She finally picked up the whole box and sat down with them in her lap. She stared at them a long time, knowing it was wrong to read them.
Just one. To see if this will break Zach’s heart …
She pulled out the first envelope in the box and opened it. The letter inside was written on cheap white paper. Gray splotches marred the surface. Tears.
This letter was dated November 2005. It had taken Lexi a long time to write this first letter.
With a tightening in her chest that felt a little like the start of a panic attack, Jude began to read. She had read only the first few paragraphs when the front door opened and Zach walked in. He looked nervous, upset.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, tossing his backpack onto the floor. It skidded across the hardwood and thunked against the wall. He shoved the hair out of his eyes impatiently. “How did it go with Lexi today?”
Had it always been that way, she wondered suddenly? Had he always had Lexi on the forefront of his mind? And if so, how hard had it been to shut those feelings off?
“Listen to this,” Jude said.
“Can I listen later? I want to know—”
“It’s a letter Lexi wrote to Grace in prison.”
“Oh, man…” Zach collapsed onto the La-Z-Boy chair by the fireplace.
Jude saw how afraid he was to hear these words, and she understood. It was easier to suppress heartache than to overcome it. At least that was the road they’d both chosen. She cleared her throat and began to read:
Dear Grace,
I was eighteen years old when I had you. It seems sort of dumb to say since I’m only nineteen now, but I figured it would be something you’d want to know about me.
I wish I could forget about you. That’s a terrible thing to say, but if you were old enough to read this letter you’d already know where I am and what I did. Why I can’t be your mother.
So, I wish I could forget you.
But I can’t.
I wake up in this place and the first thing I think of is you. I wonder if your eyes turned green like your dad’s or if they are blue like mine. I wonder if you sleep through the night yet. If I could, I’d sing you to sleep every night. Not that I know any lullabies.
I fell in love with you before I ever even saw you. How is that possible? But I did, and then I held you, and then I handed you to Zach.
What was I supposed to do? Have you visit me in this place, have you see me through bars? I know how bad that is.
I read somewhere that grief can be like breaking a bone. You have to set it right or it can ache forever. I pray that someday you’ll understand that and forgive me.
I won’t send you this letter, but maybe someday when you’re grown up, you’ll come looking for me and I’ll have this box of letters and I’ll give them to you. I’ll say See? I loved you. Maybe you’ll even believe me.
Until then, at least, I know you’re safe. I used to dream I was a Farraday. You’re so lucky to have the family you do. If you’re sad, go to Miles. He can always make you laugh. Or ask Jude for a hug—no one hugs better than your grandma.
And then there’s your dad. If you let him, he’ll show you all the stars in the sky and he’ll make you feel like you can fly.
So I won’t worry about you, Gracie.
I’m going to try to forget you. I’m sorry, but I have to.
It hurts so much to love you.
Jude looked up at her son, whose eyes were bright with tears. He looked like her boy again, her golden Zach, and in that moment, she remembered the young Lexi, the girl who’d worn her heart on her sleeve and been the best friend Mia had ever had. She remembered the girl from the trailer park who had never known a mother’s love and yet always had a smile on her face. “It didn’t go well today with Lexi and Grace. Lexi screwed up.”
“What do you mean?”
“She went too quickly, pushed Grace before she was ready.”
“She doesn’t know how to be a mom. How could she?”
“No one does,” Jude said quietly. “I remember how overwhelmed I felt by you and … Mia.”
“You were a great mom.”
Jude couldn’t look at him. “Once, maybe. Not anymore, though. I haven’t acted like your mom in a long time, and we both know it. I … lost that. I thought…” She paused and forced herself to look at him again. “I blamed you. I did, even though I know I shouldn’t. And I blamed Lexi. And myself.”
“It wasn’t your fault. We knew better … that night,” he said.
Jude felt a searing pain in her heart at the reminder. It was the kind of pain that had always been a barrier before, something from which to retreat. Now she pushed through it.