Page 94

A wind gust whips the dust motes into a momentary cyclone. Past and future collide with the present as the story contained in those hidden letters comes to life before my eyes. I stare open-mouthed at this woman who didn’t exist yesterday, was in a grave this morning.

“Hazel McIntyre?”

“Of course,” she says. “Who’d you think I was?”

“Wait, what? You’re my aunt Hazel?” Sam shoots me a shocked look. “We thought you were dead.”

“I might as well have been. I’ve prayed to be taken in my sleep every night since Evelyn passed. When I woke up this morning, I had no idea why I was still alive. Now I know why.” A teardrop follows the rutted path of a crow’s foot from the corner of her eye. “So I’d have the chance to finally put things right with my brother’s family.”

Chapter 46

Hazel’s knees buckle. Gripping the walker’s handles, she gasps, “Uncover the couch, won’t you?”

I rush to fold back the rose-patterned sheet. Hazel pivots her walker and backs up to the couch, sinking into it with a sigh. There’s a bottle of water on the coffee table—bottled at the same plant, I realize, where Hazel’s father worked his whole life. I screw off the top and hand it to her. “Here, drink this.”

“You sound like Rhon. You’d think I was a tropical plant, the way she’s always hounding me about water.” Hazel takes a dutiful sip, then pats the cushion beside her. “Sit next to me, my boy. It hurts my neck to look up at you.”

Sam does as she asks. We’re both still stunned to be talking to the woman whose letters I found only yesterday. From obscurity to resurrection in twenty-four hours—there’s a short story waiting to be written.

“I don’t totally get what’s happening.” Sam gestures at the dusty furniture, the stacked boxes. “Do you live here?”

“Oh, no. I hadn’t set foot in this house since Evelyn and I moved to Saratoga Springs. Today’s the first time I’ve been out of the nursing home since they locked us down last March. When Rhon called this morning to tell me Billy’s grandson wanted to see where he grew up—well, it’s a good thing I was in bed because you could have knocked me over with a feather.”

“Where is Rhonda?” I ask.

“Gone to pick up supper from the village diner. And more water, no doubt.” Hazel reaches for Sam’s hand. “She said you found the letters I wrote to Evelyn?”

“Audrey did, yeah.”

“Where were they?”

“In the dining room,” I say, “in a compartment under one of the shelves, along with some newspaper clippings. Your brother’s obituary is how I figured out my Sam was your Sam, too.”

I imagine Hazel thinking back over the personal revelations she penned onto those pages, words intended for her beloved alone. It’s like that Platonic dialogue I read for a history of rhetoric class—Phaedrus, I think it was—where Socrates disparages writing because words on paper can’t protect themselves from being read by the wrong person. Was it wrong for Sam and me to read Hazel’s letters? I wouldn’t have, if I’d known she was alive. Believing she was dead is what brought her back to life.

“I assumed Evelyn lost my letters, or threw them away.” Hazel shakes her head. “Turns out, she was saving them, like she saved all her correspondence. She just couldn’t remember where.”

“I hope you’re not upset we read them,” Sam says.

“A little embarrassed, maybe, but I’m glad you know the whole story.”

“Your side of it, anyway.”

“True enough,” Hazel admits. “I suppose Mai and Billy told it differently.”

“Actually, my grandmother’s never said a word about you or your family,” Sam says. “My mom has no idea. I never even heard your name before today.”

“Oh!” Hazel flinches at the sting of this lifelong erasure. “Was Mai upset that you found out?”

“I haven’t talked to her or my parents yet about”—Sam waves an arm that encompasses the house we’re in, the land we’re on, the woman sitting beside him—“any of this.”

“You will, though, won’t you?”

“Damn right I will. I was just waiting until we saw the house, but I’ll go call them now, if that’s okay with you, Audrey?”

His eagerness makes me think of the million times I’ve wished I could still call my dad. “Of course, Sam, go ahead.”

“Reception’s terrible here in the valley,” Hazel interjects. “Rhon has to stand in the middle of the road to get a signal.”