I’m not under the illusion that these journals will never be read by anyone else after I’m long gone. My hope is that whoever does read them gets joy from it. That they’ll see the beautiful life I’ve led with the most wonderful husband and children.
Charles has been so good to me. He’s been my best friend, my lover, my husband, and gave me so many beautiful things throughout our lives together. There’s not one thing I would change. Not a single thing. Our life wasn’t perfect, but that’s what made it perfect to me.
We’re both getting old, and I know our time is near. I don’t fear death. What I fear is Charles dying before me. What would I do without him by my side? I also fear dying before him because I know he feels the same. No matter which of us goes first, I know we’ll be together again someday. I feel that all the way down to my soul. Our love story isn’t over. It’ll never be over.
I mentioned that to him the other day, and he looked me square in the eye and said that our love was too powerful and timeless to simply cease to exist after our bodies wither away to dust. We may not know who we are to each other, but we’ll be together again.
Until then, I’ll have my beautiful grandson, Jesse, put this journal in the attic with the others. Who knows, maybe in another life I’ll find them and get to experience my and Charles’ love story again….
I sniff back the tears clogging my nose, both immensely sad that was the last entry, but also happy at the contents. It was so beautiful and uplifting and the perfect way to end her final journal. Her first entry was about Charles, and so was her last.
My thoughts move to her last sentence about her finding the journals again. The thought still throws me for a loop, but what if my soul really was Clara’s and Lincoln’s was Charles’? She never gave her reason why she felt she and Charles would meet again. It was solely based off her gut feeling. I always had that gut feeling too, that Lincoln and I were supposed to meet. Like there was this invisible force pulling us together. Maybe it’s because our souls recognized each other.
Remembering the date at the beginning of the entry reminds me of something. It was a few months before Lincoln and I were born, which I find very interesting.
When Lincoln comes into the room a few minutes later carrying a bowl of soup, I lick my dry lips. It takes me a minute to form the words I want to use. I’ve been having a harder time talking lately. The words are there in my head, but it’s like I’ve forgotten how to say them.
“Clara,” I rasp.
Lincoln sets the bowl of soup on the nightstand and sits beside me. Grabbing my hand, he pulls it to his mouth.
“What is it, baby?” His eyes flicker to the journal on the bed. “Have you finished?”
“Yesss.”
He smiles tenderly at me. “Was it a good ending?”
“Very.” I pause and take an unsteady breath. Even breathing has become a struggle. I have an appointment in a few days to get an oxygen mask and tank. My eyes slowly fall closed, then open again. “Wannaaa know… when… she died.”
Understanding, he grabs his phone from the nightstand and begins his search.
“Huh,” he says after a minute, his startled gray eyes lifting to meet mine. “She and Charles both died on March 3, 1982.”
My breath is raspy when I blow air through my lips. “The day… you were… born.”
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, his gaze moving back to the journal.
“Clara’s… lassst… entry.” I take a moment to catch my breath. “Sheee beeelieved… she annnd Charles… would,” another pause, “finnnd each… otherrr… again.”
Lincoln’s jaw clenches, and I know he’s struggling. I know how much it hurts him to see me like this—so brittle and broken, barely living. It takes him a moment to compose himself before he’s leaning over and pressing the softest of kisses against my lips. He pulls back an inch and whispers, “They found each other again through us, Molly. Just like we’ll find each other again.”
I smile, my heart so full of love for this man. “We… will.”
After another kiss, he sits back up and helps me roll to my back, then into a partial reclining position. I can’t feed myself anymore because I can’t lift my arms. I’m essentially now paralyzed.
He reaches for the bowl, but I stop him before he can lift it. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?” Concern pulls his brows down.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly feel like I need to do something. We were going to go in a few days, but I don’t want to wait. I don’t know how much time I have left, but something tells me it isn’t much.
“I wannnt… to go… nooow.”
“Now?” he questions, confused. “Go where?”
I let my eyes answer for me when they move to the journal.
“Molly, baby. Why don’t we go another day when you’re feeling a little better?”
I don’t think I’m going to have any more days of feeling better. Of course, I don’t tell Lincoln this.
“Please.”
I can see the indecision in his eyes, and I even understand it. Besides going to see my doctor, I’ve got no business going anywhere in my state. Trips away from home always wear me out. I’m barely hanging on as it is. I’ll probably sleep for days after this.
After a moment, his eyes turn gentle, and he nods. “Okay. What my girl wants, she gets.”
An hour later, because it took that long to get me ready and to have Jenna come over to watch the kids, Lincoln and I are in the car. There’s a pillow propped up against the door, and I’m leaning against it. The seat is also reclined back some, so I don’t fall forward. This is how I have to ride in the car now. I can’t even keep myself from face planting into my own knees.
My hand is tucked into Lincoln’s, with both resting on the console between us.
When we first started our search to find relatives of Clara and Charles, we expected them all to be close to the D.C. area. We live hundreds of miles from there, so I never thought it was a possibility of actually seeing them in person. To say we were surprised when we found one of their great-great-grandchildren lives less than thirty minutes away from us is a tremendous understatement. Elation filled me knowing we were so close.
What was even more of a shocker was finding out that one of Clara and Charles’ grandkids actually lived in our house about twenty years before we bought it. That’s how I assume Clara’s journals ended up in the attic. What we couldn’t figure out was how the others ended up there. Clara never mentioned finding any journals, and I’d think she would have had she found them. It’s a mystery I’m not sure we’ll ever solve.
The ride is quiet as we take the back roads to the next town over. The sun is still bright and high in the sky, but it’s on its descent for the day.
“Windows.”
I only have to say the one word for Lincoln to know what I want, and he presses the button on his door. It’s hard breathing on my own, and I’m leaning against the door, so he only lets it down halfway, but it’s enough to let me enjoy the fresh breeze. I smile and close my eyes.
“Molly,” Lincoln’s deep timbre wakes me up sometime later. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the sun is starting to creep behind the trees. “We’re here.”