Page 72 of Landing Love

Oh, dear Lord, he might die without me telling him I love him.

What?

Love?

She took a deep breath, and water dripped down her neck. The tap dripped rhythmically in the tub.

Was she sure?

Precious moments from their time together cycled through her head—meeting him at the gala and laughing over cake, the gentle pressure of his arms around her as they danced, their first kiss after Hank and Rory’s wedding, the first time they made love…

She stared at the side of the tub observing the curve of the smooth porcelain, reaching out to trace it with her finger.

There was no other word for what she felt when she pictured his face. It took the prospect of losing him to realize it, but she was madly in love with Bill O’Donnell.

She had to tell him before it was too late. He needed to know.

Scrambling up from where she sat, she stumbled into the main room. Junior was still asleep, thankfully. She found a pen and paper and began to write.

Dearest Bill,

You’ll no doubt think me daft for writing you a letter when you’re just a few blocks away, but I had to write. I know you’re very ill, and there are things I have to say.

I’ve hesitated in telling you this for too long, but I love you. I regret that I never said it to you in person. I should have. You’ve said it to me countless times, and I wish I had said it back. Come home to me. Please. I miss you terribly.

I’m sorry that I held back for so long. It hasn’t been easy for me to admit my own feelings. My heart is still sore with loss. But I’ve realized I can mourn and still love you. Being with you doesn’t make me forget. It makes me remember how good it can be. It makes me remember myself as I was before all the terrible things. Roger would have wanted me to be happy, and with you I am.

Please get well soon so that I can say all of this in person.

Your loving wife,

Ann

She folded it and put it in an envelope, writing Bill O’Donnell fondly on the back. Then she wrote a little note to Mrs. O’Donnell asking her to please give it to Bill, if she could. When Mrs. O’Donnell stopped by that day, she knocked and said loudly through the door, “I will, my dear,” before going away.

The next day, she got a note back, and she opened it eagerly, but it was from Mrs. O’Donnell.

Ann,

I was able to deliver your letter to a nurse who promised to give it to Bill. Since they don’t know how the germs spread, patients aren’t allowed to send letters back. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for his release to hear what he has to say.

His condition remains troubling, but the nurse I spoke to said he appears to be improving. They take the patients out for fresh air and sunlight for several hours every day, and that seems to ease his suffering considerably. Bill never was good at being cooped up.

The nurse told me to tell you that Bill sends his love.

Stay well, my dear.

Yours,

Shannon

Ann hugged the letter to her chest. Bill sent his love. It was the most she could hope for, it seemed. She picked up Junior and spun him around, eliciting little coos of delight. “Bill loves us, my sweet. He’s going to be such a wonderful papa for you.”

She waltzed Junior around the room, dancing to the swelling orchestra that played within her on hearing this news. He was improving and he loved her. In this meager ray of hope, she could see the brightest sun shining down on her. She could bask in it for a week. And she would need to in order to finish her quarantine.

Thank you, Lord Jesus, she prayed silently.

If only she had her piano here, she could play her heart out and give free rein to all the songs within her. Instead, she contented herself with humming Amazing Grace for Junior and waltzing him around the room.