Brent once told me you still keep up with your friends by snail mail, and I think that’s so special, because writing things by hand requires a personal touch. It takes time and patience and much more dedication than is required for dashing off an email or a text. I’m telling you this to say that—in writing this letter—I’m acutely aware of the colossal errors I’ve made.
One of the largest was letting you down, once you’d been brave enough to trust me and embrace me in your family. Had things gone differently, you and I might have become friends. It breaks my heart that I’ve destroyed your confidence in my character, because nothing that I did or said when we were together (apart from wrongly pretending to be Jackie) wasn’t real.
When I first heard you doubted Jackie’s true feelings for Brent and her motives in marrying him, I didn’t understand your concerns. In some extremely misguided way, I thought I was building a bridge between your family and mine by stupidly playing the role of my sister.
Please rest assured that I never falsified my emotions with you or anyone else in your family, including Brent. I know this sounds difficult to believe and may be hard to understand, but I didn’t just come to love Brent during my week in Blue Hill. I came to love each and every one of you. I’d never felt so welcomed or included in my life. Being a part of your warm and wonderful family, if only for a week, was like a dream come true for me that I’ll never forget.
I hope in time you’ll be able to forgive me. But if you can’t or won’t, I’ll definitely understand. Also, please try to forgive my sister, Jackie. If there’s anyone at fault for the enormous hurt we caused, I’m far more to blame than she is.
Finally, I wanted to address the wedding day and thank you for everything you did to help make it memorable. I’ll never forget that time spent with you and your family, and I will forever regret losing the love of your wonderful grandson.
Before my week in Maine, I’d never met anyone like him. I didn’t even believe that sort of person was possible—someone so warm, tender, and caring. Intelligent, thoughtful, and kind. Brent has all the qualities to make someone the perfect husband someday, and I have no doubt that he will.
Brent deserves all the happiness that life can bring, as do all of you. And so, I close this letter in sorrow but also in love. My life will go on, as yours will, but there will always be a piece of my heart left behind in Blue Hill, Maine.
Sincerely,
Hope Webb
Brent stared down at the page in his hands, and his eyes burned hot. His heart ached, and he felt all churned up inside. It wasn’t until he saw the small pockmarks of moisture hitting the stationary that he realized he was crying. And he hadn’t wept in years.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hope sat at the sunny outdoor restaurant under an awning with her teacher group, a dozen of them clustered around a long wooden picnic table with benches. It was Taco Tuesday, and they were taking advantage of the discounted eats, which everyone appreciated on their teachers’ budgets. Most people were drinking iced tea, but Hope was drinking water because the only kind of tea they served was sweetened. She’d been trying to eat more healthily these past few weeks and had begun freezing the goodies Iris brought her so she could enjoy them in moderation later.
She hadn’t lost a ton of weight but was already feeling better. Cutting out a lot of sugar and processed foods helped. The floral skirt and top she’d worn today fit really well, and the color of her scoop-necked shirt matched her pretty yellow flats. She had her necklace on, as she always did, and now it served as a double reminder. Both to be good to herself and also to stay true to herself—while being honest before others.
A waiter appeared to refill her water just as the person across from her said, “Hey, does anybody know that guy?”
“If I weren’t engaged, I’d want to,” Jessica said. “He’s smoking hot.”
Hope turned to see who they were looking at, and her heart caught in her throat. It couldn’t be, but it was Brent. He stood there, scanning the crowd, wearing a black polo shirt and jeans and holding a wildflower bouquet. Hope blinked hard, quite certain she was imagining it. Then his eyes settled on hers.
“Whoa,” Jessica whispered. “He’s your friend?” She gave Hope a playful nudge. “I thought you had a boring summer.”
Brent tilted his chin, and she got unsteadily to her feet. “If you’ll…uh…excuse me,” she said to the others before walking toward him in a daze.
“Brent?”
“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting. Iris told me I could find you here.”
“Iris?” she asked, gobsmacked. “But how—”
“Your return address was on the envelope, and she was gardening outside.”
Hope licked her parched lips, her mouth feeling sandpaper dry. “I don’t understand.”
“I read it, Hope. Your letter. Grandmother Margaret sent it to me.”
Her cheeks burned hot.
“I’m sorry if you didn’t mean for me to see it, but I’m glad that I did.”
“I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear from me again.”
“I didn’t, either.” His mouth tipped up in a lopsided grin, and Hope’s heart thumped. “Until I did.”
He held out the flowers. “These are for you, if you’ll accept them. Along with my apology.”
She numbly took the flowers, still wondering if she was dreaming. But as she lifted the fragrant bouquet to her nose, its sweet scent assured her that everything that was happening was very real. “What do you have to apologize for?”
“For not digging deeper,” he said. “Looking beyond how things were on the surface to how they are inside.”
“And how are they inside?” she asked, barely daring to hope. He raised a hand to her cheek, and her whole world went topsy-turvy.
“I think you know,” he said huskily. “What happened in Maine was wrong.” He searched her eyes. “But, at the same time, incredibly right.”
Hope’s heart pounded because she so desperately wanted to believe. Believe that he was saying what she’d wished he might. That he’d fallen for her, too.
“I’m so sorry for everything,” she said. “For lying to you—and your whole family—about who I was. None of you deserved that, most especially not you.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Brent’s forehead rose. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking ever since I read your letter. At first I was angry with you—at you and Jackie both. Then, in time, I understood that I should lay some of the blame on myself.”