Page 51 of All Along The Watchtower

“You never actually asked how I knew about you.”

“I thought your mom told you.” But even as I said the words, I remembered Peyton saying her mom had never talked about me. It was a mark of how overwhelmed I’d been with the whole situation that I’d lost that detail.

She shook her head, clutching what looked like a stack of envelopes to her chest. “I found these after she died. They’re letters. To you. It seems like she wrote one every year, but she never sent them.”

My heart stopped as she held out the bundle. The envelopes were creased and obviously well-read, each one carefully opened. My name and “Hatterwick Island” were written in neat handwriting on the front. Each envelope had a number written in the corner, starting with one.

I stared. Thirteen years of letters. Thirteen years of my daughter’s life, captured in her mother’s words. Words Casey had wanted to tell me but never did.

I forced myself to reach out and take the stack. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

One thin shoulder lifted. “I mean, technically, they were addressed to you.”

“Thank you.”

I sat, carefully extracting the first letter.

Dear Ford,

I hardly know how to start this. I suppose there’s no real protocol for sharing news this big—especially when I’ve kept the secret for so long. I guess there’s no other way other than to rip off the bandaid, so here goes.

You’re a father.

Before you ask, yes, I’m sure it’s you. There was no one else before or since. We have a beautiful baby girl, and I’ve selfishly kept her from you. There’s really no excuse for it. I know you have a right to know, and yet here we are. All I can offer you is the why, though I know it’s no excuse.

After I left Hatterwick and you, my parents and I came home to California. Less than a month later, both of them were killed in a car accident. It was devastating, as you might imagine. In all the chaos after, I didn’t realize I was pregnant. Not for months. I assumed the missed periods were all from stress. By the time I figured it out, I was already four months pregnant.

I came to Georgia and tracked you down. But by the time I found you, saw you on campus, it was obvious you were already deeply in love and happy with someone else.

I paused, thinking back. That would have been right after Emily and I had gotten together. God, if Casey had only known how wrong she was, how might things have been different?

I’d already lost my entire family, and I was afraid of what might happen if I told you. That’s no excuse. You have a right to know. But I couldn’t risk losing this baby. So I didn’t approach you, and I left, telling myself I was doing the right thing by letting you be happy in the life you’d chosen.

I know this letter doesn’t make up for all the things you’ve missed because of my selfishness and fear, but maybe it’ll help just a little.

She went on to paint a picture of all those firsts from that first year, giving a highlight reel that was full of her own joy in our daughter. My eyes burned with unshed tears by the end, and I had to swallow a few times before I could trust myself to speak.

“Thank you for sharing these with me.”

“I thought maybe it would help.”

“It does.”

She pushed up from the chair. “I’ve got homework. Let me know when dinner’s ready?”

“Yeah.”

She disappeared down the hall. I took a moment to pop the casserole in the oven, then I settled in to read the others.

CHAPTER 24

BREE

The moment Keeley and I stepped inside from our morning walk, she made a beeline for her water bowl, and I made a beeline for the coffeepot. Courtesy of the wonders of modern technology, a timer ensured it was ready as soon as we got home. I filled my favorite mug and added a generous splash of hazelnut creamer, inhaling the rich aroma as I soaked up the warmth between my palms. But the ritual didn’t have its usual settling effect.

After two days with Peyton, the house felt too big, too empty.

It had felt the same after Willa moved out, which was how I’d ended up with Keeley only a few weeks later. My pup was great company, but she didn’t quite make up for the loss of another human in the space. Those years with Willa as my roommate had spoiled me. I’d gotten used to having someone to share coffee with, to bounce ideas off of, to just exist in the same space without pressure to fill the quiet.

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