I thought of Dad’s firm tone when he’d insisted on paying for this trip.
The doctors had said he died of a heart attack.
Had he known his heart was failing?
Would he really have kept something like that secret from me?
The answer was right in front of me, tied with a ribbon.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
Would he really have kept something like that secret from me?
The hotel manager stepped back toward the door.
“I’ll leave you to it. Your father seemed like a good man, ma’am. He must have loved you both very much.”
“Thank you,” I managed.
He let himself out.
The door clicked shut.
“He must have loved you both very much.”
The room went quiet except for the distant hush of the sea beyond the window.
“Can I open it?” Sophie whispered.
I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
Sophie slid off the bed and padded over in her bare feet.
Her small fingers brushed the ribbon, then drew back.
“There’s a card here, Mommy.”
“Can I open it?”
She showed me a tag attached to the ribbon.
Dad had written a simple message there:
For my girls
I traced the letters with my thumb.
The ink had bled a little where his hand must have trembled.
“Mommy,” Sophie said softly, “your hands are shaking.”
For my girls
“I know, baby.”
“It’s okay.” She placed her palm over mine, the way I had placed mine over hers a hundred times in hospital beds. “Grandpa’s not scary.”
A sound came out of me that was half laugh, half something else.
“No,” I said. “He’s not.”
I untied the ribbon with shaking hands.
She placed her palm over mine
The knot gave more easily than I expected.
The ribbon slid free in a slow, tired curl.
Sophie leaned closer.
I could feel her breath, warm and quick, against my skin.
Read also
I lifted the lid.
What I saw inside stopped my breath completely.
The ribbon slid free in a slow, tired curl.
