The morning after Rusty had dropped off the letter, Celia still hadn't opened it. But after breakfast, she'd left Maddie in Aunt Lisa's care and she'd gone for a walk. She knew she'd have to open the letter. She knew that she had to get the questions out of her system so that she could clear her head and handle the real problems she had in her life...like losing their home. Celia worked hard, but she didn't make a lot and being the sole breadwinner for herself, a child and her aunt who she couldn't live without her help, was hard. She did her best, but she'd been late on her mortgage one too many times. There was a clause in her contract about late payments and the bank's right to call the loan. She'd never imagined they would do that...but the market was high at the moment and they could probably resale her home for a huge profit. So...they called it and she had no way of coming up with over seventy-five thousand dollars. She had seriously considered asking her boss for a personal loan...he was rich, he owned a casino...but, she was terrible at asking for help and she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Besides, it might mess up her job security and she needed the job even more than she did the house...she tried to convince herself it was nothing more than wood and brick and mortar...but that was easier said than done.

So, while she walked to the park she tried to come up with new and different ideas, but she kept coming back to the same dead end. They would have to move out of the house she'd worked and saved to buy for them, and she would just be out the money she'd invested in it up to this point. Life sucked sometimes, but she knew she'd get through it for Maddie's sake. Her daughter made everything better. She walked until she came to one of the benches in the park and sat down. Looking down at the letter in her hand she sighed and said, “Maybe you're lucky your dead.”

“You think so?” The sound of that voice both startled and thrilled her at the same time. She jumped up off the bench and looked at the man sitting on the end of it. Her heart swelled so large at the sight of him that she could hardly breathe.

“Saint?” she whispered.

“Hi Celia.”

“You...you're...Saint...”

“I'm dead baby, I know. I'm sorry to just pop in on you like this...but, you're right about the letter, it sucks. I should have talked to you about everything in there, and not when I was dying, but a long time ago.”

“How can you be here,” she said, looking around for a camera or recorder or maybe the man that had brought her the letter. Was this some kind of sick joke?

“I'm not really here, darlin',” he said. “I'm in your head, and your heart, I hope.” He patted the bench and said, “Have a seat, please? I'll read the letter to you, that way you get the words from my mouth, okay?”

Celia felt like she was losing her mind, or maybe she was in shock. Saint looked so good. He didn't look sick at all. His skin was healthy and glowing, his hair shiny and his dark eyes filled with merriment and mischief, just like they'd always been. He had on a crisp, white t-shirt and the gold cross he always wore dangled from a chain around his neck. His jeans and tennis shoes looked brand new too. She did realize that the one thing missing...was his kutte. He looked almost naked without it. She wanted to touch him, but she was afraid to. The sight of him though...it was like all the hurt and the years between them fell away. She sat down on the far side of the bench, leaving a foot of room in between them. He held out his hand and grinned at her. It was that very grin she fell in love with. It was the Saint that was good and pure...and not fueled with alcohol.

“I was always fueled by alcohol, darlin',” he said, reading her mind. This was getting creepier by the second. She handed him the letter and looked around again. A man jogged by and smiled at her and before she wondered Saint said, “Yeah, he can't see me.”

“This is too weird,” she said.

“When was I ever anything but,” he told her with a wink. He tore open the envelope and reached inside. He took out a tiny little manila envelope and handed it to her.

“What's this?”

“It's for you...or the girl, if you choose to ever tell her about me.”

“You know...about Maddie?” Saints face was sad suddenly and he said,

“At first I wished I'd known about her when I was alive. I'd like to believe things would have been different. But you and I both know my demons have had control most of my life. It's good that I didn't know. You did the right thing and you've done a great job.”

“Just read the letter. I need to get home to her.” Celia's entire body was shaking almost uncontrollably. Her chest hurt and it was hard to breathe. This was all too much...but at the same time, she had a driving need to hear what was in that letter. Maybe it was more self-abuse, and maybe this was all proof that she'd lost her mind.

Saint opened the letter and cleared his throat. Do ghosts clear their throats? She still wasn't sure this wasn't a big, terrible joke. But she still couldn't deny, even to herself that she still longed to hear the sound of his voice. As he started reading, she forgot to listen to the words for a few seconds. She loved his voice...she loved him, God, he was going to be the death of her.

My dearest Celia...my dying wish is that I could draw you a picture of my heart. If I could, it would be in the shape of your beautiful lips, it would be the vibrant green color that outlines the deep brown of your eyes, and it would be as brilliant as your smile. That's because the entire space is occupied by you. I never even tried renting out a portion of it, I didn't want anyone to live there but you. From the moment I lay eyes on you, you owned it...you had absolute power over it. Your presence in my heart caused it to overflow into my soul and you took possession of that as well.

I know you're probably reading this and thinking I'm just feeding you a bunch of shit. I left you. I treated you horribly and you probably hate me for that. Selfishly, I hope that you don't, but I wouldn't blame you if you did. But Celia, I'm dying. I've finally killed myself with my poison of choice and as much as I don't want to leave this life, I can only find it bearable if I'm able to express my feelings for you...the feelings that I should have expressed years ago. I should have told you everything and let you decide if sticking with me was worth it or not. Instead, I held it inside of me and let it fester in my heart until I lost track of whether it was a good or bad thing that I felt so much for you. That day I left, I ran into my father...I never told you that. He always had the ability to make me feel like I was that stuff on the bottom of your shoes, a mixture of dog shit and whatever the fuck else you stepped in throughout the day. It had been so long since we were face to face and stupidly that day when I looked into my father's eyes, I still had hope that his opinions of me had changed. He looked at me, Celia and he said, ‘It looks like you amounted to as much as I thought you would.’ That was it, he didn't say another word. He left me once again reeling with self-doubt, and self-loathing. He reduced me once more to that scared, lonely little boy that dwells inside of me. That little boy that needs the alcohol to make life bearable.

I know this sounds like excuses...a big sob story. But from my heart, as a dying man with nothing to lose, I hope that you'll finally be able to get some peace in your own heart by knowing all of these things I should have told you back then. I drank because I couldn't face life without it. I have hated myself almost from the moment I was born. It was what I was taught, what I lived for eighteen years. There were two people in my life that made me believe that I could change that, at least for a short time. Garrett was one. That big, tough guy dropped everything, anytime I needed him. He loved me, unconditionally and he taught me how to be a brother which might also be hard for you to understand, but if I hadn't had my brothers in both of the clubs I've been a part of...I would have faded away a lot sooner.

The other person in my life that gave me hope Celia, was you. I fell hard and fast for you. I saw hope in your smile and love in your eyes and I wanted to dive into them. I wanted to wrap myself in your arms like a cocoon and not come out until I was something beautiful, and lovable. But when I started thinking about your future and what kind of husband and father I might be, I was terrified. I didn't know anything about either of those jobs but what I had seen at home, and that was a freak show. But even then, I didn't give up hope that I could learn...albeit slowly. It wasn't until that day I looked into my father's eyes for the last time that I lost all hope. I believed what he wanted me to believe...what he'd told me my entire life. I was a sinner and God didn't love me, and if he didn't love me, how could anyone else. I believed I would ruin you and as hard as it was to leave you...and believe me darlin' that was the hardest fucking thing I've ever done...the idea of destroying you the way that he destroyed my mother, or our children, the way he destroyed me...that was even harder. So, I got on my bike and I kept going.

But Celia, I carried you with me, every second of every day. You lived in my heart. You owned my soul. No man will ever love a woman as much as I loved you. I didn't choose alcohol over you. My drinking was completely separate from how I felt about you. I just never had the tools to figure out how to reconcile the two. I only wish I knew then, what I know now...back then I believed if I stopped drinking I would die. Ironically, I'm dying because I didn't. And even more ironic...what I gave up, you, and the future I might have had with you, had been slowly killing me all along. Each day I lived without you, pierced another piece of my soul until it was left with big, gaping holes that could have never been repaired by anyone but you.

Saying I'm sorry to you is like owing someone a million dollars and handing them a penny as the first payment. It's so small and insignificant and it could never repair the damage I've done. But I am sorry, Celia. I'm so very sorry. I'm sorry for you, and for me...and mostly for the ‘us’ we might have been. But, if there is one thing of me that you carry forward, please let it be the fact that you were loved beyond reason. You are the most lovable person I've ever met. So, one day, if it hasn't happened yet, when a man looks into your beautiful eyes and tells you that he loves you, please let your experience with me prove that is entirely possible. Please don't carry what I did to you like a weapon to be used against someone else who might be able to love you enough to undo the damage I did to you. I love you, Celia. I will go home to meet my true father, loving you.

Celia's hands shook as she held the letter. They shook even harder when she realized she was holding it. She looked beside her, Saint was gone. Had he ever really been there? She didn't know. Maybe she was crazy...or maybe, God just knew how badly she needed to see him, one more time. She let the letter fall to her lap and she opened the tiny envelope. The chain Saint wore around his neck slid out into her hand. The cross was heavy against her palm as she held it. She sat there looking down at it, tears dripping onto it and surprisingly she was suddenly filled with a feeling of contentment...or peace, in her heart. She finally felt like she could forgive Saint for leaving her and herself for all the reasons she had perceived he'd done that. It was what her baby needed from her...Saint's baby girl. When Maddie was older, Celia would give her the necklace and she hoped her little girl chose to wear it always, just like her daddy had. She would never stop loving Saint, but suddenly she felt like she'd be able to keep holding him in her heart...and moving on at the same time. She folded the letter and put it with the cross in the pocket of her t-shirt...over her heart.

Celia had a lot to think about on her way home and the fact that she was about to lose her home...her child's home, was put on the backburner. She didn't even notice the envelope sitting on the table next to the door when she stepped inside and dropped her keys. She'd find out later that envelope held the deed to her home. It had been paid off and she now owned it free and clear. All the man at the mortgage company would be able to tell her would be that it came from an anonymous donation...and in his words, “Maybe it was just a random saint that saw you were in need and wanted to help.” Those were words that Celia would carry with her next to the words in Saint's letter, for the rest of her life.

As she walked down the hallway that day though, Aunt Lisa was in the kitchen and she called out to her as she passed by. Celia kept going. She needed to hold her baby. She needed to feel the piece of Saint that she had left in her arms.

She found Maddie in her toy room, building a castle with her blocks. Celia sat down on the rug next to her and said, “Can Momma have a hug?”

“Sure.” Maddie stepped into her mother's arms and Celia pulled her in close and held her tight. In a strangled voice Maddie said, “Momma! You're squeezing me so tight.”

Celia let go and held her back slightly so that she could see her face. She looked into “Saint’s” eyes and smiled. “I'm sorry baby. Momma has a few broken pieces and your hugs always make them stick back together.” Maddie giggled and then she hugged her mom again, as tight as her little five-year-old arms could squeeze.

“I love you, Momma.”

“I love you too,” she told her baby. Then in her head she whispered, “And Saint...I love you too.”