was a sure bet. We were going to be slammed, and soon. We’d be able to pay the mortgage and the construction loan for the planned cabins on the south side.

“Ella, the school’s on the phone,” Hailey called out.

I dropped the magazine with the other mail and headed for the phone.

“This is Ella MacKenzie,” I said, prepping to hear whatever Colt had done to aggravate his teacher.

“Mrs. MacKenzie, good. This is Nurse Roman at the elementary school.” There was more than a tone of worry in her voice, so I didn’t bother to correct her on my marital status.

“Everything okay?”

“I’m afraid that Maisie is here. She collapsed on the playground, and her temperature is at 104.5.”

Collapsed. Temperature. A deep, nauseating feeling that could only be described as foreboding gripped my belly. Dr. Franklin had missed something.

“I’ll be right there.”





Chapter Three


Beckett


Letter #6

Dear Chaos,

Here’s another batch of cookies. Hide them from my brother. No, I’m not kidding. He’s a shameless thief when it comes to these. It’s our mother’s recipe, well, really our grandmother’s, and he’s an addict. After we lost our parents—our Father in Iraq and Mom to a car accident a month later, I’m sure he’s told you—these were always in the kitchen, waiting after school, after heartbreaks, after football game wins and losses. They’re pretty much like home to him.

And now you have a piece of my home with you.

You asked me something in your first letter, what was that? A month ago? Anyway, you asked what it was like to be the center of someone’s universe. I didn’t know how to answer then, but I think I do now.

I’m not the center of anyone’s universe, honestly. Not even my kids’. Colt is fiercely independent, and he’s pretty sure he’s been put in charge of personally seeing to Maisie’s safety—and mine. Maisie is confident, but her quietness can be mistaken for shyness. Funny thing? She’s not shy. She’s a ridiculously good judge of character and can spot a lie a mile away. I wish I had the same ability, because if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a lie. Maisie has incredible instincts about people that she definitely didn’t get from me. If she’s not talking to you it’s not because she’s a wilting wallflower, it’s because she simply doesn’t think you’re worth her time. She’s been like that since she was a baby. She likes you or she doesn’t. Colt…he gives everyone a chance, and a second chance, a third…you get the picture.

I guess he gets that from his uncle, because I can admit that I’ve never been able to give second chances when it comes to hurting the people I love. As embarrassed as I am to admit, I still haven’t forgiven my father for leaving us—for the look on my brother’s face, or that easy lie that he was just going TDY for a few weeks…but then never coming back. For choosing to divorce my mother instead of the army. Heck, it’s been fourteen years and I still haven’t forgiven the officer who gave the order that got him killed—for breaking my mother’s heart a second time. I really hate that about myself. Yeah, Colt definitely gets his soft heart from my brother, and I hope he never loses it.

At five years old, my kids are already better people than I will ever be, and I’m ridiculously proud of them.