Page 56 of Little Empty Promises

“I said it would depend on what kind of trouble they were in, and if it was any of my business to interfere.People are always getting involved in other people’s business, giving unsolicited opinions, that kind of thing.I want no part of it.”

I wondered if a smidgen of what he’d just said was a dig toward me for inserting my opinions about his marriage into our conversation.

If it was, it was well played.

“Did Cordelia tell you what kind of trouble the person was in?”I asked.

“She didn’t.I asked, and she seemed nervous, and she didn’t want to keep talking.As I was leaving her house, I tried once more to get her to open up.It didn’t work.She said she shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.It was her own burden to bear.She didn’t want to get anyone else involved.”

“Any chance you remember when the conversation took place?”

He nodded.“It was a few weeks before she died.”

23

I woke to find myself in a bed that was unfamiliar, and it wasn’t mine.The bedside lamp was still on, and as I sat up, my eyes came to rest on a handmade patchwork quilt.

Where am I?

And how did I get here?

I moved the quilt to the side and stood, noticing I was still dressed in the same pajamas I’d put on before I’d retired to bed.Tiptoeing to the bedroom door, I pulled it open.It creaked as I did so, and I poked my head out, peering into the hallway.

I saw no one at first.

But I heard a sound—humming.

I followed the noise to a sitting room filled with books.A woman was inside, sitting in front of an antique wooden desk.She was hunched over it, writing.As her face came into view, everything became clear.

I was in Cordelia’s house.

And I was dreaming.

I approached Cordelia’s desk and tapped her on the shoulder.“Excuse me, can we talk?”

She swished a hand through the air.“Not now.Come back later.”

“I can’t.It isn’t how it works.”

She huffed a hearty sigh and set the pen on top of the paper.“I suppose if it must be now, I can spare a few minutes.What’s on your mind?”

“You’re writing a letter.”

“I am.”

“To whom?”

“I’d like to say it’s to my sister, though she’ll never receive it, not this one.”

“Then why write it?”

“It occurs to me my soul is not at rest.I should have driven to her house when I had the chance.I should have forced her to see me.I didn’t because I don’t have the backbone she’s always had.So I decided to write one last letter, for my own peace of mind.”

“What’s in the letter?”I asked.

Cordelia smiled and said, “I’m telling her everything I would have said had I worked up the nerve to see her face to face.”

“What do you hope the letter will achieve now?”

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