I’m sorry. I didn’t know.
I had Russell send back one line.
I believe you.
I did not need anything more than that.
In April, a Hartford business publication ran a story about a civil case involving Hartwell Reston Commercial Real Estate and a regional credit union. Two of Stanford’s office parks entered receivership. The third sold in May for significantly less than he had once told people it was worth. His commercial real estate license was suspended pending the review.
The Hartwell house in West Hartford went on the market shortly after. Six bedrooms, nearly five baths, twelve acres, empty staging photographs. It sold in nine days. The family moved to a rental an hour outside Hartford.
Margot was voted off the Hartford literacy board by unanimous voice vote. She has not been invited to a charity luncheon since, at least according to Vivien, who knows those circles the way I know wedding seating charts.
Bryce sent me four messages over six months. I read them once. I archived them in a folder on my phone called Later. He took a position at a smaller firm in Stamford. He lives in a studio in Queens. A college friend of Theo’s mentioned to me that Bryce is in therapy.
I hope that is true.
One day I will be ready to talk to him. I am not ready yet.
Margot unfriended me on Facebook in March. This was interesting because I had never accepted her friend request in the first place. I looked up whether a person can unfriend someone who was never their friend. Apparently, you can. I would like that noted for the record.
I sold the Anchorage house in April and bought a smaller place in Portland with a guest room that has a crib, a rocking chair, and a basket of board books. Theo’s photograph sits on the dresser. I tell my grandson about his grandfather every time I babysit. He is nine months old and will not remember a word I say. I will remember all of it.
Maxwell and Lyall by Aspenwood is doing better than we did. Marina is president. She brought me on as senior strategic adviser: one day a month, four trips to Atlanta a year, good food on the company card, my opinion on three things, then home. It is the best job I have ever had.
I wore Cabernet Reserve to the closing dinner. I will wear it on every important day of my life until my hand is no longer steady enough to apply it.
And the cufflinks.
They are still in the leather box, sitting in my top drawer beside Theo’s watch.
Not because Bryce will never receive them. But because he has not yet become the man who could put them on and understand what they cost. Not in money. In everything else.
If he becomes that man, if he finds the courage to hold the whole truth without reaching for someone else’s script, I may decide they belong to him after all.
Until that day, they wait.
The engraving on the back still reads his name.
