The Time They Thought They Had

Daniel's letter arrived eleven days after we mailed ours.

I knew the envelope before I saw the return address. Maybe I had spent so much time waiting that any handwritten envelope would have made my knees go weak.

I took it to the study.

Alessandro was on the phone. He looked up, saw my face, and ended his conversation with a promise to call back.

"Is it from him?"

I nodded.

"Would you like me to leave?"

I shook my head.

He came around the desk and sat beside me.

The first line thanked me for writing.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Daniel had known he was adopted. His parents had loved him, and he had never considered searching while they were alive. Later there had always been something else: the business, his daughters, a roof needing repair.

Then I reached a paragraph that changed everything.

I knew about Isabella.

I looked up.

Alessandro read the line over my shoulder.

Daniel had received a letter from her several months before her death. He had called the number she included. They had spoken for almost two hours.

She had told him about Margaret.

They had planned to speak again.

"She contacted him after she packed those boxes," I said.

Alessandro nodded, his eyes fixed on the page.

Daniel had learned about her death from the genealogist. He had assumed Margaret wanted no contact, because Isabella had said she needed time.

At the end of the letter, he had written his telephone number.

I would like to meet you, if you still want that.

I read the sentence aloud.

Alessandro looked at me.

"I still want it," I said.

"Then tell him."

"Now?"

"Unless you've developed a compelling reason to wait."

My hands shook while I dialed.

Daniel answered on the fourth ring.

"Mercer Woodworks."

"I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?"

Alessandro closed his eyes briefly beside me.

I nearly laughed.

"Clara?" Daniel asked.

The way he said my name undid me.

"Yes. Hello."

"I've had the phone in my pocket all morning. Laura said I'd wear a hole through the lining checking it."

I laughed properly then, and the rest became possible.

We spoke about my mother. About his daughters. About whether I preferred being called Clara or Clare.

"Clara," I said. "Mom hated people shortening names without asking."

"Isabella said exactly that."

I pressed my hand to my mouth.

Across from me, Alessandro quietly pushed the tissue box closer.

Two weeks later, Daniel and his wife came for lunch.

I met them outside, trying not to smooth my dress again.

Daniel was graying, broad through the shoulders, with kind eyes and sawdust caught in the seam of his jacket.

He saw me and stopped.

"You have her smile," he said.

"I was about to say that to you."

Our hug was awkward. Then it was less awkward. When we stepped apart, both of us were blinking too much.

Laura hugged me without hesitation.

"We've brought far too much food," she said. "Daniel couldn't decide what people bring to this sort of thing."

"Apparently everything," he said.

Sophie emerged from behind my skirt.

"Are you my uncle?"

"He's my uncle," I explained.

She thought about that.

"You can be mine as well."

Daniel smiled. "I'd be honored."

He handed her a small wooden box. Inside was a carved rabbit, its ears bent just like Button's.

She gasped.

"How did you know?"

"I had a photograph."

I looked at Laura, who shook her head and nodded toward the front door.

Alessandro stood there with his hands in his pockets.

"He asked what she might like," he said.

Sophie ran to him and wrapped her arms around his leg.

"You helped."

He looked down at her, then rested a hand on her shoulder.

This time he didn't freeze.

We ate in the garden. Teresa claimed Laura as a friend before the first course was served. Marco answered Sophie's questions about how trees became rabbits with more seriousness than he gave most business calls.

Afterward, Daniel opened a folder.

"I made notes after Isabella called," he said. "I didn't want to forget anything. I thought you should have copies."

There were details about Eleanor. An aunt's name. An address Isabella intended to visit.

And a note about my mother.

Margaret wants to meet. Unwell. Waiting until treatment is over.

I stared at the words.

"She wanted to see her again?"

Daniel's face softened.

"Yes. Isabella was so pleased. She said your mother had written asking if the garden was still as lovely in spring."

My eyes burned.

"Mom told me she was working extra hours. That's why she was tired. I didn't know she was having tests."

Daniel nodded.

"She wanted to feel better first. Isabella said she'd wait."

I saw them so clearly that it hurt: my mother putting a frightening letter in a drawer, Isabella checking the post, both believing that when life was easier they would begin properly.

"They kept thinking they'd have more time," I said.

No one tried to improve the answer.

Daniel reached across the table and covered my hand.

For the first time since my mother died, someone else in the room had loved the idea of her before they knew me.

After our visitors left, I walked into the garden alone.

The magnolia tree had finished flowering. A few brown-edged petals lay beneath it.

I sat on the low wall and finally cried without trying to do it neatly.

I cried for my mother, for the aunt I had never met, for all the lunches I might have eaten in that garden if someone had made one different decision.

Footsteps sounded on the path.

Alessandro stopped a few feet away.

"I can go back inside."

I shook my head.

He sat beside me.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

"I'm angry with her," I admitted.

"Your mother?"

"Yes. And I feel terrible about it. She was frightened. I understand that. But I was here. I could have known Isabella. Sophie could have had stories from her grandmother that weren't just the ones I remembered."

He looked at the fallen petals.

"Understanding someone doesn't always stop it hurting."

"Did you know all this? About the letters?"

"No."

His voice roughened.

"I knew Isabella wanted to tell me something about her family. I said we'd talk at the weekend."

I turned toward him.

He kept his gaze on the garden.

"She died on Thursday. For years, whenever someone asked for my time, I heard myself saying that again. At the weekend. When I'm finished. When things are quieter."

"Alessandro."

"I couldn't bear the idea of needing anyone that much again. So I made certain there was nobody left who might ask."

I wanted to touch him.

This time I did.

I laid my hand beside his on the wall, letting my little finger rest against his.

"Sophie has been asking quite a lot."

He let out a shaky breath.

"I've noticed."

"She'll keep doing it."

"I know."

He turned his hand over and took mine.

His palm was warm. The ink across his fingers shifted as he threaded them between mine.

We sat that way until my breathing steadied.

Then I felt something small beneath his thumb.

He had been holding the pebble.

I laughed through the last of my tears.

"Does it work?"

He looked at our joined hands.

"I think so."

When we went inside, Marco was waiting with an envelope Daniel had forgotten to give us.

It contained a note from the genealogist who had helped Isabella.

There was one more part of Eleanor's story.

A cottage, left for her children before their lives separated. Isabella had been trying to untangle its neglected ownership and restore it.

At the bottom of the note was a line copied from one of her emails.

I would like them to have somewhere to come back to.

I looked at Alessandro.

He was still holding my hand.

"Would you come with me?" I asked.

He didn't ask where.

"Yes."