Chapter 15: The Note

Warren held the envelope in both hands and didn't open it.

"It's addressed to you," I said. "Read it."

"I can't."

"Then I'll sit here while you do."

I pulled the quilt over my chest and moved close, my shoulder against his arm.

He slid a thumb under the flap.

There was one sheet inside, written in blue ink, in the slanted hand that had signed every permission slip of my childhood.

He read it first without speaking.

Then he gave it to me.

Warren, I'm leaving this where you won't look for a long time, and that's how I know you'll find it when you're ready.

She'll never ask for anything. She never has. Make her.

I saw how you looked at her at our wedding. I wasn't angry then and I'm not angry now.

I would rather she be loved by a man who'd carry me to the car for chemo than by one who only looks good at a party.

Don't make her wait for you to be brave. I did that to myself for years, and I don't recommend it.

I was so lucky in you both.

It was signed with only her first initial, the way she signed grocery lists.

I read it three times.

The third time I could hardly see the page.

"She knew," I said.

"I think she always knew." His voice scraped. "I thought she was only being kind."

"She wasn't being kind. She was being bossy."

He laughed, and then his face crumpled, and he put his forehead against my shoulder.

I held the back of his neck while he cried.

It was quiet and brief, and he didn't apologize for it.

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