“I’d really like to see you. Could we have lunch?”
I examined the date.
Margaret’s reply was brief.
“There’s no need.”
I stared at the words.
“When I got that job, I was excited,” Trina said. “Aunt Margaret practically raised me after Mom passed away. I thought she’d be proud.”
Margaret’s reply was brief.
“What happened?”
“She said I was abandoning her. I told her I needed to build my own life.”
Trina rubbed her thumb across a photograph.
“Then she said my mother would’ve been ashamed of me.”
I looked up.
“What happened?”
“She wrote about that.”
“Did she say what happened afterward?”
I shook my head.
“I came back the following weekend. I wanted to apologize for shouting.”
“Did she let you in?”
“She wrote about that.”
“No.”
Trina showed me a photograph of herself outside Margaret’s front door.
“My husband took that during another visit years later. She wouldn’t see me then either.”
I handed it back.
“She told me she missed your calls.”
I handed it back.
“I called every Sunday for months.”
“What made you stop?”
“She called me on my birthday once. I thought we might finally talk.”
Trina folded her hands.
“She asked whether I’d quit my job and moved back. When I said no, she hung up.”
“She called me on my birthday once.”
I thought about Margaret’s letters.
She hadn’t been waiting for Trina to return her calls.
She’d been refusing to answer them.
“Why didn’t you try again later?” I asked.
Trina looked toward the empty chair.
“Why didn’t you try again later?”
“Because every time I reached out, she found another way to hurt me.”
Her eyes filled.
“I loved her, Josette. But I couldn’t keep proving it by letting her punish me.”
I looked at the returned letters.
All those years I’d spent trying to keep my marriage together.
Her eyes filled.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Trina wiped her cheek.
“She was good to you. I’m glad about that.”
“She was.”
“But that wasn’t the aunt I knew at the end.”
“She was.”
I looked at Margaret’s photograph on the table.
For the first time, I could see that both women had been telling the truth.
***
I reached for the box I’d brought with me.
“There’s something I want to give you.”
I looked at Margaret’s photograph.
Trina looked at the letters.
“Why didn’t she send them?”
“I can’t answer that. She said she was afraid.”
Trina gave a sad smile.
“Why didn’t she send them?”
“She hated admitting she was wrong.”
“She wrote that she regretted what she said about your mother. She also wrote about your graduation.”
Trina touched the ribbon.
“She remembered that?”
“There’s a photograph tucked inside.”
Trina touched the ribbon.
She loosened the ribbon but didn’t open the first letter.
“Are you hoping I’ll forgive her?”
“No. But these are yours, and you should decide what to do with them.”
Trina picked up the oldest envelope.
She read it slowly.
“Are you hoping I’ll forgive her?”
Then she opened another.
When she reached the third, she stopped.
“She kept my graduation picture.”
I nodded.
“She took the photo out before returning my card.”
I nodded.
Trina held the photograph between her fingers.
“I thought she’d thrown everything away.”
“She could’ve apologized while she was alive.”
“She should have.”
Trina placed the letter beside the others.
“She should have.”
“Thank you for bringing these.”
I helped her pack the remaining photographs.
***
Four days later, someone knocked on my door.
Trina stood outside holding Margaret’s knitting basket.
I helped her pack.
“I found this while packing away the living room.”
“Would you like some tea?”
“Maybe later.”
She lifted the basket.
I stepped aside.
“Aunt Margaret tried teaching me once. I was terrible.”
“So was I.”
Trina smiled.
“Could you show me?”
I pulled two chairs toward the table and took out the needles.
“Sit down. I’m teaching you how to knit socks. Apparently, everyone should know how to knit something useful.”
THE END…!
