Vanessa had made herself at home, just like I’d hoped. The first night we’d made love, which to my surprise was how I categorized what went on between us, was a bit awkward. I’d never brought a woman home here. But we quickly got over that, and every night since – and some afternoons or mornings – we had no more reservations.

On our fifth night in the house, the last one before Ma’s service, we found ourselves upstairs in the attic. Nostalgia had a firm hold on me as we pored over the boxes of handwritten letters Ma had stashed up there for decades. I mentally kicked myself for never doing this with her, but I was glad I had Vanessa by my side to take this journey with me. Ma would have loved her.

“Look,” Vanessa whispered, unfolding some pages that were in one of the closer boxes. She scanned it, then smiled wide. “His name is Ronaldo.”

“Who?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“Cruz.” She showed me the paper. Ma had saved letters between herself and Cruz’s grandmother, Jennie. I looked over the broad, looping script, marveling at the lost art of letter writing that the older generation had mastered. “Doesn’t sound right,” I said, handing the paper back to her.

“Ha,” Vanessa laughed, pushing her imaginary glasses up. I kissed her. “What was that for?”

“You’re just too beautiful sometimes.”

“Better watch it; you’re not a machine, remember?” She raised her eyebrows at me. We’d already spent hours rolling around that afternoon.

As I leaned over to show her what a real machine could do, she gasped and thrust an old crumpled paper in my face. “What?” I asked.

“Do you know where your name came from?”

“Um, my parents,” I said matter-of-factly and shrugged.

She ruffled the page at me, and I took it. It was a love letter from my father. They’d been separated for a few months while Ma was pregnant with me, something to do with his job with the government, if I remembered correctly. “I don’t want to read that.” I tried to hand it back to her, not ready to see anything intimate between my parents.

“Here,” Vanessa pointed at a particular paragraph toward the bottom of the page. In it, my father had agreed to name me Maxwell, after Ma’s brother who’d died in the war just two years earlier. A pang of grief struck me. But then, it eased quickly, replaced with a sense of pride. Named after a soldier, a hero no less. It made my decision to go into the service that more poignant. I wondered what Ma had thought when I’d informed them of my decision after it had already been made. Whatever pain it had caused her, I never saw it. She’d only hugged me and said she was proud of me.

The next morning as we gathered by Ma’s graveside for the service, I scanned the surroundings for anyone who didn’t belong. Cruz stood guard over Vanessa in the event that anything did go down, and I tried to focus on the words Reverend Carmichael said. I was distracted by the unfortunate coincidence of his name being that of the nursing home where Ma had spent her last days.

A car in the distance backfired, and I lunged toward Vanessa, knocking Cruz out of the way.

“Martin!” they both said, trying not to raise their voices.

“Sorry, I thought–” I held Vanessa tight.

She pulled herself from my grip. “It’s OK. Cruz will keep me safe. You need to think about yourself right now.” She kissed me, so soft, and turned me around.

I don’t want to.

Slowly, I made my way back to Ma’s casket, so small and final.

Reverend Carmichael finished his sermon and came over to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered.

I inched closer to Ma, her face so serene, as if she were just taking a nap. She looked so much like herself. I bent over and kissed her on her cheek, then her forehead.

“Ma, I found these.” I pulled a small stack of letters from my breast pocket and kissed them. “I hope they bring you comfort, wherever you are. You and Pop had something special. I see that now. I hope you find your way to him.” I could barely get the words out by then. So I just thought the rest of it, feeling that it didn’t matter. She’d hear me somehow.

I placed the letters between her folded hands and stepped back, nodding at Reverend Carmichael. Hands pulled me back as they closed the casket and began lowering Ma into the ground. I closed my eyes, remembering how small I‘d been when we did the same with Pop’s casket. How Ma had held me that night, telling me that I was her strong man.

I smelled Vanessa’s perfume come up behind me and felt her hand slip effortlessly into mine. I felt so relieved at that moment that someone else could be the strong one. Turning to her, I wiped the tears from her eyes, and thanked her for being there for me.

“I’m not going anywhere, ever. You have my word.” She kissed me, and I allowed her and Cruz to walk me back to the car.