Chapter 7
I used Richard's money wisely.
I paid off all the legal bills.
I donated a large sum to the local domestic violence shelter.
In Sloan's name.
Or rather, in the names of all the women like her victims.
I set up college funds for the children.
Harrison's future children.
And whatever children Marge's grandchildren might have.
I invested the rest.
Carefully.
With David's help.
I would never have to worry about money again.
Neither would Harrison.
Neither would our family.
Richard's gift kept on giving.
But there was more.
Marge had given me another envelope from Richard.
One I hadn't opened yet.
She said it was for after the legal stuff was over.
After everything was settled.
After I was ready.
I waited a few weeks.
I wanted to be in the right frame of mind.
One evening, after Harrison had gone to bed, I sat down in the living room.
I poured myself a glass of wine.
I looked at Richard's photograph.
And I opened the envelope.
Inside was a deed.
And a letter.
*My dearest Lorraine,*
*I know how much you love the cottage up north. The one we used to go to every summer. The one you cried when we had to sell when Harrison was in college and we needed the money.*
*I bought it back. Five years ago. When business was good. I've been keeping it up. Paying the taxes. Making sure it's just like you remembered. It's yours. Always.*
*I know things have been hard for you. I know losing me was the hardest thing you've ever been through. And I know there might be more hard days ahead. But I want you to have a place to go. A place to escape. A place where you can be happy. Where you can remember the good times. Where you can make new memories.*
*The cottage is yours, Lorraine. Do whatever you want with it. Keep it. Sell it. Give it away. Whatever makes you happy.*
*And if you ever find someone new. Someone who makes you smile. Someone who deserves you. Bring him there. I won't mind. I just want you to be happy. Always.*
*I love you more than words can say.*
*Your Richard*
I stared at the letter.
The cottage.
The little cottage on Lake Michigan.
The one we'd spent every summer at when Harrison was little.
The one I'd loved more than anything.
The one I'd cried when we sold.
Richard had bought it back.
Five years ago.
And he'd never told me.
He'd waited.
Knowing I might need it someday.
Knowing I might need a place to escape.
A place to heal.
A place to be happy again.
I cried.
Happy tears.
Grateful tears.
Loving tears.
That man.
That wonderful, stubborn, loving man.
Even in death, he was still surprising me.
Still taking care of me.
Still loving me.
I called Harrison the next morning.
I told him about the cottage.
He cried too.
"Are you going to go see it?" he asked.
"I think so," I said. "Do you want to come with me?"
"Of course," he said. "I'd love to."
We drove up to Lake Michigan that weekend.
The cottage was exactly as I remembered it.
Small.
White.
With a big porch.
And a view of the lake that took your breath away.
The key worked.
I opened the door.
And I stepped inside.
It was perfect.
Richard had kept everything exactly as it had been.
The old furniture.
The curtains I'd made.
The paintings on the wall.
Even the chipped mug I'd used every morning.
It was all there.
Like we'd never left.
Harrison walked through the cottage.
Touching things.
Remembering.
"I can't believe Dad did this," he said. "He never said a word."
"That was your father," I said. "He loved us in actions, not just words."
We spent the weekend at the cottage.
We walked on the beach.
We watched the sunset.
We ate at the little diner in town.
We remembered.
We laughed.
We cried.
We healed.
And I knew.
This place would be good for us.
A place to escape.
A place to make new memories.
A place to start over.
Harrison went back to the city on Sunday.
I stayed.
I needed a little more time.
Time alone.
Time to think.
Time to feel Richard's presence.
Time to figure out what came next.
I was sixty-five years old.
I was a widow.
I'd been through hell.
But I was also free.
Free of Sloan.
Free of worry.
Free to do whatever I wanted.
Whatever made me happy.
I sat on the porch that evening.
Watching the sunset over Lake Michigan.
The sky was pink and orange and gold.
The lake was calm.
The air was fresh.
And I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
Possibility.
Excitement.
I didn't know what the future held.
But I was ready to find out.
The next morning, I went into town.
I needed groceries.
And I wanted to see if the town had changed.
It had.
A little.
But mostly, it was the same.
The same diner.
The same hardware store.
The same bookstore.
I went into the bookstore.
It was still run by the same man.
Mr. Henderson.
He was older now.
But he still recognized me.
"Lorraine Caldwell," he said. "I haven't seen you in years. How are you?"
"I'm good," I said. "Actually, I'm great. My husband bought the cottage back. I'm going to be spending more time here."
"That's wonderful," he said. "Richard was in here a few times over the years. Always asking about books you might like. He was a good man."
Tears filled my eyes.
"He was."
I browsed the shelves for a while.
And then I bumped into someone.
A man.
Tall.
Handsome.
Silver hair.
Kind eyes.
"I'm so sorry," he said. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
"It's okay," I said. "Neither was I."
He smiled.
A warm, genuine smile.
"I'm Frank," he said. "Frank Bennett. I own the hardware store in town."
"Lorraine Caldwell," I said. "I just moved back into the cottage up the road."
"The white one with the big porch?" he said. "That's a beautiful place. I did some work on it a few years ago. For the owner. A Mr. Caldwell?"
"That was my husband," I said. "Richard. He passed away a few years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Frank said. "He seemed like a good man. He talked about you all the time. Said you were the love of his life."
Tears filled my eyes.
"He was the love of mine too."
Frank looked at me.
And for a moment, something passed between us.
Something I hadn't felt in a very long time.
A spark.
A possibility.
"Would you like to get coffee sometime?" he asked. "There's a new place on Main Street. They make wonderful blueberry muffins."
I thought about it.
I thought about Richard.
And what he'd written in his letter.
*And if you ever find someone new. Someone who makes you smile. Someone who deserves you. Bring him there. I won't mind. I just want you to be happy. Always.*
I smiled at Frank.
"I'd like that," I said.
"Tomorrow morning?" he asked.
"Tomorrow morning," I agreed.
He walked me to my car.
He opened the door for me.
"I'll see you at ten," he said.
"I'll be there."
I drove back to the cottage.
My heart was beating a little faster than usual.
I felt like a young girl again.
Excited.
Nervous.
Alive.
I looked out at the lake.
And I smiled.
"Thank you, Richard," I whispered.
And the wind blew softly.
Like a kiss.
Like an answer.
Life was full of surprises.
Even at sixty-five.
Even after loss.
Even after everything I'd been through.
There was still room for happiness.
Still room for love.
Still room for new beginnings.
And I was ready.
Ready to embrace whatever came next.
But before I could move forward, there was one more thing I needed to do.
One more conversation I needed to have.
With Harrison.
About the future.
May you like
About the house.
About what came next for both of us.
