Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 118136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
I wanted to tell Dixie I was haunted by two women, that I had no room for her in my heart, in my brain, or in the space in between them.
Yet, for the first time since we’d met, I didn’t say any of that mean shit.
“When’re you leaving?” I changed the subject.
Even talking about Mom with Dixie felt like a betrayal. I’d told Dad I was glad he gave Dix the third degree for attending Mom’s funeral, but the truth was, I mostly pitied her while she was there. Yeah, she was alive, and Rosie wasn’t, but Mom had been loved. Adored. Cherished by an entire community and put on a pedestal by the men in her life.
I’d never love Dixie the same way. Hell, I’d have given my own life for Mom, without even pausing to think about it.
“Knight…”
“It’s a simple question, Dixie,” I snapped.
Silently, she handed me an envelope. It was already torn open and wrinkled to death. I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Couldn’t afford the glue?” I crooked an eyebrow.
“Read it.” She ignored my bullshit, nudging me. “Please.”
“And then you’ll tell me when you’re leaving?” I flashed a taunting smirk, trying to make her feel unwelcome, but no longer invested in making her feel unhappy.
“Then you will tell me if you still want me to leave.” She jutted her chin up.
That piqued my interest. I took out the letter, and the first thing I noticed was the handwriting. It was like a bucket of ice water in my face. Because I would recognize it anytime, anywhere, even in my sleep. Neat and bold, all long strokes.
My throat went dry, my eyes drinking in every word, as if they were water.
Dear Dixie,
I know I should stop writing to you. Maybe it’s compulsive at this point. Thing is, I don’t have much time left, and I cannot afford to leave this earth knowing I haven’t done everything I possibly could to connect you two.
I understand why you’re not replying to my letters when I send you pictures of him. It is frighteningly easy to get attached to our Knight. And by “our,” I mean mine, Dean’s, and yours.
Yours, Dixie. Yours.
He is gorgeous, isn’t he? The most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. But it’s not just his good looks and athletic nature that make him so popular. I don’t want you to think he’s just another pretty face.
Did you know he is best friends with our neighbor’s kid, who is a selective mute? She doesn’t speak at all. He carried her backpack all through elementary and middle school, every single day, even when he was sick. Up until last year, when she graduated from high school, he had spent every recess and lunch break with her just so she’d have someone to sit with. He once punched a boy in the face for insulting her and got suspended. His heart is big and open and spongy. It’s soaked in goodness. I swear.
He’s funny, too. I hope this doesn’t come off as gloating, but he really is wonderful. Do you remember his father? Did he have a good sense of humor? Knight can bring me to happy tears when he puts his mind to it. And he does, often. Especially when I don’t feel well. He stands in front of my bed, like it’s a stage, and tells me jokes.
This is not me trying to convince you to love him. I know you already do. This is me basking in the joy we should share, for our son is kind, and handsome, and healthy, and strong. My only regret is the circumstances in which I want you to reconnect with him.
Knight deserves a mother. Someone who will take care of him.
Lev deserves a mother, too, although I would never ask you to take that role.
My husband, Dean, needs a companion.
I know you are single. I know you live alone. I know you never bounced back from giving Knight away.
Please, Dixie, don’t take this the wrong way. I understand I sound judgmental and patronizing. Why should I assume you would want what’s mine? Why would I think my life is so glamorously desirable that I’d invite you to slip into my shoes?
But know this, I’m not sending you this plane ticket to San Diego and reservations for a Todos Santos hotel because I pity you. I am doing this because I know, deep in my heart, that you can do all those things for them. If anyone should be given pity here, it is me.
So please give it to me.
I am willing to take it. I have no pride to spare.
Please come to Todos Santos.
Please meet Knight, our son.
Please try to reconnect with him.
Please keep this a secret.
And when my time comes, please be there for Lev and Dean. I loved every moment of raising Knight. Although unconventional, and perhaps downright irrational, I would be honored if you could return the favor by being there for my family when they need a woman to lean on.