Page 119 of Hope After Loss

I look from him to the contracts that are sitting on the desk.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, I don’t know anything about owning and operating some fancy-schmancy boutique. I’m a farmer. I know the land, weather patterns, soil, and planting and harvesting seasons. If I’m going to go into retail, especially retail that caters to women, I’ll need all the help I can get.”

“I already told you I’d help.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not talking about maintaining a website and helping me pick the colors and fonts for labels. I need someone to help run the boutique itself.”

“You’re serious?” I ask.

“Yeah, I am.”

“You need a manager. We can place an ad,” I suggest.

“You’re not hearing me. I want you to take on a larger role. We might have to hire someone to help you with the admin side of things here, but I can’t think of a better partner for the store.”

Did I hear him correctly?

“Partner?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be too busy to have to dot everyiand cross everyt. You’ll need the authority to make any decisions required,” he explains.

“A partner. As in I’d be one of the owners of the boutique?”

“That, and the entire spa product line.”

“You’re serious,” I choke out.

“As a heart attack.”

“Oh my God, Weston!”

“Is that a yes? Because we’re supposed to sign these and get them back to Langford and Garrett this week.”

“Yes. A thousand times yes.”

We sign the contracts, and Weston leaves to take them back to his brothers.

I look around the office, and I can’t believe how much things have changed in the six months since I walked through that door.

I walk over to my desk and fish Mike’s letter out. I took it from my nightstand and placed it in my bag the night I returned from Asheville.

I turn the envelope over in my hands. I’ve been avoiding it for so long. Like opening it and reading its contents would put the final nail in the coffin of our life together.

“It’s time, sweetheart.”I hear Mike’s voice loud and clear, prompting me to walk to my desk and take the letter opener in my hand. I slide it under the sealed lip of the envelope and drop it back to the surface.

Taking a seat, I tug the paper free and am hit with a moment of grief as Mike’s messy handwriting comes into focus through the tears that have begun to form on my eyelashes.

I take a deep breath and start to read his last words to me.

My Anna,

If you’re reading this, it means that my time has expired. I hope it was in some grand, heroic fashion that you can be proud of and not because of something stupid I did. The odds are fifty-fifty on that, so if I owe you an apology for being a dumbass, I’m sorry. You know I couldn’t help it. It was in my DNA.

Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s been hard on you.

I wasn’t afraid to die. That’s important for you to know. I made peace with my maker the day I was sworn in and took my firefighter’s oath, promising to never let my personal feelings or danger to self deter me from my responsibilities.