Page 7 of Healed Heart

I return to my office, sit down at my desk, and open the bottom drawer where I keep things that have no other place.I can’t recall the last time I looked in there.

Damn.Right on top is an old picture of Lindsay and me at a medical conference—one of the few times she went with me.Julia stayed with Lindsay’s parents.It was the last trip Lindsay and I took together before…

Before the accident that claimed our daughter and my livelihood…and led to my wife’s suicide.

Except…

I sigh.Of course it was a suicide.I found her in the bathtub, her wrists slit…

But the note.

The note I never bothered to read until today…

As I stare at the photo, the discord of the morning grows louder in my head.What the hell is going on?An accusation from an anonymous source?Then Lindsay’s note, written by someone else?

She still could have taken her life, but this opens a huge can of worms.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to concentrate on what I need to do next.I look at the photo again.Lindsay’s smile sends an ache through my heart.Same as it always does.

There’s only one place I can go to find what I need.I pull out my cell phone and call Lindsay’s parents.

After a few rings, her mother picks up.“Jason?”she says, her tone full of surprise.

Can’t blame her.I rarely call them anymore.It’s too painful—for all of us.

“Lisa,” I say, my throat tight.“I need to ask you something.”

“Of course,” she says.“What is it?”

“Do you still have any of Lindsay’s things?”

A pause on the other end, followed by a soft sigh.“Yes, Jason.We still have some of her things here.I…couldn’t bear to let everything go.”

The sadness in her voice slices through me.I hate that I’m forcing her to relive the pain of losing her daughter.

I clear my throat.“Anything that has her handwriting on it?Something other than a signature?”

“Handwriting?”Lisa’s voice wavers.“I think we have some family recipes she wrote down.And maybe some old letters.But why do you want themnow, Jason?”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease the aching tension.“I’m sorry, but it’s important.Could I possibly come by later to look at what you have?”

Silence then.

I can almost hear her thoughts.

Why is Jason interested in this stuff now?Why is he making me relive my biggest loss?

Finally, she exhales deeply.“Sure, Jason.Come by around six.We’ll have dinner ready as well if you’d like to join us.”

“That’s okay.You don’t have to bother.”

“It’s no bother.It will be nice”—she chokes a bit, as if holding back a sob—“to see you.You and Lindsay used to eat here so often.”

I sigh.This won’t be awkward at all.“Thank you.I’ll see you for dinner then.”

I end the call and place the phone face down on my desk as I let my gaze wander to the photo of Lindsay and me once more.

And then the note.