READING THE ASHES
By Emily Fink
Dear Helen,
I couldn’t think of any other way to tell you one last time that I love you. I had to say it. I love you. Mark and Aiden, too.
I am trapped in my office while the building burns around me. I haven’t given up, but, realistically, there is no way for me to get out through the flames. Don’t worry about me; thinking of you and the boys will get me through this. I’m just glad I don’t have a client trapped in here with me.
There are a few things that you need to know. If you’re reading this, chances are someone has pulled my will out of the fireproof file cabinet. Are you glad for once that I’m a lawyer? However, my will is not completely up-to-date.
I’m not sure where to begin. I have extra money that I want given to you. It is in account # 314213663 under my name. This money is to be used so that you can stay with the boys and not have to go back to work. My financial planner can set it up in a fund so that it will last for the rest of your long and, I hope, happy life.
I know you’ll be upset that I’ve kept this from you, but I hope you will be able to understand. A few years ago, around Aiden’s first communion, I began writing under the name D. Schwartz. Because of the subject matter, I couldn’t afford to publish it under my own name, possibly jeopardizing my practice. People want a strong attorney who will win big, not a romance novelist. I should have told you.
I put every penny of the money from my books in this account. I was going to surprise the three of you with money for their college tuitions and our early retirement.
What I wouldn’t give to see your face one last time!
My most recent manuscript explains it better than I can. Please read it. Please know that I love you more than anything. Please don’t stop loving me because of this, but also please don’t miss out on another chance at happiness. Read my manuscript – you’ll understand just how much I love you.
Love you forever,
Dave
* * *
Helen crumpled the letter in her hand, but she didn’t throw it away. It had been delivered earlier that morning, while Dave was at the park with the boys. He had been even more loving than usual the last few days, spending every minute at home with them. She had almost lost him. Maybe she really had, after all. She put the letter in the bottom of her suitcase.
“Please don’t go,” Dave was begging her.
She didn’t respond.
“Please, Helen.”
“What upsets me the most is that, if you hadn’t thought you were about to die, I don’t think you ever would have told me.”
“I’m sorry that was how you had to find out Helen –”
“Dave, you’ve had days since then that you could have told me. But you didn’t. Who knows what else you haven’t told me?”
“I’m so happy to be near you. All I’ve been able to think about is how glad I am that I got to see you again. I would have told you. I love you, and that money is for our family.”
“I need some space to think,” she said while picking up her bags. “We’ll be at my mother’s. Don’t call me – I’ll let you know whether you still have a family to share it with.”
“If only you could read my manuscript, I’m sure you would understand.”
“How convenient that it’s impossible to read ashes.”
He hugged his children and leaned in to hug his wife; her suitcase hit his knee as she abruptly turned to leave. He sat down at his desk and began writing. His manuscript may be in ashes, but he would never stop until he’d recreated his masterpiece.
Emily Fink is a recent graduate of the Ohio State University. With stories forthcoming in The 6S Review and Flashshot, she continues to write more while revising her first novel. Contact Emily.
