Chapter 5
Deacon Yates hadn't been back to his parents' house in over three months. He was surprised his mother wasn't waiting at the door with a fresh baked pie and a banner welcoming him back. Then he remembered that it was planting season. She had her farm wife duties to attend to, which meant no pie or banner. There was no time for fanfare when the crops needed put in the ground.
“Hey stranger,” he said to her when he walked in the backdoor into the kitchen.
“Hi honey,” she said, turning from the lunch she was preparing. He placed a kiss on her cheek and let her get back to chopping the onion that was in front of her. “How long are you here for this time?”
“Just stopping into get my mail,” he told her. “Maybe a couple days.”
“There's a box in the dining room,” she told him, giving him the same look she always gave him when he said he wasn't staying long. The look that said “I wish you'd put some roots down.” He'd tried that once and it felt more like the roots were strangling him rather than anchoring.
“Thanks, mom,” he said, walking into the dining room. The place hadn't changed in years. A large farmhouse table with two benches on each side. A small buffet on the far wall, where his mother had served many meals to him, his father, and the rotation of farmhands that took Deacon's job when he decided farm life wasn't for him. It was times like now, when he thought about his parents working this place alone, that he'd wished he had some siblings. He tried not to let the guilt eat at him. But it did. Even when his mom and dad told him that they supported his decision.
He walked over to the buffet and found a box sitting on the floor next to it, filled to the top with letters, magazines, and junk mail. He knelt down and began to sift through it all.
“Would you like a sandwich?” his mother called from the kitchen.
“Sure, Mom.” Of course he'd eat while he was in town. Even if it was only a handful of meals. Mom's home cooking trumped pre-packaged and drive-thru any day.
Junk.
Junk.
Bill.
Junk.
Bill.
What's this?
His name and address were scrolled across the envelope in a handwriting that was he didn't recognize. Feminine. Soft. Unfamiliar. There was a brief moment of panic that it was a letter from an ex. A letter that would say she hated him. Or that he now had an STD. Or a child. His stomach dropped at the thought. Bouncing around from one city to the next, he'd fell into a couple relationships that he could think of that could have possibly resulted in any of the above listed. And he wasn't quite sure he was ready for any of it.
It wasn't until he looked at the return address that the relief and sheer intrigue completely overtook him. Hope Collier, 132 Magnolia Lane, Northbrook, IL.
What in the world?
He knew her name, because she was the recently deceased wife of his one-time roommate and long-time friend, Greyson. Why and when would she have sent him a letter?
He slipped his finger underneath of the seal and opened it. When he pulled the letter from inside, he was surprised to say the least.
Dear Deacon,
I hope this letter finds you well. As you may have heard—I'm dead. I'm sure you're scratching your head right now wondering what the hell is going on. Let me explain...
Between chemo and bed rest and waiting for my time to come, I had a lot of time to think about all of things that I'd wished I'd done when I was healthy. One thing that I kept coming back too was that I never got the chance to introduce you to my friend Kate. Over the years, the handful of times that I have spent with you, I learned enough about you to know that you're a great guy that deserves all the happiness in the world. So does Kate. But, between your busy work schedule and hers, there was never a time that you were in the same place. Which is what I want to make happen now.
Greyson told me about the new and exciting adventure you've started. That you've left your old hectic, slave-to-the-man life behind to see the world and run a business on your own terms. So I'm hoping you have a little more flexibility and can help a girl out.
Kate is beautiful, smart, and independent and in serious need of someone that can help her see that life is not just about work. She needs someone that can show her how to build that balance between work and play. I really hope you're up for the job. Last I checked (stalked) you on social media, I saw that you were single so I'm hoping that you'll take me up on this offer.
I'd love it if you could plan a trip to Chicago, not only to meet Kate, but to check in on Greyson. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you and if I've learned anything it's that you make time for your friends.
Here's to making new memories,
Hope
Deacon read through the letter three times and each time came to the same conclusion: he was being set up on a blind date by a woman who died over a month ago. How was this possible?
He suddenly felt a pang of guilt for all of the things he'd missed before he'd given up his crazy life and career. Namely spending more time with his friends, like Greyson. Hell, he'd even missed the Colliers’ wedding because of work.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he reached the one name who had the answers he needed.
“I'll be back for that sandwich in a minute,” he told his mother as he walked outside. The fresh air of Southern Illinois was welcoming and drew nostalgia from him every single time. If he was going to put down roots, he might have just done it here.
He held his phone up to his ear.
“Hello?” It had been a while sense he'd heard Greyson's voice.
“Grey,” he said. “It's Deacon. How are you? The kids?”
“We're doing okay,” he told him. Deacon could hear it in his friend's voice that there was a bit of worry. Which was too be expected.
“I'm sorry I didn't make it to the funeral. I was on the west coast when I found out.”
“That's all right.” He paused. “And thank you for the donation to the memorial. It was beyond generous.”
“Least I could do.” Deacon let a moment of silence pass between them, unsure of what he should say.
“I figured you'd be calling,” Greyson said with a hint of laugh. “Guessing you got your letter.”
“Is this for real?” The skepticism he felt was evident in his tone.
“You met Hope,” Greyson replied. “She was always full of surprises.”
“I guess so.”
“Last week, we read Hope's will,” Greyson started to explain how this entire thing had been set into motion. “She left a box of letters and instructions for me to send them out at different times. Yours was one of the first.”
“So you don't know what it said?”
“I don't. I just put it in the mailbox.” Greyson paused. “Fill me in.” Deacon could hear the anticipation in Greyson's voice at hearing his wife's words.
“She's trying to set me up with her friend,” Deacon said shaking his head, still not believing that this was happening.
“Which one?”
“Kate.”
“I can see that. She's awesome. And come to think of of it... yeah, you two have a lot in common.”
“Did she get a letter from Hope too?”
“She did, but as far as I know there wasn't a mention of you. Kate would have never agreed to a blind date. She's not big on surprises. I'm betting Hope wants this to be more of a casual run in.”
“Oh great,” Deacon said. “She doesn't even know I'm coming. This should go off without a hitch.”
“So you're coming?”
“Well I have to now. I've got to see who she is and why your wife thought that a postmortem set up was worth all the trouble, right?”
“I think so,” Greyson confirmed. “In fact, if you could make it up this weekend we have reservations at a new place and I know for a fact that Kate will be there.”
Deacon did have business he needed to attend to in Chicago. There wasn't a thing holding him back from meeting this beautiful, smart, independent woman. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more excited he was about the possibility.
“This is crazy, right?”
“Boat loads of crazy,” Greyson answered. “She's worth it though,” he reassured him. “If you can get her to actually give you a shot.”
“You know I love a challenge,” Deacon said, feeling a smirk tug at his lips.
“I'll see you this weekend?”
“You sure will.”