Hey, if you’re not busy, can you come by? I have something for you. We just ordered pizza and salad and you’re welcome to eat with us.
It wasn’t even seven and I had no plans until I was scheduled to pick up the girls at ten-thirty, so I replied that I’d swing by in about twenty. I paid my bill and headed out.
I let myself in their back door and found Bree in the kitchen. As soon as she saw me, she handed me an envelope that said Dexter on it. The handwriting was unfamiliar.
“It’s from Dad,” she said, holding up her palms like she was innocent. “I didn’t read it, I don’t know what it says, I’m not pressuring you to read it. I only said I’d give it to you, and now I have.”
I leaned back against the counter while Bree took out plates, forks, and napkins. Staring at the envelope in my hand, I grappled with conflicting emotions. “You saw him today?”
“Yes.”
“Did you take the kids?”
She nodded. “We all went.”
“How was it?”
“Okay, I guess. He can’t get out of bed anymore, so we just visited for a little bit in his room.”
“That sounds depressing.”
She shrugged. “My kids are so small, they don’t know anything. Justin said hello and went back to the living room. He mostly sat with Gloria and the kids out there while I talked to Dad.”
“What does he say?”
“He actually did more talking today. He told me about the way he grew up, his abusive father, his mother’s nervous breakdowns. It was sad, but it gave me a lot of insight into him.” She opened the fridge. “Want a beer?”
“No, thanks.”
She took one out for herself and popped the cap off. “I don’t think he has too much more time.”
“Months? Weeks?”
“I didn’t ask.” She tipped up her beer. “So tonight was the wedding, right?”
“Yeah. I have to pick up the girls from the reception in a few hours. We’re meeting Winnie in the morning at eight.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Winnie’s in town?”
I nodded. “She had a work event at Cloverleigh Farms tonight and she’s flying out tomorrow.”
“Have you seen her yet?”
“Just briefly on the porch yesterday.” I grimaced. “I didn’t handle it too well.”
She smiled. “What did you do, ask her to spend the night?”
“No,” I said, although that’s exactly what I’d had in mind. “I just asked if I could see her later, because she was in a hurry. But she said no.”
My sister shrugged. “You can’t blame her, Dex. If you want her back, you have to make it clear something has changed.”
“I know,” I said, tapping the letter against the palm of my hand. “I’m thinking about it.”
Although I didn’t have much appetite, I ate some dinner with Bree and Justin and headed home around eight.
When I got there, I stared at the envelope on the counter for a solid fifteen minutes before working up the courage to tear it open. I did it less out of curiosity for what he had to say than to prove to myself I could still do hard things.
Unfolding the typed pages, I began to read.
Dear Dexter,
I am sorry this letter isn’t written by hand, but I asked Gloria to type it for me because my writing is too shaky and I want every word to be clear.
I don’t blame you for not coming to see me. If I was in your shoes, I don’t think I would come either. In fact, I was in your shoes, years ago when my own father was dying. He didn’t ask to see me and I didn’t go. I can’t say for sure that I am sorry, but sometimes I wonder what he might have said if I’d seen him then.
I think a lot about what I would say to you if you were here. I know that I was not a good father to you, and I would tell you I was sorry. The words would not be good enough, but I’d mean them. I do mean them.
I would tell you how proud I am of you. You did everything you said you were going to do. A man is only as good as his word, and that means you are the best kind of man.
Bree tells me you are an incredible father and I believe her. I can see that she’s a wonderful mother too, just like your mother was. She used to amaze me with her patience and kindness and generous heart. I see so much of her in your sister, and I know she is in you too.
I regret that I didn’t pass on to you much of anything good. I never knew how to be a good father and now I know I was too scared of failing to try. But if there is still time to pass on one thing I have learned, it would be this:
Never let fear get in the way of being the kind of man you want to be.
When you look back, what will matter most?
Dad
At first I was mad and wanted to ball up the letter and burn it. His regrets weren’t my problem.
But once my temper was in check, I took a few deep breaths and read it through again. And again. And again. Eventually, the anger dissipated and I took a step back, looked a little deeper.
He wasn’t asking forgiveness, he wasn’t begging me to show up, he wasn’t placing any burden on me—he just wanted me to have one thing from him that wasn’t shitty, one piece of advice that might serve me.
And I had to admit, the advice was timely. I was letting fear get in the way of the kind of man I wanted to be.
But it was the question at the end that really stuck out to me.
I put my jacket back on and went out to the patio. It was chilly, but the cool air felt good in my lungs and on my face. I sat there until it was time to go get the girls, thinking about what he’d asked.
When I looked back, would it matter that I was strong enough to keep my heart in a vault? Would I be proud of that? Would I wear my loneliness like a badge of honor?
Or would I forever regret letting go of someone I loved and walking away from someone who made me happy, all because I wanted to prove I could?
Looking at it that way, I saw how wrong I was. How misguided. And I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life being iron-willed instead of happy.
I had no idea what the future would bring, but I loved Winnie enough to take a chance on us.
I loved her enough to believe there might actually be a happily ever after.
And in the morning, I’d tell her so.
Twenty-Eight
Winnie
Late Saturday morning, I went to the salon with my mom for a manicure, which she’d scheduled as a surprise for me.
At first, I balked at taking the time out of my day for a personal indulgence—I wanted to oversee the table setting on the patio at Cloverleigh Farms, make sure the tent was up, ensure heaters were there and working, check in with the chef, and go over my notes with her on the evening’s menu.
But my mother would hear none of it.
“Come on, it’s one hour. And you need to relax a little before your big night,” she scolded at the breakfast table. “Plus I took the morning off just to spend it with you, so you have to deal with me.”
I gave in eventually, and we headed into town around eleven. As my mom checked us in at the salon, I took a seat on a pink velvet couch and pulled out my phone to send a quick text to Ellie. Hey, my mom sprung some mother-daughter bonding time on me. Can you pick me up at 3:00 instead of 2:00?