Chapter 14: The Side Door

I didn't open it right away.

My name was on the front in black ink, with a small lean to the right.

I had once traced that lean with my finger on the back of a napkin.

"Why this one?" I asked.

"It came in March, three years ago," Dawn said.

"Mom was at church, and I was home sick."

"The mailman put it in my hand by mistake."

"And you kept it."

"I carried it up to my room and sat on the bed for an hour."

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth.

"I told myself I'd give it to you at Christmas."

"Did you?"

"No."

Rafe stood at the end of the counter with his arms folded and didn't say a word.

I slid my thumbnail under the flap.

There was one sheet inside, folded in thirds, written on both sides.

I read it standing up.

He told me about the boat and the cold and the cook who sang at four in the morning.

He told me he had stopped expecting an answer and that he wasn't angry anymore, only tired.

He said this would be his last letter.

He wanted me to know one thing, in case I ever stood at the boathouse gate again.

The lock on the side door had never been changed.

My old brass key still worked in it, and if I ever needed a door that opened, mine still did.

I looked up.

"The side door," I said.

"I never changed it," Rafe said.

"Not once? In six years?"

"Not once. My father asked me why. I told him the hinges were bad."

I took the key ring out of my pocket and held up the little brass boat tag I had carried since I was twenty-three.

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