Page 149 of We Drank the Dawn

Sure enough, there was an envelope that said Sarah Thompson. But it wasn’t the typical teeny tiny card that most bouquets came with. It looked like a letter. And not only that, a tiny package was nestled down in the blooms. It had white tissue paper and a yellow ribbon.

I opened the envelope to find several paychecks folded into a piece of computer paper with Peter’s handwriting. With my heart in my throat, I read.

Sunshine Girl,

Writing you a letter makes me feel like I’m in high school again. It makes me think of the notes I’d slip into your locker vent just so I could stand down the hall and watch your eyes light up when you found them. Remember that Nokia pre-paid phone I bought you so you could call me at night?

We were desperate for every second, weren’t we?

I miss those days, Sarah. The days where we couldn’t shut up, when we had so much to say we talked until two in the morning and then woke up early to do it all over again.

I’m feeling like that now. Desperate for you.

I’ve been calling you every night for weeks. Based on the fact that my calls go straight to voicemail, I’m assuming you blocked me. I’m not going to say that realization didn’t hurt, because it did, but I understand why you did it. I understand that my actions have hurt you, pushed you away, and damaged your ability to trust me. So the only one I can blame is myself.

But I’ve still been calling you. Mainly to listen to your voice on the greeting, but also to practice just…talking and letting you in. I’ve gotten really bad about that the past couple years. After I got diagnosed with epilepsy, it got harder for me to share things because my fear felt heavier and louder than ever before. And then after the accident…talking about what was really going on in my head felt wrong, somehow. Like I was drowning and dragging you under.

But now there are so many things I need to say, and so many things I have to apologize for that I have no idea where to even start and one letter can’t scratch the surface. I know I asked for space, Sarah, and I’m so sorry that request caused you pain. But I needed the time to sort through my fears and work on myself. I’m thinking so much clearer now. It’s like the fog has finally lifted. Even my blindness doesn’t feel oppressive like it did before.

Can you call me?

If you’re not ready, it’s okay. I’ll wait until you are. As long as it takes.

In the meantime, know I love you, Sarah.

I’ve never stopped loving you.

I’ve enclosed my checks from Meadowbrook. I don’t have any use for them here and I want you to have them. I’m afraid you’re working too hard, trying to protect our savings (which is something else we need to talk about). I also talked to Chip. I’m going to take on a client or two from Summit and ease in. It’ll feel good to work with numbers again—like getting a bit of myself back. Dad might reach out about picking up my tech from the house. He’s going to ship it to me if it looks like I’ll be in Texas a while longer.

Got to be honest with you though…

I’m ready to come home.

You know what I’ve thought about a hundred times? You trying to kiss me when we were in the fifth wheel at the ranch. You were so sweet…so perfect…so eager for me despite everything I’d put you through. And I denied you a kiss because I was angry about all the things we’d never have together. Angry about all the things I could never offer you. Angry that life handed me something else to shoulder. Angry that the only thing I wanted felt like the thing I should let go.

Sarah, I’m so sorry.

I would do anything to get a re-do of our week at Meadowbrook.

Even just a redo of that one moment…

But I’m going to stop writing now because I’m starting to get into it, and I told myself I wouldn’t do that yet. Not until we’re both ready.

With all my love,

Peter

P.S. It dawned on me that I missed our last two anniversaries. I’m sorry. There’s really no excuse for that. Marrying you was the greatest decision of my life. And we need to celebrate it every year, regardless of the current circumstances.

I read the letter again.

And again.

I didn’t think I had any tears left in me after this awful week, but they freely flowed down my face, intensifying my headache.

There was so much to soak in from that letter. I didn’t even know where to begin.

This letter sounded like Peter. I could hear his voice in the words.