Why, Rosa wondered, looking up from the romance novel she held in her blanket-covered lap, couldn’t she just mope in peace? Didn’t Lucille see that she needed to be left alone? It’d been two weeks since her night with Philip and Rosa was still in a shell-shocked state of inertia that wouldn’t let her make any sort of decision about her future. Since it was currently Brennan’s afternoon quiet time in his room, Rosa was curled up in the overstuffed chair nearest the fire with a steaming cup of English breakfast on the side table, a book, her blankie, and a whole lot of leave-me-alone written all over her face.
Why did Lucille have to bother her?
“What is it?” Rosa asked with no real curiosity.
“A letter.” Lucille, looking teary, offered her a white envelope. “From Jake.”
Rosa recoiled as though her mother-in-law had threatened her with a pistol. “What?”
“He wrote it about three months before he died. He wanted you to have it when the time is right.” Lucille paused and nodded. “I think the time is right.”
“What—” Rosa couldn’t get her voice to work at full strength. “What does it say?”
Lucille gave her a gentle smile and extended the letter again. “Read it.”
Rosa took the letter and stared at it. When Lucille would have walked off to give her some privacy, Rosa caught her hand and tugged it until she sat on the chair’s arm with her. Rosa couldn’t face this alone.
She opened the letter, which was written in her husband’s degenerating scrawl as the cancer robbed him of his ability to write.
Dear Rosie—
I’m dying. We both know it even though we can’t bring ourselves to talk about it. I’m in God’s hands, so I know I’ll be fine. Brennan is in your hands and you’re the strongest woman I know, so he’ll be fine. But what about you? Will you be fine? I know you’ll go through the motions of life, for Brennan’s sake, but I want you to be happy.
That’s why I’m writing.
If Mama gave this to you, it must be because you’re involved with Philip. He’ll come for you. I know he will. I know him too well not to realize that he’s in love with you. He can’t help the way he looks at you, and since I love you myself I recognize the signs.
“Oh, God,” Rosa cried.
“Shhh.” Lucille smoothed her hair. “It’s okay. Go on.”
Rosa swiped her eyes and kept reading.
Here’s what I want to say, Rosie: it’s okay. Don’t feel guilty or sad. Be happy. If Philip makes you happy, be with him. If he doesn’t, don’t. Find someone who makes you smile. Do it for me, okay? I don’t want your life to be over just because mine is.
Live, Rosie. Live.
Your loving husband,
Jake.
The letter fluttered out of her limp fingers and to the floor. After a glance at Jake’s urn on the fireplace, Rosa dropped her head into her hands and sobbed—with sadness and love for her lost husband and with relief.
Overwhelming, breathtaking and blessed relief.
Lucille gathered Rosa into her arms and kissed her forehead, rocking her. “Philip moved away after Jake died because he wanted to give you time to grieve and he didn’t trust himself. He moved back a year ago because he couldn’t stay away. I’ve been keeping him updated on you and Brennan. I hope you don’t mind. I told him you’d be at the gala with a date. I told him you were ready to move on with your life. He’s a good man, Rosa. In my heart, he’s my other son. He loves you. But if you can’t love him, it’s time for you to let him go.”
Rosa raised her head, laughing and crying with so much emotion it was as though a Hallmark store had exploded inside her. “I have no intention of letting that man go.”
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