Dennis was waiting in my driveway when I returned from the lake.
He had apparently decided my instruction to stay away from the meeting did not apply to everything afterward.
His truck sat behind my car.
He stood beside it with his hands buried in his coat pockets.
I got out carrying Eleanor's letter.
"You saw it," he said.
"Yes."
"The cabin?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
I walked past him.
"Inside."
He followed.
I made coffee because apparently every crisis in my family required caffeine.
Dennis sat at the kitchen table.
I remained standing.
"How long did you know?"
"About the cabin?"
"Yes."
"Since before she bought it."
I stared at him.
"Before."
"Yes."
"Sit there and explain why my brother helped my dying wife secretly buy me real estate."
Dennis rubbed both hands over his face.
"When you say it that way, it sounds bad."
"I've heard that sentence too often lately."
He almost smiled.
I didn't.
He stopped.
"Eleanor called me one afternoon."
"When?"
"Late summer. The year before she died."
"Why you?"
"Because she needed a driver."
"She had a husband."
"Exactly."
I sat opposite him.
"Go on."
"She'd met Carol at treatment. Carol mentioned her brother had a cabin property he was trying to sell. Eleanor asked questions."
"Of course she did."
"Then she called me."
"Why didn't she ask me?"
"Because the cabin was for you."
"That's not an explanation."
Dennis sighed.
"Ray, she was scared."
The words quieted me.
"Eleanor?"
"Yes."
"She didn't act scared."
"With you."
I looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
"It means she didn't act scared with you."
I felt defensive immediately.
"She talked to me."
"I know."
"We talked about dying."
"I know."
"We talked about the funeral."
"I know."
"Then don't tell me she couldn't be scared around me."
"I'm not."
"Sounds like it."
Dennis leaned forward.
"She was protecting you."
"I didn't ask her to."
"No. That's why she didn't tell you."
I stood again.
Sitting felt impossible.
Dennis continued.
"She thought you were holding yourself together for her."
"I was."
"Exactly."
"Someone had to."
"Ray."
"What?"
"She hated watching you do it."
That stopped me.
I turned.
Dennis's eyes were wet.
"She told me you never cried in front of her."
I looked away.
"That's not true."
"Apparently it was."
"I cried."
"Where?"
The garage.
The shower.
My car in hospital parking structures.
Once in the grocery store after seeing her favorite cereal.
Almost never in front of Eleanor.
"I didn't want her worrying about me."
"And she didn't want you worrying about her."
I laughed bitterly.
"Excellent system."
"Yeah."
We sat with that.
Two people loving each other so aggressively that both had hidden pain to protect the other.
It sounded noble.
It had also been stupid.
"What else did she tell you?"
Dennis looked at the letter in my hand.
"That you were going to get stuck."
"Her word?"
"Stuck."
I almost smiled.
"She said after she died you'd keep everything exactly where she'd left it."
I thought of her chair.
"She said you'd refuse invitations because you didn't want people feeling sorry for you."
Dennis raised an eyebrow.
I said nothing.
"She said you'd eat standing over the sink rather than set the table for one."
I looked toward the sink.
Dennis actually laughed.
"She got that one."
"Shut up."
"Sorry."
He wasn't.
"What was the cabin supposed to do?"
"Give you somewhere new."
"That's what Mercer said."
"She thought if you had somewhere without forty years of history in every drawer, you might remember you were still a person."
The sentence hurt.
I looked at Eleanor's letter.
"Why didn't you tell me after she died?"
"Because she made me promise."
"You've broken promises before."
"Not to her."
"Convenient."
Dennis accepted that.
"I almost told you."
"When?"
"First Christmas."
I remembered.
I had declined dinner at his house.
Said I wasn't feeling well.
Actually, I had spent Christmas Day in my living room with Eleanor's blanket folded beside me.
"And?"
"You looked like hell."
"Thank you."
"You did."
"So you decided more isolation was the answer."
"No. I decided forcing a secret gift from your dead wife on you while you could barely make conversation might not help."
I couldn't argue easily.
"Second year?"
"I tried again."
"When?"
"Your birthday."
I remembered Dennis asking me to drive up toward the lake.
I'd refused because the weather looked bad.
"The fishing invitation."
"Yes."
"That wasn't fishing."
"There would've been fishing."
I shook my head.
"Third year?"
"You started doing better."
"Did I?"
"Some."
"Then why not tell me?"
"Because by then I wasn't sure whether keeping the promise was right or telling you was right."
"So you did nothing."
"Yes."
That was painfully familiar.
Families could create enormous damage through things nobody did.
I poured more coffee.
"Did Preston know Eleanor was worried about me?"
"Of course."
"About the cabin?"
"No."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
"Why keep it from him?"
Dennis hesitated.
"She didn't trust him with the surprise."
"That's all?"
"No."
I waited.
"She was already worried about money."
My hand stopped above the coffee pot.
"What money?"
"His business."
I set the pot down.
"How much did she tell you?"
"Not much."
"Try."
"She said Preston had been asking for help too often."
That aligned with what he'd admitted.
"Did she know he was taking money himself?"
"I don't know."
"Did she suspect?"
Dennis looked uncomfortable.
"Maybe."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because once, when I drove her home from treatment, she asked whether I'd ever given anyone access to my bank accounts."
I stared.
"What did you say?"
"I said no."
"And?"
"She said good."
"That was it?"
"Pretty much."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know what she meant."
I paced toward the window.
Maybe Eleanor had noticed before I did.
Maybe she had been preparing to confront Preston.
Maybe she had already confronted him.
The dead kept acquiring secrets.
I hated it.
"Did she say anything about the jewelry?"
"No."
"The house?"
"No."
"Marissa?"
"Only normal complaints."
"What normal complaints?"
Dennis smiled faintly.
"She thought Marissa spent too much on throw pillows."
Despite myself, I laughed.
That sounded so exactly like Eleanor that for a moment the tension broke.
Dennis smiled too.
Then his face softened.
"I miss her."
"I know."
"No. I mean I miss having someone else around who could tell you when you were being an idiot."
"You've managed."
"I lack her finesse."
"She had no finesse."
"Compared with me?"
"Fair."
We drank coffee.
Eventually Dennis nodded toward the letter.
"What are you going to do with the cabin?"
"I don't know."
"Sell it?"
The idea produced an immediate resistance.
That surprised me.
"Maybe not."
"Good."
"Why good?"
"Because I like fishing."
I shook my head.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The real motive."
"Always."
After Dennis left, I called Daniel.
"I want copies of everything connected to the property."
"I expected that."
"Taxes. Insurance. Maintenance. Every dollar."
"Sure."
"And I'm reimbursing you."
"For what?"
"Three years of taxes."
"No."
"Daniel."
"That wasn't the agreement."
"The agreement was with Eleanor."
"Correct."
"She's dead."
A pause.
"I noticed."
"Then the agreement changes."
He laughed.
"You really would've driven her crazy."
"I did."
"She seemed fond of you anyway."
I looked at her letter.
"Send me the numbers."
"Fine."
"Thank you."
Before hanging up, Daniel said, "There is something else."
Of course there was.
"What?"
"Your wife left another envelope."
I closed my eyes.
"Where?"
"With me."
"Why didn't you give it to me yesterday?"
"Because it isn't for you."
My stomach tightened.
"Who is it for?"
"Preston."
I stood very still.
"What does it say?"
"I don't know."
"Did Eleanor tell you?"
"No."
"Why do you have it?"
"She asked me to hold it."
"Until when?"
"Until you found the cabin."
I stared at the wall.
"Then what?"
"Then she said you should decide whether to give it to him."
That made no sense.
"Why would she leave the decision to me?"
"I asked her the same thing."
"What did she say?"
Daniel paused.
"She said you'd understand by then."
I almost swore.
Dead or alive, Eleanor remained capable of being infuriating.
"When can I get it?"
"Tomorrow."
"No."
Daniel laughed before I could finish.
"I know. Today."
An hour later he arrived.
The envelope was sealed.
Preston's name appeared in Eleanor's handwriting.
I held it up to the light.
Nothing.
Daniel watched me.
"You're considering opening it."
"Yes."
"She expected that."
"What did she say?"
"She said you'd know it was wrong."
I glared at him.
He smiled.
"I liked your wife."
"Everybody did. They didn't have to live with her."
Daniel left.
The envelope remained on my kitchen table.
I walked around it for two hours.
I could call Preston.
I could give it to him immediately.
But Eleanor had specifically made me the gatekeeper.
Why?
The answer might have been connected to the money.
Or the business.
Or something else entirely.
I called Julian.
He listened.
"Legally?"
I asked.
"Don't open mail addressed to someone else."
"That's disappointingly straightforward."
"Most good legal advice is."
"What would you do?"
"Personally?"
"Yes."
"Give it to Preston."
"Immediately?"
"Not necessarily."
"Why not?"
"Because your wife apparently gave you discretion for a reason."
"That's exactly what bothers me."
"Then think before acting."
I hated when his advice consisted of patience.
That evening Preston called.
He sounded better.
Not good.
Better.
He'd met with the company's landlord.
He'd begun discussing termination of the lease.
Two employees had potential positions elsewhere.
He'd also attended therapy.
We talked for twenty minutes.
I almost mentioned the envelope three times.
I didn't.
Before hanging up, Preston said, "Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Did Mom ever tell you she was disappointed in me?"
The question hit like a hand against my chest.
"Why are you asking?"
"Therapist asked what I thought Mom would say about everything."
"And?"
"I realized I don't know."
I looked at the envelope.
"I think your mother could be disappointed in something you did without being disappointed in who you were."
He was quiet.
"That's a very Dad answer."
"Sorry."
"No. It's okay."
I touched the edge of the envelope.
"She loved you."
"I know."
"That part isn't uncertain."
Another silence.
"Thanks."
After we hung up, I sat alone.
The envelope was less than a foot from my hand.
Eleanor had written something to our son while she was dying.
She had entrusted it to a stranger.
Then entrusted the decision to deliver it to me.
I finally understood one thing.
Whatever was inside had not been meant to comfort Preston while everything remained hidden.
Eleanor had wanted him to receive it only after something changed.
The question was whether that change had finally happened.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: I Gave Preston the Letter His Mother Had Hidden for Three Years, but Her First Sentence Made Him Stop Reading
Nine Days Before Christmas, a Thirty-Thousand-Dollar Charge Revealed What My Son Thought I Would Always Forgive
Part 10 of 46
