Life Without You (31 page)

With most sincere thanks,

Annabelle MacMillan

“That’s a beautiful letter. I think it explains a lot about why she always said the cake server was so special, too,” Mama said when I finished reading the letter to her that night. I’d smuggled it back to my room after Grandpa and I had decided to turn in and sent Mama a text after I’d read it for myself. She’d responded right away, telling me that she was still up and wanted to know what it said.

“It does,” I agreed, feeling the length of the day seep into my bones as I snuggled deeper into bed.

“I think it says a lot about Annabelle, too, don’t you?” Mama asked, her own fatigue apparent in her voice.

“I do,” I yawned. “You sound tired, Mama. Long day?”

“It was. Very. I spent the day running around with your sister to find fabric for those projects she’s working on in the kids’ rooms, then started sewing pillows and curtains.”

“I won’t keep you then. I know you must want to get some sleep,” I said, feeling a little left out of things. Not that it was a new sentiment—it was that whole being-so-close-but-still-so-far-away thing that I often dealt with. The one that made me feel as though things were
just
out of reach and that I was missing out on so much of my family’s lives.

“No, honey, I wanted to talk. And this is important,” she replied with a yawn of her own.

“Do you think I should show it to Grandpa, or just put it back? Do you think it would do anything to make him change his mind about how he feels toward Annabelle?” I asked, knowing she would probably tell me it was pointless.

“I honestly don’t know, Dellie. I’d love to say that showing him and letting him read it would do something, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t do any good. He made up his mind a long time ago about Annabelle.”

I frowned and closed my eyes, thinking sleep would come easily tonight. “I know, and it makes me sad. Annabelle doesn’t deserve it.”

“No, she doesn’t. But I don’t expect things are likely to change.” Mama yawned again.

“Mama, please go get some sleep; you sound exhausted,” I urged, wishing I could be there to hug her good night.

I couldn’t help but wonder how many times she herself had felt that way, wishing she could hug her mother good night rather than having the distance of so many states between them. I knew she often felt guilty about it, increasingly so as the years went by and everyone got older; and she worried over the thought that she might have been depriving us of something important by not having grandparents more close by. Really, though, the fault for the distance had been no one’s—as a government contract worker, my father had been at the mercy of wherever the job took him, which meant that the rest of his family followed. We’d lived in Florida for almost my entire life; and when Daddy had finally been able to retire, there wasn’t really much reason to pull up stakes and move. Still, that didn’t mitigate the guilt I knew Mama sometimes felt or the regret she often had over not having more time with her mother. Especially now.

“I will. You should go to sleep now, too, Dellie. I heard you yawning, so I know you’re tired,” she insisted.

“I am,” I admitted, feeling my eyes flutter. I really was tired, not that there had been anything particularly tiring about the day. I just was.

“Sleep, baby,” Mama said. “And have sweet dreams, okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mama. Sweet dreams.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

What I had in my hands could potentially broker some sort of peace between Grandpa and Annabelle, but the degree of that potential was extremely discouraging. More than likely, it would be dismissed by one or both of them as unimportant after all this time, but part of me was holding on to the slim hope that Grandpa would read it and let it soften his heart.

And what about Annabelle?

Would it help her to know just how much the letter had meant to Grammie? Would it reassure that uneasy part of her spirit that still felt so guilty?

I stared at the envelope and narrowed my eyes at it, trying—somewhat ludicrously—to see some sort of answer there.

Yeah,
that
was going to happen.

I had less than a week left here, mere days. But for what? What did I really expect to happen in that week? That I was going to magically fix whatever needed fixing? I could hardly fix my own life, so what did I think I could do here? When I left, Annabelle, Savannah, and Vivi would all be much the same as when I’d arrived. Each of them was incredibly strong, yes—but they were all still greatly hindered by their own self-doubts and their own fears.

When I left, Vivi would still feel as though she was barely living up to her mother’s legacy.

Savannah would still be living her life feeling unfulfilled, dreaming dreams of something she was too afraid to reach out and grab.

Annabelle would still be her same driven self, paying penance in her way for things that had long ago been forgiven.

Each of them had taught me so much while I was here and given me so much—honoring me with their friendship and showing me the ways that Grammie had touched their lives. In sharing their memories of her, they were granting me more time with her. In those moments, she was alive again, smiling sweetly and humming off-key. Would they ever be able to understand how much that meant to me? Or realize how deeply I felt their encouragement and support and belief in me?

So what was I supposed to do with this letter?

I ran a finger over Grammie’s name. She would tell me to show Annabelle, even if I did nothing else. To set her free and prove to her, beyond doubt, that Grammie stopped blaming her and had lived her life happily.

I picked up my phone and tapped out a text, hoping that Annabelle would finally understand what had been true all along, hoping that, in this simple act of showing her the letter, I would also be giving her a gift as great as the one she had given me.

Her reply came back quickly, and so the meeting was set.

Now all I had left to do was figure out how I could possibly make Vivi and Savannah see what I saw, and I had no idea of where to start.

Annabelle ran a light finger over the careful script that looped over the front of the envelope, just as I had done only the day before. She held it in her small, wrinkled hands, studying it as though she was trying to recall the words it contained. Judging by the tears that were forming in her eyes, I had little doubt that she knew exactly what it was and what it said…and that some part of her was freshly experiencing the emotions that had compelled her to write the letter.

“In found it in the china cabinet, under a whole bunch of stuff,” I said, feeling the need to fill the silence. Not that we were exactly in a quiet place, since our little table at Azalea’s was right smack in the middle of the restaurant, right smack in the middle of the lunch rush. “She used to keep the cake server in there, and I think that when she gave it to my cousin Olivia, the letter accidentally got left behind.” I paused, rethinking my supposition at the reasons for the letter having been buried at the bottom of the drawer. Perhaps it hadn’t been forgotten. Perhaps it had been kept as a reminder, an affirmation that someone had always believed in her talent and that she had come a long way from the young woman who had first read that letter, so very many years ago.

“It meant a lot to her, Annabelle, knowing that someone like you believed in her talent. She kept that cake server and the letter and treasured them both—not
in spite
of the fact that they were from you, but
because
they were from you,” I said, watching Annabelle’s face as I spoke, hoping what I was saying was going to get through to her and make some difference. “She forgave you a long time ago for what happened. I know the two of you never really got to be friends, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that she forgave you.”

Annabelle sat silently, still staring at the letter.

“Annabelle,” I said, choosing my next words very carefully. “I know you’ve gotten used to being the one giving advice, but you also need to learn how to take some. Grammie forgave you,” I repeated. “You need to trust that and learn how to forgive yourself. That baby wasn’t punishment.”

The tears that had been pooling in Annabelle’s eyes suddenly began to trace their way down her face, proving that what I was saying was making its way not only to her ears, but also to her heart. She’d shared things with me that she hadn’t shared with anyone else, and I hoped that she didn’t feel I was attacking her with them.

“You told me before that you hadn’t told anyone about the baby. Don’t you think it would good for you to talk about it? That’s not something that can be easy to hold inside all the time, I’m sure. People would understand—some of them might even be able to relate.” I stopped, thinking about all the emotions that Bette had gone through while she had been trying so unsuccessfully to get pregnant. Until she and Steve had found out that he was sterile, she’d blamed herself for every month that had gone by with a negative pregnancy test. And she’d felt guilty, as though she was being punished for something. I could only imagine the level of guilt that had rocked Annabelle when she’d miscarried.

Annabelle shook her head and reached for the handbag next to her. Handkerchief time. She dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smudge any of her makeup. “I’m old, Dellie. No one cares about a miscarriage that happened so long ago.”

“That’s not true. And there are women now who feel the same way that you did when it happened. Hearing you talk about it could help them—especially if they’re holding it all inside like you are. I know you want everyone to see only how strong you are, Annabelle. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. You’re such a giving person, in so many ways, but you don’t really let people in. Not enough.”

Annabelle cocked her head and leveled her gaze at me. “And you do?”

I shook my head. “No, not really.” I smiled sadly. “One of the many things I need to change. I don’t let them in because I’m afraid of getting hurt. And I’m afraid that they’ll get to know me and not like what they see.”

“What will they see, Dellie?” she asked, her razor-sharp focus seeming to bore holes into me.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. The din of the restaurant had faded out so much during our conversation that we might as well have been the only two people in the room. “They’ll see someone too weak to overcome her own fears. They’ll wonder why I can’t just eat a pizza and get over it already.” I swallowed, trying to gauge what Annabelle might be thinking. I’d never really put my biggest struggle out there with her, not in words, anyway. I’d talked about fear and anxiety and how much I’d let it limit my life for so long, but I hadn’t really gotten more specific. Not that I’d had to.

Annabelle’s face was impassive.

“Do you want to know what I see?” she finally asked.

Did I? I wasn’t so sure.

“I see someone who’s been greatly hurt more than once in her life, who somehow lost sight of herself in all of it. Someone who’s very strong in many ways that she may not even realize, but who has been living with fear for so long that she can’t remember life without it,” Annabelle said, not giving me a chance to respond to her earlier question. “What you’re going through is obvious, Dellie. But it’s not who you are—
you’re beautiful
.
You
, Dellie.
You
are beautiful. And you deserve more than what this is doing to you.” Annabelle leaned forward in her chair, staring me directly in the eyes, her gaze unbending. “Don’t let this crush you.”

There were tears stinging my eyes by now, and I tried to blink them away.

“I’ve lived a long time, Dellie, and I’ve seen a lot in that time. I’ve learned a lot, and I’ve been through a lot. Life is not easy, and anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you something,” Annabelle said, still leaning forward. With her small frame, she could have looked hunched and frail, but her posture was still somehow empowered, poised. Controlled and dignified. Yet in no way was it intimidating. Instead, it seemed reassuringly confident.

“I know I come out with my guns blazing sometimes, and some people might write me off as a silly old lady with too many sparkles.” She shook her head with a satisfied little smirk. “Let them think it. It gives them a great surprise when they find out otherwise, believe me.” Annabelle’s smirk widened into a grin as she winked, her eyes twinkling with delight. “I see strength in you, Dellie, that you don’t seem to be able to recognize. I want you to see what
I
see when you look in the mirror, and that’s why I took you shopping. Not just to buy you clothes—I’m hardly ignorant enough to believe that clothes solve all the world’s problems. But I do know that they’re a place to start. You need to remember who you are, Dellie, and see it every time you look in the mirror.”

The tears were beyond hope by now, and they were streaming down my face. I pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table and tried to sop them up.

“I don’t know how you see all that, Annabelle,” I whispered, not trusting my voice. “I think maybe you need to go back to that eye doctor of yours.” My attempt at humor fell a bit flat, but I didn’t know what else to say. I heard her words and appreciated them, but I felt so very unworthy of them. How could someone like Annabelle ever look at
me
and think that I was strong?

“Don’t sell yourself short, Dellie.” She reached out and laid her hand on my arm, ever so lightly, and then took my hand with a grip that surprised me. “Take back your life and make it everything that it can be. Let everyone else see what a beautiful, strong, vibrant woman you are. Be a message of hope.” Annabelle squeezed my hand. “Make your story count.”

“I want it to,” I said quietly, dropping my eyes. “I want to be able to look at these years and see that I fought back. It’s taken me a long time—longer than I should have let it, I know. But I’d like to think that it’s not too late.” I felt another bout of tears stinging. “Do you think it’s too late?”

Annabelle gave me a determined gaze, replacing her earlier smile with a look that could have motivated a legion of League ladies to move mountains without question.