Walking to my window, I looked out across the bay at the house where Leo and Sig once lived. Thinking about Leo’s cousin made me chuckle. He was such a dickhead—but a funny one.
There were lights on at the house. I had no clue who lived there now, but it was easy to imagine Leo and Sig were inside, just like it was yesterday—Sig cooking in the kitchen while Leo got ready to drive the boat across the bay.
I looked up at the moon illuminating the night sky.
“At night, when you look up at it, I hope you’ll think of me.”
There wasn’t a single time I’d looked at the moon in the past five years that I didn’t think of Leo. My heart clenched. I needed to stop. But like anything, the more I tried to stop thinking about him, the worse it was.
He’s thirty-three now.
He had to have gotten married. I wondered whether he had a child. I wondered what happened when he returned, whether his father had survived the cancer. I wondered a lot of things, even as I tried not to let those questions overtake my brain. Leo was always there in the back of it, though. Always.
Once again, my mind turned to thoughts of regret. Not only did I wish I’d told Mrs. Angelini how I felt about her, I wondered what would have happened if I’d answered Leo differently when he asked me if I would consider going to England with him. I remembered the disappointment on his face when I’d expressed my doubts and fears. That was the moment that had truly ended all hope—had ended us.
Had I made the right decision? Sure, I’d gone on to do the “responsible” thing—finished my education, started my career. But where did following through with my plans really get me? I hadn’t found a job that made me happy yet. And I certainly hadn’t found a man who’d made me as happy as I was during those weeks with Leo.
Would dealing with the scrutiny of half of England have been worse than infinite longing for the rest of my life? At least I would’ve had Leo by my side. The stress might have been temporary. I could’ve gotten used to it. But the regret I still held in my heart to this day? That might last forever.
There was a little voice in the back of my head that occasionally said, Call him. But every time it spoke, I shut it down. I’d made my decision five years ago. Now I had to live with it. While being apart from him meant constant “what-if” thinking, contacting him might mean perpetual heartbreak. My gut told me he had moved on by now, and confirming that would ruin me. It was better not to know. It was better to imagine that we lived on in his heart than realize he’d all but forgotten me.
Shaking the thoughts from my head and forcing myself away from the window, I reminded myself to focus on why I was here: to honor Mrs. Angelini while I found a way to make a meaningful living. There was irony in that. I’d once told Leo I couldn’t relate to having a family or a legacy. And yet with Mrs. Angelini gone, here I was, wanting nothing more than to make her proud, keep this house running, and keep her memory alive. If that wasn’t upholding a legacy, I didn’t know what was.
* * *
Felicity
Track 18: “Please Read the Letter” by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss
The following day, there was a knock at the door. It was the neighbor, Hank Rogers, who’d been so helpful in the two years since Mrs. Angelini’s death.
“Hey, Felicity. Welcome home,” he said when I opened the door. “Everything kosher?” He wiped his big, construction-worker boots on the mat.
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Just trying to get used to being back here. I’m glad you came by. I was just about to head over to your place to see if there was anything I need to be aware of.”
He stepped inside, placed his hands on his hips, and looked around. “Nope. Other than the hot water heater being replaced last week, nothing eventful. Of course, you already know about that because you paid for it, but it’s all taken care of.”
Mrs. Angelini had left me a good amount of money to handle such things, so I’d had Hank send me the bills, even as he graciously handled the logistics in my absence.
“Try not to stress too much,” he said. “She’d want you to relax a bit and enjoy being home. You know that.”
“Yeah, I’ll try. I’m hoping for a laid-back summer and plenty of time to get the house in shape for the colder months.”
“Good way to look at it.” He grinned.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I might need to know?”
Hank scratched his chin. “Oh! I’ve been checking the mail every few days and bringing it in. I leave it in a pile over on the desk in the corner of the living room. It’s not much since you had most of the bills forwarded to you, but there are some cards people sent, a lot that came in around the time she died—sympathy cards and such. I saved them. And some catalogs you probably don’t want. I threw anything away that was definitely junk mail. But things still come in addressed to you and her every so often. If I’m not sure what it is, I keep it in the pile since you told me not to forward anything except bills or tax notices.”
I nodded. “I appreciate it. I’ll go through everything. Thank you again for all of your help. I can’t begin to pay you back.”
“No need. Eloise was a true friend. I’d do anything for her.” He smiled. “And that extends to you. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“I will, Hank.”
“The Mrs. wants you to pick a night to come over for dinner this week. She’ll make that seafood casserole you like.”
“I’d love that. I’ll text her and work it out.” I smiled.
After he left, I made some lunch and ate it out on one of the Adirondack chairs in the yard. The August heat was a bit much, so I didn’t last long.
When I went back inside, I decided to sort through some of that mail Hank had been piling up for the past couple of years.
Like he said, there were several sympathy cards. And I smiled at how many Victoria’s Secret catalogs there were. Why Hank didn’t just toss those, I wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d enjoyed them.
I paused on an envelope addressed to me. Unlike the cards with my name on them, this looked more like a letter. When I caught sight of the name on the return address label, I nearly had a heart attack: Leo Covington. I froze, and the envelope slipped out of my hands. My heart kicked into high gear.
As I bent to pick up the envelope, I looked more closely at the line under my name: Care of Eloise Angelini. He knew the only way to reach me was through her, since he’d never had my address.
Oh my God. How long has this been sitting here?
I was terrified to open it. My lunch felt like it might reappear, and the room seemed to sway.
My hand trembled as I took the letter over to the couch and shakily opened the envelope. The paper was thick and cream-colored, and the words were written in blue ink.
Dear Felicity,
I don’t even know where to begin, but I should probably start with: “How are you? It’s been a long time, eh?”
I sincerely hope this letter finds you well. I’m certain you weren’t expecting it. I can honestly tell you I wasn’t expecting to write it.
But here goes.