Page 52 of The Affair
He chuckled, his eyes bright with laughter. “I wouldn’t complain if you brought some of those in—even if they did have raisins instead of chocolate chips.”
“I wish I could. I don’t have the recipe.”
“Why not?”
Giving a sort of shrug, I answered, “She never wrote it down. We have a lot of her other recipes. I could make you a batch of Divinity if you want.”
“What the hell is that?” he asked, his face contorted with confusion.
A small smile fell on my lips. “It’s this white candy—never mind. Anyway, a lot of her favorite recipes—or our favorites, I guess—she just made from memory and never bothered to write them down. That included the cinnamon rolls she used to mail us and the cookies I loved so much.”
“She was meticulous about so much. How did she manage to forget something like that?”
Looking over at the stack of black journals that rested on the coffee table, I tried to put myself in her shoes. “I just don’t think she thought it was important, you know? She didn’t think about what would happen when she was gone because I don’t think she ever regarded herself as important. She just assumed we’d all just go on like normal when she passed.”
“That’s sad.”
“I don’t know if it’s sad or not. I think it’s just the way she was. Very factual. No time for fuss. Like that box of costume jewelry.” Motioning to the box, I said, “Open it. It’s all costume stuff, if I remember correctly. Just plastic and plaster. Nothing of value. She was never overly sentimental.”
He pulled back the top and his eyes went wide. “This is not jewelry.”
As my body bent forward to catch a glimpse of what he was looking at, I felt a wave of confusion.
Or was that the dizziness again?
“Are those more journals?” I asked and watched as he pulled one out.
“Yeah,” he said, admiring the delicately etched leather. Beautiful flowers created a border all along the edge; the color was faded some, but the details were still so beautiful and elaborate. “But these are different.”
He handed me one, and I ran my fingers over the fine leather cover, almost too nervous to crack it open.
Whose words would I find inside?
My grandfather’s? Or maybe some distant relative from a bygone era…
Finally bending the cover back, I gasped as the familiar handwriting appeared in front of me.
“It’s hers,” I said, wide-eyed. “It’s my nana’s.”
* * *
To my darling daughters,
There are some paths in your life you’re never meant to take.
But yet, somehow, by some twist of fate, you find yourself wandering down that long, forbidden road anyway. That’s how this all began—with good intentions. I never sought this out. Never planned it. But sometimes, things don’t go the way you want them to.
And isn’t that what makes life grand?
Even late in life, it has a way of surprising you.
Tricking you into believing in silly old things like love again.
Are there things I regret?
Things I wish I could take back?
Of course.
