Page 123 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

“I’llhelp you,” Henry said, lifting her suitcase into the back of her Subaru. So familiar. So strange. The car was a relic from another life. Another her. “What are you going to do with your things while you look? Do you want me to hunt down a storage unit?”

“Um.” She looked up at him, so calmly offering help. She felt comfortable with him, with his sense of integrity that felt reliable and real. Emotion welled up in her eyes. It was so strange to have help. “Yes. That would help a lot.”

He squeezed her hand. “Done.”

Mariah crossed her arms. Snow fell on her puffy jacket and slipped away, but it stuck to her hair and eyelashes. “You can say no, but I have lots of room. You can stay with me until you find a place.”

Veronica looked at her, hope rising.

“I mean, like as my roommate, of course, not as a ‘companion.’” She put the words in air quotes, giving away her nervousness. “Not that I’m a bargain, as you know. Kind of nutty in the head and all, but there’s so much space and—”

“Yes!” Veronica said, tears stinging her eyes. Gratitude made her impulsively pull Mariah into a hug. “I would really love that. I won’t mother you, I promise.”

Mariah gripped her back, hard. “Well, you can a little, if you want.”

Veronica closed her eyes, throat tight, realizing she could hardly have borne it if she’d had to leave this delicate, tough, challenging, complex being here alone in Denver. Mariah had changed her life. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“Me, too.”

“It’ll just be temporary, until I can find a place here.”

“That’s fine.” Mariah stepped back, clearing her throat. “I really don’t want to be alone yet.”

Henry said, “Aw hell,” and gathered everybody into a hug. “Come on in.”

The three of them stood on the sidewalk in the falling snow, wrapped up together in the unit they’d become.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Six Months Later

The day was the very best of Colorado weather—cloudless azure sky, thin breeze, temps in the low eighties predicted, though it was still cool this morning. Veronica inhaled the fresh, dry air and stretched happily.

Her new apartment, on the ground floor of an old Victorian not far from Mariah’s house, came with an old-fashioned cutting garden. Veronica had had to sign an agreement that she would take care of the flowers, a sweet little gift from the universe that she accepted happily. Just now, the irises were blooming extravagantly, late because of several spring snows. The blossoms were purple and yellow, peach, the classic blue, and even one gorgeous red one. She didn’t even know irises came in red.

This morning, she collected blooms for a party to celebrate Mariah’s twenty-sixth birthday. The guest of honor was already here, slicing strawberries in the kitchen as Veronica came back in. She’d cut her hair to her shoulders, a simple change that made her look more adult, and she wore a red sundress, the fabric laced with gold that emphasized her tanned arms. “These strawberries are so amazing.” She offered one, and Veronica snapped it up with her lips.

“Ew,” Mariah laughed. “Slobber.”

“You look great,” Veronica said, filling a vase with water.

“You, too! I’m so glad you didn’t use the fabric from Delhi to make pillows.”

Veronica let Mariah talk her into having a sundress made from the dazzling fabric. The vivid colors made her complexion sing in ways that were startling and thrilling. “You were right.”

Henry came in from the farmer’s market down the street, carrying a net bag of fresh lettuces, celery, and fruit. He, too, had cut his hair, preserving some curls but bringing his look into the twenty-first century. He’d taken a studio in an arty district, where he was experimenting with altered photos and montages that expressed a single idea—light in dark places was one of them; another was hands reaching for something, her favorite. On her wall hung a trio of framed images from their trip, all Henry’s elegant, moody character work. One was of Mariah in India, the day at the Sikh temple, her hair slipping out beneath her scarf, her eyes uplifted and filled with wonder. Another was of herself in Morocco, staring simply at the camera, troubled but strong. The final was of her and Mariah together, laughing over something at the table at Café Farroukh. She had her own photo of Henry in her bedroom, tousled and sexy in her bed in Marrakech, shirtless and wry.

“Do you want me to make a salad?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Veronica had invited her children to visit her new apartment for the first time. Their relationship upon her return had been deeply strained, but Veronica realized they’d been grappling with the big shift in their lives, too. It turned out Spence’s money panic was real. He’d lost the house that had been in his family for a hundred years, and his situation was so terrible the kids were all scrambling for ways to pay for the rest of their college educations. She was devastated for Ben, the only one who hadn’t finished his undergrad, but he seemed to embrace it all with happiness. He’d dropped out of college entirely and was traveling, inspired, he said, by his mother.

When she first returned from India, Veronica had stayed with Mariah. She hadn’t spoken to Spence at all. It wasn’t worth the angst, and she’d given him way too much power in her life. He’d been unworthy of that trust. The idyll of family, tradition, stability had proved to be an illusion. Family wasn’t a bloodline. It was a unit, built piece by piece.

Now, someone else lived in the house she had so loved. She hoped they’d discover some of the flowers she’d planted, but she didn’t have any control. Life switched and turned upside down all the time. It was sad, and she would always miss that beautiful place, but it was time for a new life.

Staying with Mariah had worked out well for both of them for a few months. Mariah had enrolled in an intensive outpatient treatment program for sufferers of PTSD, and it had given her an armory of tools. When Veronica saw that she was stable, she’d looked for a place on her own. This place had been perfect, and in the same neighborhood. Mariah thought she might sell her mom’s house, but it was a decision both Jill and Veronica urged her to wait on. Time enough.