“Because most of what he wrote was about you.”
I stopped.
“Me?”
Arthur reached inside the box and removed one envelope.
“He sent this with the painting.”
My name was written across the front.
I recognized Robert’s handwriting immediately.
The envelope was still sealed.
“Why do you have this?”
“Because Robert asked me to keep it.”
“For twelve years?”
Arthur nodded.
“Why?”
He gave me a sad smile.
“Because he hoped you would eventually come to Australia.”
I stared at him.
Arthur explained that Robert remembered how much I had always wanted to travel.
He worried that after his death, I would spend the rest of my life taking care of everyone except myself.
“He said you gave everything away,” Arthur told me. “Your time. Your money. Your energy.”
My throat tightened.
“He said you were happiest whenever you planned trips you never actually took.”
Then Arthur said something I wasn’t prepared for.
“Robert wrote that his biggest regret wasn’t dying before retirement. It was helping you believe life could always be postponed.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I finally opened the envelope.
The letter was four pages long.
I couldn’t read all of it without stopping.
But one part broke something open inside me.
“Abigail,
If you’re reading this in Australia, then you finally did something we spent years talking about. And if I’m not there with you, don’t turn the trip into a memorial for me. See things because you want to see them.”
I covered my mouth.
The letter continued.
“Eat food I would have hated. Stay too long somewhere beautiful. Leave somewhere boring early. Spend money on yourself without explaining it to anyone.
The children love you, but don’t let loving them become the reason you never live without permission.”
I had to stop again.
Arthur looked away, giving me privacy.
Then I read the final paragraph.
“I asked Arthur to keep this because Australia always felt like the place where my life became mine for the first time.
Maybe it will do the same for you.
And if Arthur is still around, make him buy the coffee.
He still owes me twelve dollars.”
I laughed through my tears.
Arthur looked at me.
“I was hoping he had forgotten about that.”
I laughed harder.
Then I cried.
Not the way I had cried at Robert’s funeral.
This felt different.
