My heart seems to stop for a few beats, and my breath catches in my chest. The items are small and light, but they feel like an enormous weight resting on me. “From my dad?” I echo dumbly.
“He asked me to wrap the box for you. The letter, he wrote when he was in the hospital.” Rachel pulls a tissue from the pocket of her sweater and dabs at her eyes.
Normally, when receiving a gift, I’d open the envelope first, but I’m not sure I’m ready to read something my father wrote. With shaking hands, I remove the wrapping paper and pull the lid off the white box it had concealed. Inside, there’s a dark blue jewelry box that opens to reveal a delicate ring mounted with a small, round solitaire diamond.
A distant memory rises to the surface. I was maybe three or four when I spied this same blue box on my dad’s dresser. I remember spending time trying to figure out how to open it, and then when I did, the ring fell out onto the floor.
The sparkle of the diamond was enticing, but just as I picked it up from where it lay on the beige carpet, Dad walked in and found me with it.
“This isn’t a toy, Caroline,” he said as he opened my palm and claimed the ring. I watched him fit it back into the jewelry box, and then I never saw it again. I eventually forgot all about it.
I consider waiting until I’m alone in my apartment before I open the envelope, but when I look up, Rachel is watching me closely. “Go ahead,” she says gently.
Inside, there are folded sheets of notebook paper. Dad’s handwriting is shaky and inconsistent. There’s a lump in my throat before I even begin reading.
Dear Caroline,
I don’t think I have much time left, so I’m writing this letter to tell you things that I can’t seem to find the words for when you visit.
First of all, I love you. More than anything in the world. And I’m sorry that most of the time, I didn’t make that clear to you.
I know I wasn’t the best father. I’ve had to live with all of the mistakes I made. I wish I would have done things differently.
I’m asking Rachel to give you the ring that I once gave to your mother. I want you to know that she and I were once very much in love, and that you were created from that love.
I forgave your mother years ago for leaving, and if you still harbor bad feelings toward her, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive her too. Your mother tried her best, but sometimes things just don’t work out. Sometimes people’s best isn’t good enough, and I’m sorry that you had to grow up without a mother for most of your life.
I hope you know how much Rachel loves you. She considers you to be her daughter, and I hope that you and she will be close after I’m gone.
Lennox hands me a tissue. I hadn’t even realized I was crying, but my cheeks are dripping with tears, and I need to blow my nose.
Rachel always was a good stepmother. I grew apart from her when my dad and I fought, but she and I never really had any issues between us. Maybe things can be different now.
Then I glance up to see Lennox offering a second tissue and his brothers watching me with care in their eyes, and I’m stabbed with guilt at the thought of what I did with my stepbrothers.
I blot fresh tears from my eyes and continue to read.
I should have done better, Caroline. I know I was often too hard on you, but at the time, I did what I thought was best. Though it hurt our relationship, I like to think that it helped you grow into the person you are.
I’ve always been proud of you, and I’m very proud of the woman you’ve become. Being your father has been the best thing about my life, and seeing you grow up was my greatest joy.
I love you,
Dad
I’m full out bawling when I finish. Someone’s hands are rubbing my back — actually, it’s both Lennox and Barrett who are trying to comfort me. They don’t say anything; they just let me cry, and I appreciate it.
After a minute or two, they move aside and Rachel wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay, dear. It’s okay.”
“I should have done better,” I say with a strangled sob. “I should have been a better daughter.”
Through my tears, I see her shaking her head. “No, no, please don’t have regrets. Your dad should have tried to talk to you, but it’s hard for men, especially from our generation. His parents were tough on him, and it can be hard to break patterns passed down through the generations. He did the best he could, and he wouldn’t want you to be feeling like anything was your fault.”