Love Letter

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

  “Just now,” Chris admitted.

  Helena looked around, visibly shaken. “You’re saying he’s here? Now?”

  “I’m right beside you, darling,” said Brandon, crouching beside her chair. But as Chris nodded, Helena abruptly stood and moved behind the chair to pace back and forth.

  After a few turns, she let out a little laugh. “Why not?” She stopped pacing and waved at the laptop. “Let’s hear it.”

  Chris clicked the play button on the recording software. Her voice rang out clearly, asking, “What would you like to say to your wife?”

  What followed was a long stretch of silence interrupted by faint but clearly audible words in Brandon’s voice: “…sorry…love you…wish I’d listened…were my world…show you.”

  By the time it finished, Helena stood gripping the back of the chair, her nails digging into the upholstery. She didn’t say anything. Brandon stood next to her, studying her face, but her expression had gone blank.

  Chris turned off the recorder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that’s…that this wasn’t what you expected.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “But if you’d like to ask him anything, he can hear you. And I can relay his responses.”

  She seemed to consider this a moment. But then she released the chair and straightened. “This has been… interesting,” she said, bending down to pick up her purse, “but I have to go.”

  “What? No!” Brandon looked at Chris. “Tell her to stay.”

  Chris glanced at him, but to Helena she said, “I understand. But please, take my card. If you change your mind, just give me a call.”

  “No!” said Brandon. “Helena, please don’t leave me. Please, hear me! I love you!” He tried to block her from leaving as she turned, but she passed right through him. “Please!” He moved past her and grabbed the French doors. “Don’t go!” he shouted, slamming the doors shut with so much force it shattered some of the panes.

  Helena screamed and leapt back, covering her face with her hands.

  “Oh, great.” Chris cast an exasperated look at Brandon as she hurried over to the doors, carefully skirting the broken glass. “I’m so sorry,” she told Helena.

  Joe and I hurried over to Brandon. “Whoa there,” Joe said, putting a hand on his back. “You need to calm yourself down.”

  “Please,” said Helena, her voice panicked. “I want to leave.”

  “Stay,” Brandon pleaded. His voice broke on the word.

  “Joe’s right,” I told him. “You’re not going to accomplish anything by scaring her.”

  “Of course,” Chris said to Helena as she opened the doors. “I am so, so sorry. This has never happened before.”

  “I really must go.” Helena clearly fought to keep her voice steady as she hurried past Chris. “I’m late for picking up my son.”

  Brandon seemed to have the wind knocked out of him by that statement. He slid to his knees and stared at the floor as the screen door slammed shut with Helena’s departure.

  “Well,” Chris said as she came back in the office, kicking glass out of her way. “That definitely could’ve gone better.”

  Brandon looked up at her. “She has a son.”

  Chris put her hands on her hips and looked around at the mess. “Don’t worry, though. She kept my card so we’ll probably hear from her in the next couple of days. We just need to give her time to process it all. Then you can say everything you need to say to her and get the closure you need to move on.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Brandon. He got to his feet, and Joe and I stood back to give him space. “Clearly, she’s moved on. All I’ve done is upset her, dredging up painful memories and causing her a fright.” He stared forlornly at the broken glass. “I’m so sorry about your door.”

  “No worries.” Chris forced a cheerful grin. “It’ll just get added to the renovation bill.”

  “Yes, well. I do appreciate all you tried to do, but I think my next course of action is clear.”

  “What’s that?” asked Chris.

  He looked around at all of us as if it should have been obvious. “I simply need to find it within myself to let her go.”

  Joe and I exchanged a look. “Is that even possible?” I asked Chris.

  She shrugged, clearly as surprised as we were by Brandon’s declaration. “I guess. If he feels like he got what he needed from this, then I don’t see why not.” Her gaze shifted to Brandon. “Did you?”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t get what I wanted,” he said, “although I suppose it’s too late for absolution, in any case. Still…” He seemed to think it over a moment then nodded. “I know I didn’t ruin her life. She’s moved on. Become a mother, of all things. She’s doing well. Or at least she was before I terrorized her.” He took off his glasses and looked at the three of us in turn. “I think I need to be alone to rest.”

  We each nodded and watched as he left the office, fading away as he went.

  “Let him rest a spell,” said Joe, “then I’ll see if I can have a talk with him.”

  “What, man to man?” I asked.

  “More like one ghost who knows what it is to be separated from the love of his life to another.”

  I smiled, unstung by his comment. I knew Joe loved me, but I also knew that love could never erase the pain of losing his little girl. Twice, even—once when she was murdered and then again when her spirit left his behind, crossing over without him. Not that the kid had really gotten a say in the matter.

  “In the meantime, I’m a might tuckered myself. I’ll be up in the attic if you need me.” He leaned over to kiss my cheek before disappearing.

  I turned to Chris, who was staring grumpily at the broken French doors. “Want me to help you clean up?”

  She looked at me, her face hopeful. “Can you?”

  “I can hold the dust pan for you,” I offered.

  With a sigh, she said, “I’ll go get the broom.”

  I needed a nap myself once the office was squared away. I joined Joe in the attic and let myself go dormant, fading out for a few hours of blissful oblivion. When I regained consciousness, Joe was nowhere to be seen.

  I found him parked at the kitchen table with Buster in his lap. “Is Brandon still around?” I asked as I pulled out a chair and sat next to him.

  “Yep. No light’s shown up for him so far.”

  “Did you guys have your talk?”

  He nodded. “Not sure it helped. The man’s pretty tore up.”

  “Not hard to see why.” I stood back up. “I should probably go check on him. Where is he?”

  “Brooding over his desk, last I saw.”

  I gave Joe and Buster each a loving pat and then headed for the office. Sure enough, I found Brandon perched on the desk, his legs dangling over the side. He seemed to be lost in thought.

  I made a show of clearing my voice so as not to startle him. “You okay?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Still dead.”

  “Yeah. That’s a bummer.” I hopped up on the desk next to him, but suppressed my urge to chatter. Sometimes you just needed someone to be silent with you.

  Apparently, this wasn’t one of those times. “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Wilson?” he asked.

  I quirked an eyebrow at him. “‘Miss Wilson’? My, aren’t we suddenly formal.”

  “Fine. Is there something I can do for you, Veronica?”

  “Ron,” I corrected him. “And I thought maybe I could do something for you.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Just be a friend, maybe? You sure look like you could use one.”

  A bitter laugh tore out of him. “It might not surprise you to learn that I didn’t have many of those during my life.” He frowned. “I wonder if anyone came to my funeral? Helena’s friends, certainly. She never had any shortage. She was always so easy to love.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe I managed to botch it up so thoroughly.”

  �
�Well,” I said, grasping for something comforting to say, “nobody’s perfect.” I cringed inwardly at how lame that sounded, but I still forged ahead. “I’m sure Helena has her flaws.” After all, a woman that outwardly perfect had to be hiding some kind of hideous character trait.

  He smiled wistfully. “As a matter of fact, she could be quite stubborn. It’s part of what I loved about her, though.” He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “So this crossing over, what does it look like, exactly? Does it just sort of happen?”

  “From what I’ve witnessed, when the time is right and a spirit is ready, this golden light just appears, and you cross into it.”

  “That’s it?”

  I nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “So, I suppose the fact that this light hasn’t made its appearance is a solid indication that I’m not ready.”

  “That would be my interpretation. So what can we do to help you get ready?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He sighed deeply. “If getting the closure I’d hoped for with Helena isn’t possible, I suppose I could set my sights on another goal.”

  “Like what?” I asked, not sure where this was going.

  “You’re writing a book post-mortem, aren’t you? Perhaps I could do the same. After all, that blasted book’s the thing that killed me. Maybe finishing it would give me the peace I need to move on.”

  “Maaaybe,” I said, drawing the word out, unconvinced that this was a good idea. It’s not like I wasn’t starting to like the guy, or at least have a lot of sympathy for him; but the thought of having to share my romance writing space with a broody, snooty literary author for who even knew how long filled me with a special kind of dread. Besides, the guy was clearly miserable. “Are you sure you don’t just need to make another go at getting through to your wife?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I’m not.” He shook his head. “If I could only …” His voice trailed off.

  “Only what?”

  “Perhaps, if I could just see her again, see where she lives, how she’s getting along with her new family…see if she’s truly happy, that might be all I need.” He scoffed at his own idea. “But after the show I put on today I highly doubt your sister would be able to manage that.”

  “No,” I admitted, “she probably couldn’t.” An idea occurred to me, and I smiled and leaned over to bump my shoulder into his. “But I might.”

  I wasn’t sure it would work. I learned early on how to leave the house and visit other locales—primarily my sister’s place—but I’d never taken anyone with me before, and I had no idea whether Brandon would be able to wander so far away from his desk.

  It took less than ten minutes to cross reference the number Chris had written down for Helena with the yellow pages and then look up her address on a map. Really, I was surprised it was so easy. Lady like that, you’d think she’d be wary of potential stalkers.

  After that, it was just a matter of focus. Standing on the front porch, I took Brandon’s hand and instructed him to hold tight, shut his eyes, and picture Helena. I closed my own eyes and envisioned the house I’d seen on the map’s street view. After a familiar tingle, I opened my eyes and found myself standing in the street in front of the house, in the exact spot from where the picture had been taken. The craftsman-style house had a cozy-looking front porch that stood bathed in the glow of the porch light. I felt Brandon’s hand in mine and looked over to see him gaping at the house.

  “It worked,” he said, his voice filled with wonder.

  “Of course it worked,” I said, pretending there was never any doubt. I released his hand and motioned toward the house. “After you.”

  He blinked at me. “What, just go in? Don’t we need to be invited or something?”

  “What are we, vampires? Yes, just go in. She won’t even know you’re there, unless you flip your lid like you did this morning and start breaking her stuff.”

  “Trust me.; I have no intention of repeating that performance.”

  “Well, good. Now go. I’ll be right behind you.”

  I followed him up to the porch where he stopped in front of the door. He raised a hand as if to knock and paused. He reached for the doorbell instead but stopped just short of ringing it. He seemed to not know what to do so I gave him a gentle shove from behind. Or maybe it wasn’t so gentle. He stumbled forward and disappeared through the door.

  I stepped through behind him and found him standing in a little foyer. A staircase rose up in front of us. A dining room lay off to the right, and to the left, through another set of French doors, was a cozy-looking living room. Both rooms looked empty so I gave Brandon a nudge and waved him toward the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs, a door on the right opened into the master suite. The bedroom was empty, but light leaked out from under what was presumably the bathroom door. A hallway stretched away to the left, and the sound of a child’s humming and cartoon noises spilled out of an open doorway. Brandon and I peeked in and saw a curly-haired cherub sitting at a child’s activity table, busily coloring and ignoring the cartoon blaring from his TV set.

  A door clicked open down the hall, and a moment later Helena emerged from her room, wrapped in a silk robe and toweling her wet hair. Brandon and I stood back as she came and leaned in the kid’s doorway. “Bedtime soon, okay?”

  “Just a few more minutes, Mommy.”

  Smiling, she moved into the room, picked up a TV remote from the nightstand next to the twin bed, and turned off the TV.

  “Mooom!”

  “You weren’t even watching that!” She looked over his shoulder. “What are you coloring?”

  “Transformers,” he said proudly, holding up his coloring book for her to see.

  “Very good. But I didn’t know Optimus Prime was yellow.”

  “Mom, that’s Bumblebee!”

  “Oh! I stand corrected.” She laid the book back on the table and ruffled his hair. “Five more minutes.”

  “Okay.” He got back to his coloring as she headed back to her room.

  Brandon never took his eyes off her. He started to follow, but I grabbed his hand and redirected his attention to the other end of the hallway. “What are you—” he began, but his voice abruptly cut off as he saw what I saw.

  There, on a decorative half-moon table, sat a typewriter.

  His typewriter.

  “She kept it,” he said, his voice practically a whisper. He approached it slowly, as if creeping up on a wild animal that might leap away if he made any sudden moves. A portrait hung on the wall above the table, and as I got closer I saw that it was a wedding picture of a younger Brandon and Helena. “But,” he said, eyeing the setup. “She…”

  “I’m thinking maybe she hasn’t moved on as much as you thought.”

  A thought seemed to strike him, and he looked back toward the boy’s room. “How old would you say that boy is?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know that much about kids, to be honest. I’d guess he’s five, maybe six?”

  A light dawned on his face, and he turned back to the typewriter. There was a sheet of paper in it, and he bent to examine it. “This is the last page I was writing when I…” He straightened up. “I can’t believe she kept this.”

  “I guess she couldn’t bear to let go.”

  He reached out and brushed his fingers along the keys. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed one experimentally. The hammer flew up with a loud “Clack!” and left a wayward “h” on the page.

  My hand flying to my mouth as I looked around to see if anyone had heard. “Be careful! You’ll freak her out again!”

  “It’s all right.” He scrolled the paper up a few lines and positioned his fingers over the keys. “I think I know what I must do.” With that, he started typing.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, but he didn’t stop until Helena’s door flew open. She rushed down the hall and stared at the typewriter, alarm written all over her face.

  “Brandon!” she called. />
  “Yes!” Brandon said, stepping closer to her. “It’s me, darling! I’m here!”

  “Brandon!” she called again. “Get in here, this instant!”

  The boy came out of his bedroom, looking confused. “What, Mommy?”

  “Come over here.” She pointed at the floor next to her feet. When he hurried over to her, she pointed at the typewriter. “Were you typing on your father’s typewriter?”

  Brandon’s eyes widened, and he stared hard at the little boy, who shook his head. “No, Mommy.”

  Her expression became stern. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not! I didn’t touch it! I was coloring in my room!” He looked like he was about to cry.

  Brandon crouched next to him, searching the boy’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.” His fingers hovered hear the boy’s face as he breathed, “My son.”

  “Do you swear?” asked Helena, and the boy nodded. Her face relaxed, but only slightly, and she put on a forced smile. “Never mind, then. Time’s up. Go brush your teeth and put on your pajamas. I’ll come to tuck you in soon.”

  Swiping his chubby little arm across his eyes, he went to do as he was told.

  Brandon stood back up, watching the boy go. Helena turned back to the typewriter and leaned in to read what Brandon had written. I knew I should probably hang back out of respect for what was a private moment, but curiosity got the best of me, and I read over her shoulder.

  This book was a rubbish waste of my life. Please forgive me for letting it take me away from you.

  “Brandon,” Helena said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Are you here?”

  He leaned in beside her and typed, “I’m here.”

  Helena gasped as her hands flew to her face, covering her nose and mouth. Her hands trembled as she slowly lowered them. “Are … are you okay?” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “What a stupid question.”

  “I miss you,” he typed.

  She smiled as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I miss you too. I miss you so much, still.”

  “Our son is beautiful.”