The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,63

all my failures? I want to believe I can be your butterfly, that this earthbound caterpillar can emerge from the cocoon of her shame and fly. I want to believe I can be that transcendent creature you believe I can be—the one only you can see.

But I can’t, my love. It’s time we accept this. I can’t beat this, Robert. God knows I’ve tried. The only thing worse than losing you and my daughter would be to fail you both again. Please don’t let me. Please let me go. Please let me disappear like a stone dropped in the sea. Let me sink alone into the darkness. You must leave me, dearest. For your and our Noel’s sake. What life can she hope for as you cling to me? She deserves better than I can give her. You deserve better. You believe in me too much, my beloved. Not everyone is as strong as you. I beg you, please stop believing in me. Let me go. Let me sink.

Your unworthy, Celeste

Still clutching the letter, I wiped my eyes with my forearm. Two of my own tears fell onto the page, adding to the others.

What Grace had said about my mother was true. I knew it when she said it, but here was evidence from my mother herself. How had my father dealt with such pain? I checked the date to see when the letter had been written. It was dated just two days before her death.

I wiped my eyes again and looked deeper into the safe.

Next to my mother’s letter was another envelope, only this one had my name on it, written in my father’s handwriting. There was something in the envelope as well. I tore it open. There was a letter and a pearl bracelet with a yellow-gold clasp. The pearls were iridescent cream and spherical. I took the letter from the envelope.

My dear Noel,

If you’re reading this letter, I am gone. I bought this bracelet for your wedding in the off chance you changed your mind and invited me to the ceremony. I hoped to give it to you the night before your wedding, to speak to you lovingly as a father speaks to his daughter at such a time. As heartbroken as I am, I honor your wish not to include me. But I was there, if not in person, then in the shadows of my heart. I’m sure your mother was there as well. I also purchased for you a Lladró figurine of a bride. I will keep it here until you someday claim it with all the rest.

I saw pictures of you from your wedding posted online. You were as beautiful as any bride who has ever walked the earth. As beautiful even as your mother. I have written a small book about that day. It’s called The Dance, and it’s about us. I have kept the only copy of it in this safe. What you choose to do with it is up to you.

I am sorry that I offended you in questioning your choice of partners. I was only trying to protect you. I should have been more sensitive. In all my life I have never hoped so much to be wrong. I hope I was wrong about him and that he loves you even as I do. This is my hope.

Love, Dad

I wiped my eyes again. “You weren’t wrong, Dad,” I said. “I should have listened. I was too prideful.” I put the bracelet on. It was beautiful. It would have perfectly accented my wedding dress. Part of me was glad it hadn’t been part of that day, to be downgraded with the rest of the memories of that failed relationship. I had already thrown away my dried bouquet and sold my dress.

There was more to the letter.

P.S. One can never be fully certain of the results of one’s choices, only one’s intention. I may have been wrong to send you away to that school in Tucson, but my intentions weren’t. The day I came home and found you drinking, I saw history repeating itself. I didn’t see you on the ground, Noel, I saw your mother, and I was there when they carried her body from the wreckage.

If you don’t know by now, your mother was an alcoholic, as her mother too was an alcoholic, as was her grandfather. Some families seem to be wired that way. As her daughter, I knew you might carry the same wiring. I failed your mother