did not release your hand. I know he was hurt and angry, and tried for almost an hour to change your mind, but when you stood firm and said, “I can’t go back with you, I’m so sorry,” he knew that your decision had been made. You said he simply nodded and the two of you sat together for a long time without speaking. I have always wondered what he was thinking as he sat with you, but I’m sure it was the same way I felt only a few hours before. And when he finally walked you to your car, you said he told you that I was a lucky man. He behaved as a gentleman would, and I understood then why your choice was so hard.
I remember that when I finished the story, the room was quiet until Kate finally stood to embrace me. “Oh, Daddy,” she said with tears in her eyes, and though I expected to answer their questions, they did not ask any. Instead, they gave me something much more special.
For the next four hours, each of them told me how much we, the two of us, had meant to them growing up. One by one, they told stories about things I had long since forgotten. And by the end, I was crying because I realized how well we had done with raising them. I was so proud of them, and proud of you, and happy about the life we have led. And nothing will ever take that away. Nothing. I only wish you would have been here to enjoy it with me.
After they left, I rocked in silence, thinking back on our life together. You are always here with me when I do so, at least in my heart, and it is impossible for me to remember a time when you were not a part of me. I do not know who I would have become had you never come back to me that day, but I have no doubt that I would have lived and died with regrets that thankfully I’ll never know.
I love you, Allie. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I’ve ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, every day we are together is the greatest day of my life. I will always be yours.
And, my darling, you will always be mine.
Noah
I put the pages aside and remember sitting with Allie on our porch when she read this letter for the first time. It was late afternoon, with red streaks cutting the summer sky, and the last remnants of the day were fading. The sky was slowly changing color, and as I was watching the sun go down, I remember thinking about that brief, flickering moment when day suddenly turns into night.
Dusk, I realized then, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon or below it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are; there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. How would it feel, I remember wondering, to be always together, yet forever apart?
Looking back, I find it ironic that she chose to read the letter at the exact moment that question popped into my head. It is ironic, of course, because I know the answer now. I know what it’s like to be day and night now; always together, forever apart.
There is beauty where we sit this afternoon, Allie and I. This is the pinnacle of my life. They are here at the creek: the birds, the geese, my friends. Their bodies float on the cool water, which reflects bits and pieces of their colors and make them seem larger than they really are. Allie too is taken in by their wonder, and little by little we get to know each other again.
“It’s good to talk to you. I find that I miss it, even when it hasn’t been that long.”
I am sincere and she knows this, but she is still wary. I am a stranger.
“Is this something we do often?” she asks. “Do we sit here and watch the birds a lot? I mean, do we know each other well?”
“Yes and no. I think everyone has secrets, but we have been acquainted for years.”
She looks to her hands, then mine. She thinks about this for a moment, her face at such an angle that she looks young again. We do not wear our rings. Again, there is a reason for this. She asks:
“Were you ever married?”
I nod.
“Yes.”
“What was she like?”
I tell the truth.
“She was my dream. She made me who I am, and holding her in my arms was more natural to me than my own heartbeat. I think about her all the time. Even now, when I’m sitting here, I think about her. There could never have been another.”
She takes this in. I don’t know how she feels about this. Finally she speaks softly, her voice angelic, sensual. I wonder if she knows I think these things.
“Is she dead?”
What is death? I wonder, but I do not say this. Instead I answer, “My wife is alive in my heart. And she always will be.”
“You still love her, don’t you?”