Page 74 of Unbound
But sitting here on the floor of a room filled with my mother’s memory, holding a woman who is proof of how wrong I’ve been, I can’t help but think it’s possible.
After a few seconds, Sybil offers me a silent nod, the hand blocking the envelope moving away.
I take a deep breath and pick it up, my arms tightening around the woman offering more support than she knows as I carefully lift the flap. The seal had been broken years ago, so it goes easily, revealing the folded paper inside. I pull it out and gently flatten the sheet.
Sybil sucks in a sharp breath, and I keep the paper in with one hand while using the other to tuck her closer to me. The words lining the page are written in a slanting style with ink that has faded dramatically. It’s obviously still visible enough for her to identify her father’s handwriting.
Unfortunately, that’s about all that can be identified.
Fuck the days before acid-free paper, because I would give just about anything to know what this letter said. With a grunt of frustration I pass it her way. “I can’t read it. It’s too faint.”
Sybil sniffs, straightening a little as she takes the paper from me. “Some words are legible.” She points at an area that retains a little more pigment, reading as her finger follows along. “I am committed…” She shakes her head, huffing out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what it says after that.”
My eyes track the lines, looking for anything else I can make out. “There.” I point at another section that is a little more defined than the rest. “You are so important…” Again, the next words are too distorted to make out.
Sybil goes still, her indicating finger sliding to the bottom of the page. “Can’t move forward without you.”
It’s the last of what can be made out besides the signature at the bottom.
Shelley
I mentally line all the selections up and feel a little sick over the connection it makes. “Sybil sweetheart, was your dad having an affair?”
Her eyes move as she rereads what remains of the letter. “I don’t think so. He loved my mom. She loved him. They were happy together. I know it.”
Guilt washes over me at the thought that this discovery could steal that belief from her. Fear that she could blame my mother—and by proxy, me—for that loss rides directly behind it.
But there’s no anger in Sybil’s voice when she asks, “Was your mom seeing someone?”
I think back to a time I’ve spent years pushing to the farthest corners of my mind, filtering through the memories I’ve avoided at any cost. “I don’t remember her ever mentioning anyone.”
Sybil’s gaze stays locked on the letter. “Maybe this isn’t what it looks like then. Maybe this was just a friendly note he sent.”
I want that to be true. For both of our sakes. Except…
“I don’t think my mom would have hidden a friendly note like that.”
As a twelve-year-old kid, I wasn’t in the habit of going through her stuff, so I don’t know why she would’ve hidden it at all. Unless it was something so terrible she was worried I would find it and get upset. And discovering my mother was in a relationship with a married man probably would have upset me back then.
It’s upsetting me now.
“Oh God.” Sybil drops the letter to her lap, bringing both hands to her face. “What the fuck?”
“You can say that again.”
Setting the letter to one side, I stand, gripping Sybil tight when she lets out a yelp. I gently set her on the bed before rounding it to go to the other nightstand.
Sybil’s eyes follow my path, but she stays where I put her. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if there’s more.”
Part of me hopes there aren’t. More letters could just lead to more questions. The other part of me is hoping against hope I’ll find something with actual fucking answers taped to the bottom of the other drawer.
But when I pull it out and flip it over, there’s no envelope there.
There is, however, a set of sticky spots where tape would have held an envelope in place.
I turn the drawer Sybil’s way and her eyes move over the slightly discolored rectangles of adhesive remnants. “Where was this furniture before you brought it up here?”
