As Penny clutched the smooth, white envelope in her hand, it felt almost hot to the touch, as if the words inside were burning to get out.
The long-awaited moment left her breathless, poised on the edge of a proverbial precipice—once she jumped, she couldn’t turn back.
But Cassie’s wisdom resonated with a simple truth—time on this earth wasn’t a guarantee. And the mere thought of never reading her father’s letter made her heart break.
In preparation, she’d drawn the curtains in his office for the first time since he’d passed away. Sunlight filtered through the filmy glass, highlighting specks of dust dancing in the air.
Penny smiled, recalling how her father once told her the tiny particles were microscopic fairies. She’d pranced around the apartment trying to capture them in a glass jar, giggling as they darted out of reach. Of course, she never did catch one. But looking back, she realized that was never really the point.
Seated at his desk, she withdrew a silver letter opener. Her fingers trembled as she inserted the sharp tip in the top right corner. Inhaling a deep breath, she tried to steady her hand. With a quick flick of her wrist, she broke the seal, the gentle tear echoing in her eardrums.
Suddenly overcome with emotion, she placed the envelope and opener on the desk, and sprang from her seat with anxious energy. Wringing her hands, she paced the threadbare carpet, gazing up at the ceiling as she fought back tears.
In the next few minutes, she had so much to lose and everything to gain.
Wrestling with her tumultuous thoughts, she exhaled slowly before sitting back down.
Gingerly, she removed a single sheet of paper from its resting place. As she unfolded it, ironing out the creases against the flat surface of the tabletop, silent tears dampened the page.
Her father’s handwriting greeted her like a welcome-home hug after a long absence—its emotional resonance bittersweet.
As she read, she kept one hand on the letter, one hand clasped over her mouth to restrain a rising sob.
The letter was dated the day before he died.
Sweet P,
I want to start by telling you how incredibly proud I am of the woman you’ve become. Not only are you gracious and kind, beautiful inside and out, but you’re braver than I ever imagined. Especially after everything I taught you to fear. I can only assume that despite my shortcomings, a bit of your mother’s adventurous light sparked somewhere deep inside of you. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.
Never lose that light, Sweet P. Just be careful you don’t let it burn out of control or it will consume you like a wildfire, destroying everything in its path. Much like it did to your mother.
I’m writing this letter as a confession, of sorts. A means of accountability to do the right thing, despite my trepidation regarding the outcome. Whatever happens, you deserve to know the truth behind my efforts.
After all these years, I’ve never stopped loving your mother or pursuing her. And just before your fourth birthday, I learned she’d been living in a women’s shelter in Starcross Cove, just a few hours away.
The words blurred on the page as Penny choked back a sob, tears searing her eyes. The women’s shelter… the beach where she’d built a sandcastle with Colt… Her temples throbbed as she struggled to make sense of the jumbled pieces.
Forcing the air in and out of her lungs with ragged breaths, she concentrated on the rest of the letter.
As much as it breaks my heart to admit this to you, your mother’s thirst for adventure led her down a dark path of substance abuse and dangerous choices. But she’d finally sought help. Hearing the news gave me extraordinary hope. And like two brave knights on a quest, you and I left Poppy Creek to bring her back home.
As you can guess, our expedition didn’t go quite as I’d planned. When we arrived, I learned she’d had another child with someone else, less than a year after she’d left us. And she had no interest in rejoining our family.
Penny’s chest rose and fell with each racking sob as she realized the two girls in the photograph weren’t merely strangers bound to her by childhood daydreams, so lifelike they felt like a memory. All this time, her father had kept a secret hidden in plain sight. And she wasn’t sure how she’d ever forgive him for that.
At the time, you were too young to remember or grasp the significance of that day. And I chose to keep it a secret with the belief I was protecting you from insurmountable pain. But now as you’re away at college, braving the world on your own, I realize what an untenable mistake I made. Lacking my own courage, I’d underestimated your strength.
Watching you spread your wings has been the most beautiful sight a father could ever behold. And I’m reminded of what our favorite poet, Robert Frost, once said….
“There is freedom in being bold.”
You, Sweet P, are not your mother or your father.
Your wings are guided by both passion and prudence. And I trust you to fly with a sense of adventure and sound judgment.
Oh, the heights you will reach because you have respect for the ground.
Today, I go on a solo quest. I learned your mother has returned to the women’s shelter and I plan to try one last time. But whether I return alone or not, you will receive this letter, my sincerest apology, and my faithful promise to answer any other questions you might have.
All my love,
Dad
Hunched over the desk, Penny buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as each sob tore through her body. The cruel irony of her father’s letter—and the fact that he’d never come home at all—proved too much for her weary heart to withstand.
He’d called her brave, and yet, he’d never know that the day she received the phone call about his death, she’d returned home and closed herself off from the outside world.
She wasn’t bold. And she certainly wasn’t free.
Fear crippled her, to the point she couldn’t even confront Colt about his decision to leave Poppy Creek. Or more importantly, to leave her behind.
Her thoughts drifted to the photograph of the two girls building a sandcastle. Somewhere out there she had a sister. Penny found the thought impossible to comprehend.
So much in her life was about to change. And she had a choice….
Did she cower in fear?
Or embrace it with courage?
His heart hammering in his chest, Colt brought the spoon to his lips. A lot was riding on this concoction, and it needed to be perfect.
Taking a slow sip, his eyes brightened in excitement. Bingo! After three failed attempts, the coffee marinade tasted like pure, caffeinated heaven. After making a quick notation on the recipe card, Colt pulled the steaks out of the refrigerator.
Since he planned to wow Jack at the Fourth of July cook-off in two days, and the steaks needed that long to marinate, he wouldn’t have time for a complete dry run. He’d have to cross his fingers and hope for the best.
A deafening blare shook through the house, and Colt nearly dropped the steaks on the kitchen floor. Recovering from the shock, he slid them on the counter before wiping his hands on a dish towel, shaking his head ruefully.
Making his way into Frank’s study, Colt shot a stern frown at the rabble-rouser lounging in the chenille recliner. “I’m really regretting not going with Beverly’s suggestion of a soft, tinkling bell.”
With a wry grin, Frank brandished the bullhorn. “But this is much more effective, don’t you think?”
“If your main objective is ruining both of our hearing.”
As Frank chuckled, Colt marveled at the huge shift in his mood ever since he’d had a heart-to-heart with Beverly.
“What can I get for you, Your Highness?” Colt bent forward in an exaggerated bow, complete with a hand flourish.
“I need a favor. But first,”—Frank sniffed the air—“are you developing a top secret war tactic for the government? I’ve been smelling coffee all afternoon but haven’t seen a single drop.”
Colt snorted in laughter. “Sorry. I have been working on a top secret project. But I promise, I wasn’t trying to torture you. I’ll grab you a cup.”
Popping back into the kitchen, Colt filled a lightweight ceramic mug with the brewed coffee left over from the marinade.
Returning to the study, he handed it to Frank. “So, what’s this favor?”
For a moment, Colt thought he noticed the old man’s cheeks tinge pink. But it could’ve been from the steam curling above the brim of the mug.
Frank took a languid sip, showing marked improvement in using his left hand since his fall. Setting the mug on the TV stand situated near the recliner, he nodded toward his desk. “Bring me the laptop.”
Dutifully, Colt brought the laptop along with a bamboo tray to rest it on. As he flipped it open in front of Frank, the screen flickered to life.
Startled by the image on display, Colt darted his gaze to the old man’s face. No doubt about it—his weathered cheeks were decidedly rosy.
Frank cleared his throat. “I need you to pick this up for me.”
Glancing back at the listing, Colt noticed the antiques store was located in San Francisco. The errand would take most of the day. But for something this important? It was definitely worth it.
“It will be my pleasure.”
“Thank you,” Frank grunted, visibly uncomfortable.
As Colt returned the laptop to the desk and wrote down the pertinent information, he couldn’t help a smile.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had big plans for the future.