Old. Creased. His name written on the front in Caleb’s handwriting.
Eli sat up.
“Where?”
“Back of the hall closet. Inside an old tax folder. I think I put it there because I couldn’t stand looking at it.”
“Is it from him?”
“Yes.”
Darla held it out.
Eli did not take it immediately.
“He wrote to me?”
“For when you were older.”
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
“You could’ve.”
“I know.”
Eli took the envelope.
The handwriting on the front was uneven, darker in places where the pen had pressed harder.
For Eli.
He opened it carefully.
The letter was not long.
His dyslexia made the handwriting difficult, so he read the first lines twice before frustration tightened his jaw.
Darla waited.
“Can you read it?” he asked.
She took the page.
Her voice trembled on the first sentence and steadied by the second.
Eli,
If you are reading this, then the thing I hoped would never be needed became necessary. I am sorry for every question that means you had to ask because I was not there to answer it myself.
Darla paused.
Eli stared at the blanket.
She continued.
There are things adults call protection because it helps us believe we are doing something clean when the truth is messier. If I leave without explaining, it is because explaining could put you and your mother in danger. That does not mean the silence will not hurt you. I know it will. I am sorry for that hurt before it happens.
Eli closed his eyes.
Darla’s voice almost broke.
I need you to know two things. First, none of this is because I stopped loving you. There is no version of my life where that happens. Second, if you ever reach the Ironbound Riders, listen more than you talk for the first day. They look frightening because several of them enjoy looking frightening, but they are the most reliable collection of damaged people I have ever known.
Eli made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
Darla wiped her face and kept reading.
Boon will pretend he is not teaching you while teaching you. Doyle will act like every conversation is an inconvenience. Raina will make decisions faster than anyone else and occasionally need someone brave enough to tell her she was wrong. Do that respectfully if possible.
Eli laughed again, this time clearly.
Darla did too through tears.
The final paragraph was shorter.
You do not owe me a version of yourself built around what happened to me. Build your own life. Fix what you can. Ask for help before the problem becomes bigger than your pride. And when you do not know what comes next, do the next honest thing.
Love,
Dad.
For a long time, neither Eli nor Darla spoke.
Then Eli said, “He knew them.”
“Yes.”
“He really knew them.”
“Yes.”
“Raina’s going to hate that line.”
“She should.”
Eli took the letter back.
The paper shook slightly in his hand.
He pressed it flat against the blanket.
“Can I keep this at the compound?”
Darla’s face tightened for a second, then she nodded.