Page 37 of Cathmoir's Sons

Forget none of them. Remember me. Honor my memory. Miss me. Cry for me. But live, my dearest. Live and laugh. Live and love. We will meet again, far too soon. Don’t miss a moment of your life while grieving for me. I am with you, every minute, in your heart.

The years we were together, teaching, passing our gifts and knowledge on to the bright young souls of Nerati Academy, Acacia, and Bevington, were the most fulfilling of my life. Teaching was my calling. But it may not be yours, dearest. If you find something else that makes your soul sing, seize the opportunity. Don’t stay trapped somewhere in my memory. Follow your heart.

If all’s gone according to my wishes, my memorial will begin tomorrow. Let others’ memories of me soothe you. Sing and drink in my honor. Purge your grief. Greet the day of my service with a clear heart. My clan father will come and demand to speak first. Let him. The key he holds opens the door to a better future. A future less riven with suffering, for human and magi alike. Our mist-maiden will take up the key and find the lock. If your heart leads you to help her, follow your heart.

Always, always, follow your heart, my dearest.

All my love,

Carrie

I put the pages on the coffee table and wrap my arms around Jane. “Jane, I’m so sorry.”

She cries softly for several minutes while I hold her, rub her back, rock her gently.

“Every time I think I’ve come to terms with her passing, it hits me again,” Jane says at last, sitting up straighter and wiping her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Jane. Can you see this as a kindness, warning you what to expect, so it’s not a surprise?”

She nods. “Carrie always had the best intentions. Sometimes her actions came across as cold or merciless, but her motivations were never unkind.”

I rub her back until she’s calm.

“Make dinner with me? Or would you rather go out? Teddy and her family are here.”

“Do you mind if it’s just you and me tonight?” she asks.

“Of course not.”

“Well, you, me, and your cat.” Jane turns her head to look at the French doors into the yard. Unsurprisingly, there’s a small black cat sitting outside in the snow, looking in at us.

“I’ll shut the curtains,” I say.

“No, dear. At least, not on my account. Let’s be kind tonight? To ourselves and to others. Let him in and give him something to eat.”

I get up and walk to the doors, looking down at Lawson. “You stay in your fur,” I say sternly.

I can hear him purr all the way through the glass.

“You’re not forgiven,” I tell him.

He puts a paw over his face.

“But we have fresh fish. More than enough for three. Even if you are a furry pig. You leave when I tell you to leave.”

More purring.

I open the door.

He rushes inside and winds around my ankles.

“Being cute doesn’t win you any points.”

But it does, because I’ve missed Whitey so much. Too much. I pick him up and cuddle him to my chest as I shut the door and head into the kitchen.

His purring knits together more of the ragged pieces of my heart.

I should kickhim out after our dinner of Tuscan grilled trout, asparagus, and Jane’s milk bread rolls. But his tummy’s soround, and his purr is so loud, and his white paws are so cute as he curls in my lap and bats at the tassels of the sweatshirt I’ve changed into. I ignore him. Kind of. If petting him counts as ignoring him. At least I don’t talk to him. Jane and I re-read Carrie’s letter and puzzle over it, line by line.

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