People are talking about me again.
And I have only you.
No offence, but you’re awfully quiet.
I’d been so lost without Ansel.It took another year for me to find my feet and run the bakery with confidence.The rumours abounding over me taking advantage of Ansel nearly crippled me.
Dear Deacon,
I met your grandma.She’s a hoot.She speaks of you often.
I wonder if she knows you loved me once.
I’d been wary of her at first, but she was nothing like I expected.
Dear Deacon,
I saw you with your wife today.I guess this means it really is over.Are you happy?I hope you’re happy.
I can’t cry over you anymore.
But I don’t think I’ll ever unlove you.
This letter, like all the rest, ended the same:
Love, Jenny.
P.S.I wish you were here.
Every single one of them,I wish you were here.
Deacon, though he never read or received these letters, was the only person to whom I could pour out my heart.
I tucked them back inside their envelopes, tied the ribbon around them once more.One day, soon, I’d throw them out and release the pain.
For now, I withdrew the pen and a fresh piece of writing paper.
I had one more letter to write.
Dear Deacon...
33
A Better Man
Deacon
I snapped up my keys and wallet, flipping the latter open for a brief glimpse of my reason for everything before shoving it in the back pocket of my jeans.
Quickly locking the apartment door, I jogged down the outside stairs to the parking lot.Within seconds, I was on the road to home.
To Jenny.
The letter she left on the table stoked the fire that had started burning way back in the fall when I saw her for the first time in more than a decade.The short distance between us, and the time it was taking me to get there, tried my patience.
I pulled into my driveway and read her letter again, focussing on each word as if their meaning might have changed.
Dear Deacon,
