Chapter 17 - The Letter for Maya
Maya was six when Richard finally showed her Eleanor's letter.
Not the entire thing.
Dr. Morris helped choose which parts were appropriate.
The original remained secured with the trust documents.
Richard made a copy of several paragraphs.
They sat beneath the old oak tree behind the rose garden.
Maya held the paper carefully.
“Mommy wrote this?”
“Yes.”
“Before I was born?”
“Yes.”
“How she know me?”
Richard smiled.
“She knew you were coming.”
Maya thought that was hilarious.
“I was in belly.”
“You were.”
“Did I kick?”
“All the time.”
“She complained constantly.”
Maya laughed.
Richard read one sentence aloud.
Children often know danger before they know language.
If she is afraid, listen first.
Explain later.
Maya frowned.
“What mean?”
Richard looked at her.
“It means grown-ups sometimes think they know everything.”
“They don't?”
“No.”
Her eyes widened theatrically.
“Really?”
He laughed.
“Shocking.”
She smiled.
Richard continued.
“It means if you feel scared, I should listen to you before deciding I know why.”
Maya looked toward the house.
“Like dark room.”
“Yes.”
Richard did not avoid the subject anymore.
He also did not force it.
If Maya mentioned Victoria, he answered.
If she did not, he left the past alone.
“You didn't listen.”
Maya said it simply.
Richard felt the familiar pain.
“No.”
“I didn't.”
“Why?”
He had rehearsed many possible answers.
None felt right.
Finally he chose truth.
“Because I thought adults understood things better than children.”
“And because I trusted Victoria.”
“And because I was working too much.”
“And because sometimes people see what they expect instead of what is really happening.”
Maya picked grass between her fingers.
“Were you bad daddy?”
Richard's chest tightened.
“No.”
Then he stopped.
The easy answer felt incomplete.
“I was a daddy who made serious mistakes.”
Maya looked at him.
“That different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Bad people can sometimes do good things.”
“Good people can sometimes make harmful choices.”
“What matters is telling the truth about the choice and changing it.”
Maya considered that.
“Victoria bad?”
Richard did not want Maya's world divided into monsters and heroes.
“Victoria made choices that hurt you.”
“She made choices that hurt other people.”
“She also had parts of her life that were not about hurting people.”
“But those good parts don't make the harmful choices okay.”
Maya nodded slowly.
“Like when I push Emma but then give cookie?”
Richard nearly smiled.
“Sort of.”
“But significantly more serious.”
“Emma cried.”
“I know.”
“You apologized?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Maya leaned against him.
After a while she asked.
“Can Victoria get better?”
Richard looked toward the distant trees.
Victoria remained incarcerated.
She had written letters.
Richard never gave them directly to Maya.
Dr. Morris reviewed them.
Most were inappropriate during the early years.
They contained apologies, but also explanations.
Pain.
Loneliness.
Regret.
Eventually one letter changed.
No defense.
No request for forgiveness.
Only responsibility.
Richard kept that one.
“People can change.”
He told Maya.
“But changing doesn't mean other people have to trust them again.”
“Oh.”
“Trust grows from what someone does over time.”
“Like plant?”
Richard smiled.
“Yes.”
“Like a plant.”
Maya looked at Eleanor's letter.
“Mommy knew.”
“She knew something important.”
Richard answered.
“She knew you deserved to be heard.”
Maya folded the page.
“Can I keep?”
“Yes.”
She placed it carefully inside her little backpack.
Richard felt a strange peace.
For years Eleanor's memory had been painful because he had used it as evidence of everything he lost.
Now he began experiencing it as something else.
Guidance.
Not a ghost between the living.
A voice that had loved them enough to leave wisdom behind.
That evening Maya asked to visit Eleanor's grave.
They went the following weekend.
Catherine came too.
Maya placed a red rose beside the stone.
Richard noticed the color.
She did not hesitate.
“Hi Mommy.”
Her voice was casual.
“I am six.”
Catherine cried immediately.
Richard handed her a tissue.
Maya continued.
“Daddy still draws bad.”
Catherine laughed through tears.
Richard shook his head.
“Unnecessary.”
Maya smiled.
Then she became serious.
“Thank you letter.”
Richard looked down.
The wind moved through the cemetery trees.
Maya took his hand.
On the drive home she fell asleep.
Richard carried her inside.
At the entrance hall, he stopped.
The same marble.
The same chandelier.
The same corridor where she had once run toward him barefoot and terrified.
Six-year-old Maya slept peacefully against his shoulder.
Her shoes dangled from one hand.
Richard stood there for several seconds.
Catherine walked beside him.
“You okay?”
Richard nodded.
“Just remembering.”
“The gala?”
“Yes.”
Catherine looked toward the stairs.
“She ran to you.”
Richard swallowed.
“Yes.”
“That's important.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because even then, before you understood, some part of her believed you might.”
Richard closed his eyes.
That thought hurt.
And healed.
Maya had run toward him.
He had been late.
May you like
But he had eventually looked.
And after looking, he never allowed himself to look away again.
