She swallowed.
“And I think I finally understand why I wrote it.”
PART 4
Melissa did not finish reading the letter at the bank.
She folded it carefully along its old creases and placed it inside her purse.
“I need time,” she said.
Seven years earlier, I might have pushed.
I would have asked questions because answers made me feel useful.
But Dorothy’s final letter had given me instructions I was finally wise enough to follow.
Don’t ask her to become the Melissa we lost.
Meet the Melissa who survived.
So I nodded.
“Take all the time you need.”
Outside the bank, the afternoon was bright and surprisingly warm.
Melissa stood on the sidewalk looking at the traffic.
“Would you walk with me?”
“Anywhere.”
We went two blocks to a small park.
She chose a bench beneath a maple tree.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then Melissa removed the letter again.
