Epilogue

Five years later...

Nunie waited until after dinner to open the letter whose envelope said simply: Aunt Nunie, Vincentian Lane, Cape Brendan, New York.

Over the years she’d received missives addressed in a similar fashion. The Canadian postmark told her who’d sent it. With a cup of fresh brewed coffee in hand, she sat at her favorite chair and opened the letter.

Dear Aunt Nunie,

I hope it’s all right that I contact you. Mum said it would be okay but not to feel sad if you don’t write back.

I think of you often. Today, of all days because it marks the five year anniversary of our safe arrival in Canada. I finally feel strong enough to write about our escape from the man who called himself our father. I don’t know my brother’s name for him; Monster Dad works for me.

My mother rarely speaks of the bad times, what we called those years when we were under his power. I remember she cried the whole time we were on the ferry. No matter how hard my brother coaxed her, nothing made her stop.

For the longest time I didn’t understand; now I know the tears came from relief. Once she saw Grandpere and Grandmere waiting for us at the ferry stop, Mummy broke into a smile and never stopped. Every day she smiled. No matter what. Sometimes she sang. I knew when she started to sing, everything would be all right.

My brother talks of going back to the States and can’t figure out why I don’t want to return. The Monster Dad died last year; his parents are dead, too, so I’m not afraid of what they might do to us. Mummy says it’s my choice, and will support me, but says I should wait till I’m eighteen before I decide.

There is only one reason why I would return: to see the person whom we called Aunt Nunie. You hid us inside your house while we waited for the ferry to take us to freedom. I never knew your whole name, but I remember your voice, thick with an Irish accent and that your house always smelled like apple pies and vanilla.

I remember you sometimes dressed like a witch because there was a big celebration going on in the whole town. Witch or not, your hands were always gentle; you always smiled and never raised your voice. Even when my brother and I spent hours racing down the hallways or running up and down the stairs. You even showed us how to slide down the banister. You laughed so hard the first time we flew down the rail and were there, waiting to catch us up in your arms. It was awesome.

I will always remember you, Aunt Nunie. You told my brother and me that things would get better. Whatever it takes, you said. Things did get better, like you said.

I hope you are happy and that all your dreams have come true.

Your friend,

LaurieAnn Anderson

With a sigh, Nunie carefully folded the letter before slipping it back into the envelope. She rarely kept the letters; it wasn’t safe. This one, however, was special for so many reasons.

On the opposite side of the cozy room, now lit by a warm fire, the man who’d made her realize it was never too late for dreams to come true dozed in his favorite recliner. Truth be told, Nick Forrester would insist he was only resting his eyes, but it didn’t matter. The contented smile on his face confirmed what he said the day they exchanged wedding vows:

Whatever it takes, don’t give up on me and I won’t give up on you.

Ever.