“Mirabelle?” My voice was tiny, like that of a doll.
But she didn’t need any more than that. “You got Dad’s letter, didn’t you?”
I nodded, not realizing for a moment that she couldn’t see me. “Yeah.”
Her voice cracked. “I got one at the lawyer’s office. So did Mom and Chuck. I thought you’d have one too.”
“Oh, Mirabelle, I miss him so much,” I sobbed.
She let me cry my fill, staying on the line as a reassuring presence as I vented my grief. When I was spent, she sighed. “Even though reading the letter reopens the wound, I’m so glad to have a piece of Dad to hold on to.”
I wiped my eyes and sniffled. “Me too.”
“Chuck and I have been comparing notes. We can’t quite figure out when they were written.”
“Probably after his first heart attack.”
“Maybe.” There was a skeptical hint in her
