Chapter 18 - Noah's Letter
I did not open Noah's letter.
That mattered.
For thirteen months, people had opened, altered, hidden, and used things that belonged to Claire.
I was done deciding that family gave me automatic permission.
I handed the sealed envelope to my son.
"This is from Aunt Claire."
He looked at it for a long time.
"Can I read it later?"
"Yes."
"Can you be there?"
"If you want."
That evening, he opened it at the kitchen table.
Claire had written only one page.
Your dad worries too much about getting everything right. You don't have to.
Be kind to Lily when she annoys you. She will annoy you.
Ask questions when adults tell you something doesn't make sense because you're too young.
And if anyone ever tells you keeping a family secret is the same thing as protecting the family, ask who the secret is protecting.
"She wrote this before?"
"Yes."
"Did she know?"
"She knew something was wrong."
Claire ended with:
I love you. I love Lily. And your dad is better than he thinks he is, but don't tell him I wrote that.
"Too late."
He pretended not to notice.
The next week we held Claire's real memorial.
Not the vague "missing person remembrance" Thomas had arranged months earlier.
Her urn sat beneath a photograph she hated because her hair was blowing across her face.
I chose it because she looked alive.
Claire's college roommate came from Seattle.
Employees told stories I had never heard.
Nobody talked about Northstar for the first hour.
She was a person before she became a case.
After everyone left, I stood alone beside the urn.
"I'm sorry," I said.
There was no answer.
Good.
May you like
I had spent too long listening to people speak for Claire.
I would not invent her forgiveness too.
