Visions (Cainsville #2)(135)

—

After Gabriel went to bed, I lay on the sofa, lost in a warm fog of Scotch and happiness. I shouldn’t be happy. I had a hundred reasons not to be happy, and maybe it was fifty percent Scotch and fifty percent ebbing adrenaline from the evening’s events, but damn it, I was happy. And that’s when I remembered Todd’s letter. That’s when I decided to read it. Yes, it would ruin this fuzzy-headed bliss, but this was the right time—when I was alone, feeling good and feeling safe and feeling a little tipsy. When whatever that letter brought might not hurt me as much.

I took it from my purse. Then, not wanting to turn on a light in case Gabriel saw it under his door, I walked to the window, sat with my back to it, and opened the letter by moonlight.

It was a single sheet, written in that familiar hand, a little blocky, a little oversized, as if by someone without much experience putting words on paper. Or perhaps by someone whose only experience writing to me had come at a time when I needed those big, blocky letters.

OLIVIA.

That’s how it started. Not to Eden, but to Olivia. Not to a child, then, but to a woman. I relaxed a little and leaned back against the cool glass before continuing.

I’m sorry.

There’s no way to start except with an apology, though I suspect it’s not what you want to hear. You know I’m sorry. I’d be a monster if I wasn’t. But I still need to say it. I’m sorry for so many things, and I won’t list them here or this letter will go on so long that you’ll crumple it and toss it aside. So I will say only that I am sorry.

I’d like to see you. I know you’ve been to see Pamela, and maybe you’ve gotten whatever you need from her. I have to presume that you don’t want to see me. That you don’t need to, and maybe it’s easier, just facing one of us, and she is your mother, so I understand that. But I would like to see you. I would very much like to see you.

I’ve hesitated to write and say that because I know you’re going through so much, and you don’t need this on top of it, and if you’ve decided not to see me, that’s your choice and I will respect it, but I know Pamela made her plea in the papers, and so there is the chance that you haven’t come because you aren’t sure I want to see you, so I have to speak up and say yes. Unreservedly yes. I want to see you.

I promise I will make this visit as easy on you as possible. It can be as short as you need it to be, and if it is not repeated, I’ll understand that. I just want to see you.

I know I said I wouldn’t list all the things I’m sorry for, but I need to say one, before I sign off. The one thing I am most sorry for.

I am sorry for leaving you. I told you so many times that I never would, and then I did, and whether it was by choice or not doesn’t matter. I made a promise and I broke it, and I am so, so sorry.

Love always,

Todd

Todd. Not “your father.” Not Dad. Like the opening, so careful and so respectful. It didn’t matter. I read that letter and I heard his voice and I didn’t see “Todd” at the end. I saw the first words I’d ever learned to read, on a surprise gift he’d given me. To Eden. Love always, Daddy.

I folded the letter and started to cry.