Second Chance Summer

I kicked my flip-flops off and walked across the wooden planks barefoot, feeling them warm under my toes, all too aware that it was now mid-August and summer was starting to come to an end, that barefoot weather would be drawing to a close all too soon.

I walked to the edge of the dock and sat cross-legged, dropping my purse next to me. Then I took a deep breath and opened the envelope.

I’d been expecting a few sheets of paper. I had not been expecting, to find inside the envelope, like Russian nesting dolls, a flurry of more envelopes. I shook them out. They were all sealed, all labeled in my father’s neat, slanting writing: High School Graduation. College Graduation. When You Get Your Law Degree/PhD/Masters in Interpretive Dance. On Your Wedding Day. Today.

I fanned through them, still a little amazed that this was happening, and pulled out the Today envelope, putting the others carefully back into the larger envelope, closing it with the little metal clasp, and making sure to anchor it in my bag, even weighting it down with my wallet and cell phone.

Then I opened the envelope, took a deep breath, and started to read.

Chapter thirty-nine

Hi, kid! What’s the news?

So if you’re reading this, I’ve done the very terrible thing of shuffling off this mortal coil a couple of decades too early. I am truly sorry, Taylor, that I’ve done this to you. I hope you know that if it had been up to me—if I’d had any choice in it—I wouldn’t have let anyone take me from you all. I would have fought anyone who tried, tooth and nail.

I hope you’ve seen now that I’m going to do my best to stick around, offering you advice, throughout the next couple of years. I hope some of it’s helpful. I regret a lot about having to leave you so early. But mostly, it’s that I’ll never get the chance to see what you become. Because I have a feeling that you, my daughter, are going to do great things. You may be rolling your eyes at me now, but I know it. You are the child of my heart, and I know you’ll make me proud. You already have, every day, just by being yourself.

I’m not worried about your making friends, having fun, learning, or making your mark on the world. The only thing that I’m a little worried about is your heart.

I have noticed in you, my dear daughter, a tendency to run away from the things that are most frightening in the world—love and trust. And I would truly hate it if my leaving before I wanted to caused, in any way, for your heart to close, or for you to shut yourself off to the possibilities of love. (And believe me, you don’t want me to be unhappy. I may be looking into the haunting thing right now.)

But you have a heart that is big and beautiful and strong, and deserves to be shared with someone worthy. You get some perspective when you know you’re not going to get to flip a new month on the calendar. And I’ve realized that the Beatles got it wrong. Love isn’t all we need—love is all there is.

It will be scary. But I know you can do it. Know that I’ll be with you, if there’s any way that I can manage it. And know that I have always—and will, for always—love you.

Dad

I set the letter down on my lap and looked out at the lake. There were tears on my cheeks, but I didn’t bother to wipe them away just yet. I had a feeling I’d start crying again when I reread it anyway. I placed it carefully under my wallet with the other letters, still a little amazed that my father had done this for me. And the fact that he had made arrangements to keep talking to me—to keep our conversation going, through the major milestones of my life—made the thought of having to go through life without him just a little easier to bear.

I ran my hands over the planks as I thought about the section that had stuck in my mind the most—where my dad had called me out on my behavior. I wasn’t sure when he’d written this letter, but it was exactly what I’d done to Henry. I’d pushed him away because he got too close, rather than letting him help me, as Warren had let Wendy help him. It didn’t make me stronger, or a bigger person, I realized now. It just made me weak, and afraid.

I truly didn’t know if I would be able to do what my father wanted me to do, and open my heart up to someone. It was a huge, unanswered question. But I knew that at some point, I would owe it to my father to give it a try.

That night I slept better, more soundly, than I had all summer. I woke up to the sunlight streaming in through my window and the birds already chipring at each other. It was another beautiful day. But I knew just how quickly time could pass. And it struck me now that beautiful days were not unlimited things. And just like that, knew what I had to do.

I didn’t try to make myself look better, as I rolled out of bed and headed for the door. Henry had already seen me in every possible state this summer. But even more importantly, he had seen me—seen who I was, even when I’d been trying my best to hide it from him.

It was strange to have to search for Henry, after a summer of bumping into him when I’d been least expecting it. But there was also a piece of me that felt that this was the way it had to be—that after too many years of running away from things, I was finally going to run toward them.

Or at least walk. The woods—the place I’d had a feeling he would be—weren’t exactly great for running in. I’d been walking for about twenty minutes, doing my best to avoid stepping in rottedout tree trunks, when I rounded a curve and there he was.

Henry was sitting on the ground, his back against a tree, the sunlight dappling through the leaves and falling onto his face. He glanced up at me, even though I hadn’t spoken, and pushed himself to his feet.

“Hi,” I said. I let myself really look at him, in a way I hadn’t since we split up. It wasn’t like when I’d first seen him this summer and noticed only how cute he was. This time, I saw the kindness in his eyes. I saw how lonely his hand looked without mine to hold it.

“Hi,” he replied. There was a question in his voice, and I knew he was probably wondering what I was doing there.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, and I saw that he understood I meant the funeral. “I really appreciated it.”

“Of course,” he said. He gave me a sad smile. “I really, really liked your dad.” I heard the past tense and nodded, not really trusting myself to reply. “And I thought you gave a great speech. I was really proud of you, Taylor.”

I looked at him, with that lock of hair falling over his forehead, and I wanted to reach up and push it back. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to tell him all the things I’d been feeling, all along, even if I hadn’t really let myself feel them until now.