Page 43 of My Dearest Mackenzie

I cleared my throat and read the top page.

My Dearest James…

You’re no longer mine. My Jimmy.

You probably won’t even see this letter. I’m writing it more as a reminder to myself.

Today, I got myself all dressed and put my grandson, Mackenzie, in the car, and had the driver bring us to your store.

It’s a lovely store. Big, busy, and full of items I’d choose.

It’s Christmastime, and Santa was there for young families to visit. What a great idea! I knew you would be successful.

There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about you.

I’ve been married for a long time, but this still holds true. My husband is a good man, a hard worker, and we made a life. But I can’t help but think what life with you would have been like.

I wanted to see you happy. Seeing you help a customer, smiling and thriving, was what I needed. Your wife came to call you away, and she looks like a nice person with kind eyes, and I decided it was lucky you didn’t see me. I’m sure your family is very happy.

I didn’t want to linger and not buy something or take up a salesperson’s time for nothing, so I purchased an armoire. It will look beautiful in my house.

My grandson, Mackenzie, lives with me now. His mom left him, and he’ll never be the same.

My heart dropped to my feet at this statement, and Frances grabbed my hand and squeezed tight.

“I’m fine,” I muttered. I didn’t know if it was for me or her or Milly or who…

I hope one day he finds a love like we had, and no one tears him away. He deserves it.

Merry Christmas,

Forever your Rosie

My throat clogged toward the end, my words coming out sounding like a frog was lodged in my vocal cords.

When I started to pull out the second letter, Frances touched my hand and said, “Let’s save it for another time. That was a lot to digest.”

She looked into my eyes, her expression soft and comforting, like a blanket tucking in my tired, aching heart.

Stealing the letters from me with her free hand, she said, “It’s my turn to say I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much this would be for you. The internet makes you out to be a badass, and for some reason I thought this would be a quick thing. And that you would just tell me what you knew, or I don’t know. But you’re hurt…”

I pulled a rambling Frances into my chest, and whispered, “Shh.”

I kissed the top of her head, my mouth brushing against her soft hair. I breathed her in; she smelled like peaches and mango. I wanted to hold her tighter, feel her closer as the two of us stood in between the open doors of the armoire. More like a Pandora’s box, but I didn’t want to add any more pain to the woman in my arms.

“It’s true, I’m sorry.” Her mouth tickled my chest while she spoke, and I wrapped her small body tighter.

I didn’t want to look at her while I spoke. “My mom is a bad subject. I spent most of my childhood wishing she would come back. Then, I’ve spent the great majority of my adult life putting her away on a high shelf. Keeping her out of my story, away from my business and in the back recesses of my mind, has been my mission. She’s the one who hurt me. Clearly Milly knew it. I don’t like others to be privy to it because they can take advantage of it. But that’s not you. You wouldn’t do that. I’ve known that since the day you hijacked my soul at the mall…”

I felt her tilt her head back and look up at me. “I did not hijack your soul.”

My lips met the top of her head again. “You did. You and your kickboxing moves…”

“I’m falling for you,” she blurted out. “Shit!” She stole away from my grasp. “I didn’t mean to put that out there.”

I strode toward her, wanting her back in my arms.

“I never wanted to fall for anyone. I’m thirty-eight…too old for crushes and like-liking someone, you know? I see men all day and I never fall for anyone. Working with men in my safe place. I am unemotional when it comes to your sex—ugh! This is not coming out right. Working with men has been a way for me to keep up boundaries. I don’t like your kind!”

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