The next morning, Art woke up thinking about Ruth. That was irritating. He had spent years training himself not to think about the past before breakfast.
Now the past had bought the house next door. And apparently it had decided to drink coffee on his porch.
Art sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face. "Lord help me." Hank lifted his head from the floor. "I know." The dog sighed. Art pointed at him. "Don't start."
Art got dressed and walked into the kitchen. He had barely poured his coffee when there was a knock on the door. Art looked toward Hank. "If that's one of those women, I'm moving."
The door opened before he reached it. Lou stood there. "Good morning." Art stared. "How did you get in?"
"The door was unlocked."
"That wasn't an invitation."
"I know."
She held out a plate. "Biscuits."
Art looked at the plate. Then at Lou. "Did Martie send you?"
"No."
"Vivian?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
Lou shrugged. "I woke up."
Art waited. "And?"
"I thought you might be lonely."
Art stared at her. "I'm not lonely."
Lou looked around. "You are before coffee." He couldn't argue with that. She walked inside. Art closed the door. "Ruth's coming over today."
Lou stopped. "Really?"
"She said she'd come by."
Lou nodded thoughtfully. "Do you want us here?"
Art hesitated. "Yes."
Lou smiled. "Good."
Then she walked toward the kitchen. Art watched her. Wait." She turned. "What?"
"How many of you are coming?" Lou smiled. "All of us." Art sighed. "Of course."
By nine o'clock, the Bellamy sisters were gathered on Art's porch, along with Emily.
By the time Ruth arrived, there was a plate of biscuits, a coffee pot, two pies, and something Martie insisted was a casserole but nobody could identify.
Art looked around. "This feels like an intervention."
Vivian smiled. "It's not."
Lou nodded. "Not yet."
Ruth laughed. Art pointed at Lou. "See? This is why I worry."
Ruth settled into one of the porch chairs. She looked at Art. "I suppose it's time." Art's smile faded. "Time for what?" Ruth took a breath. "To tell you why I left." Emily leaned forward.
Art sat across from Ruth. The sisters became unusually quiet. Even Lou.
Ruth looked at Art. "I was twenty-nine." Art nodded. "So was I."
"Margaret was twenty-seven."
"I remember."
"We had all been friends for years."
Art smiled. "You and Margaret were inseparable."
"We were." Ruth looked down at her hands. "Then I made a mistake."
Art frowned. "What kind?"
"The kind you make when you're young and angry and convinced you're doing the right thing."
Nobody moved. Ruth continued. "I had fallen in love."
Vivian's eyebrows rose. Lou's mouth opened. Martie gave her a warning look.
Ruth smiled. "His name was Daniel."
Art looked surprised. "I don't remember Daniel."
"You wouldn't."
"Why?"
"Because Margaret didn't tell you."
Art leaned forward. "Why not?"
Ruth looked at him.
"Because Daniel was your brother's best friend."
Art's eyes widened. "My brother's?"
"Yes."
Art stared at her. "My brother hated Daniel."
Ruth nodded. "He did."
"Why?"
"Because Daniel wanted to marry me."
Lou whispered, "Oh, Lord."
Martie whispered back, "Let her finish."
Ruth smiled faintly. "Daniel was a good man. Your brother didn't think he was good enough for me."
Art shook his head. "My brother thought nobody was good enough for anybody."
"Exactly."
A tiny smile passed between Art and Ruth. Then Ruth's expression changed. "One night, your brother and Daniel had an argument."
Art remembered. He hadn't thought about it in decades. "That fight."
Ruth nodded. "You remember?"
"Vaguely."
"It wasn't vague to me." She looked down. "Daniel was leaving town."
Art's voice softened. "Because of my brother?"
"Because of all of it."
Ruth swallowed. "I asked Margaret to come with me."
Art looked at her. "She didn't."
"No."
"Why?"
Ruth smiled sadly. "Because she was in love with you."
Art looked down. "I know."
"I don't think you did then."
He smiled. "No."
"You were completely clueless."
Vivian nodded. "That sounds about right."
Art looked at her. "Thank you, Vivian."
"You're welcome."
Ruth continued. "Margaret told me I couldn't run away just because I was scared."
Art frowned. "She said that?"
"She said something else, too."
"What?"
Ruth looked directly at him. "She said, 'If you love him, don't make him prove it by chasing you.'"
Art's eyes softened. "That sounds like Margaret."
"It was." Ruth looked toward the street. "I left anyway."
"With Daniel?"
Ruth shook her head. "No."
Art frowned.
"Then where did you go?"
"California." Lou raised her eyebrows. "That's a long way to go when you're mad."
Ruth smiled. "I was very mad."
"At Daniel?"
"No."
Ruth looked at Art. "At myself."
The porch became quiet. Ruth continued. "I thought leaving would make everything easier."
"It didn't."
"No." She looked down. "Daniel stayed behind. We wrote letters for a while."
"What happened?"
"He married somebody else."
Ruth smiled. "Good man. Good woman. They had three children."
Art smiled faintly.
"Are they still together?"
"Yes."
"That's good."
"It is." Ruth looked at him. "And that's when I learned something."
"What?"
"Sometimes losing the person you thought you were supposed to have doesn't mean you lost your life."
Art was quiet.
Ruth continued. "I built one." She told them about California. A little apartment. A job. Friends. A husband she'd eventually married. A daughter. Grandchildren. A life.
Not the life she'd imagined at twenty-nine. But a good one. "When my husband died," she said, "I realized something."
"What?"
"I had spent forty years telling myself I had left because I wanted a new life." She looked around. "The truth was, I left because I was afraid."
Art looked at her.
"Afraid of what?"
"Being hurt."
Art lowered his eyes.
Ruth smiled gently. "Sound familiar?"
Art gave a quiet laugh. "Unfortunately."
Ruth reached into her purse. She pulled out an envelope. Art stared at it. His name was written across the front.
Arthur.
His breath caught. "What is that?"
Ruth held it out. "I think it's time you had it."
Art didn't move. "Another letter?"
"Yes."
"From Margaret?" Ruth nodded.
Emily sat straighter. "Mom wrote that?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"About thirty-nine years ago."
Art looked at the envelope. "Why didn't Evelyn give me this?"
"Because she didn't have it."
Art looked confused. "Then who did?"
Ruth smiled. "I did."
Art's voice became almost a whisper. "Why?"
"Because Margaret asked me to keep it."
Art took the envelope. His hands trembled.
Ruth said quietly, "She told me there might come a day when you needed to hear something from her that she couldn't say while she was alive."
Emily's eyes filled. "What did it say?"
Ruth shook her head. "I never read it."
Art looked at her. "You never opened it?"
"Never."
"Why?"
"Because it wasn't mine."
Art stared at the envelope. The handwriting was unmistakable. Margaret. His Margaret. After all these years. He turned the envelope over. It wasn't sealed.
Art looked at Ruth. "Why is it open?"
Ruth smiled. "Because I didn't want you to have to fight the envelope, too."
Lou sniffed. Martie handed her a tissue. Lou whispered, "I wasn't crying."
"Your nose says otherwise."
Art looked at Emily. She nodded. "Open it, Dad."
Art slowly slid the letter out. The paper was yellowed with age. His hands shook as he unfolded it. He read the first line. Then stopped. His eyes closed.
"What does it say?" Emily whispered.
Art opened his eyes. He looked at his daughter. Then at Ruth. Then at the three women across from him. Finally, he looked down at the letter and smiled. He smiled like a man who had just been handed something he'd lost without ever knowing he'd lost it. He read aloud.
"Arthur..."
His voice broke. He cleared his throat.
"Arthur, if you're reading this, then Ruth finally decided you were ready."
Ruth smiled.
Art laughed softly. "That sounds like Margaret."
He continued. "I hope you're old."
Everyone laughed through their tears. Art shook his head. "Lord, I miss that woman."
He read on. "I hope you've got gray hair and a porch and somebody who argues with you over coffee."
Vivian looked around. "Well, she's three for three."
Art laughed. Then his smile faded. He kept reading. "I hope you didn't spend your whole life being stubborn." Art stopped. He looked at Emily. "I think she knew me pretty well." Emily laughed through her tears. "She did." Art continued. "I hope you learned that being loved is not something you earn by being perfect. I hope you learned that people don't leave because you need them. Sometimes they leave because you won't let them stay." Art stopped. The room went completely silent. His fingers tightened around the paper. He read the next lines slowly."And Arthur, if you're alone when you read this, please don't stay that way."
His eyes closed. A tear slipped down his cheek. Emily reached for his hand. He squeezed it.
Then he read the final paragraph.
"Life is not the years you count. It is the people who count on you. So if there is somebody sitting across from you when you read this, take their hand. If there is somebody waiting for you, go to them. If there is somebody who loves you, let them. And if you have children, tell them you love them while they can still hear you."
Art couldn't continue. Emily leaned over and hugged him. He held her tightly.
"I love you, Em."
"I love you too, Dad."
The Bellamy sisters were crying openly now. Lou had given up pretending. Vivian wiped her eyes with a tissue. Martie sniffed. Then Ruth said quietly, "There's one more line." Art looked at her.
"What?"
"At the bottom."
He looked down.
There, beneath Margaret's signature, was one final sentence.
Art read it silently. His face changed. Emily watched him. "What does it say?" Art smiled. He looked at the sisters. Then at Ruth. Then at Emily. Finally, he looked toward the street. Toward his house. Toward the porch where four chairs now sat. And he read it aloud.
"Arthur, someday I hope you'll have a house so full of people that you'll wonder how you ever thought you wanted it quiet."
Nobody spoke. Art folded the letter carefully. He pressed it against his chest. Then he laughed. A real laugh. The kind that shook his shoulders. "She knew."
Ruth smiled. "She always did."
Art looked around at the people sitting with him. Emily. Ruth. Vivian. Martie. Lou. Hank asleep beneath the porch.
Gerald the ceramic rooster staring from the flower bed, while Percival stood crookedly with his replacement fishing pole. Art looked at all of it. Then he shook his head. "What in the world are all these people doing in my life?"
Lou smiled. "Making sure you don't get lonely."
Art looked at her. Then he smiled. "I think Margaret would approve." Vivian reached over and squeezed his hand. "She does." Art looked at her. "How do you know?" Vivian smiled. "I don't." She shrugged. "But I'd like to think she does."
Art nodded. "So would I."
Then he looked at Ruth. "I'm glad you came home." Ruth's eyes filled. "I think I did, Arthur."
Art smiled. "And Ruth?"
"Yes?" "You're staying."
She laughed. "That sounds like an order."
"It is."
Lou raised her hand. "Can we keep her?"
Ruth laughed. Martie smiled. Vivian nodded. Art looked at all of them.
Then at the five chairs on his porch.
Five.
He counted them.
One for himself, one for Emily, one for Ruth. and the three Bellamy sisters made a total of six people. Art looked at the chairs again.
"Martie."
"Yes?"
"We need another chair."
She smiled. "I already bought one."
Art shook his head. "Of course you did."
Lou grinned. "I told her we'd need it."
Art looked at them all. Then leaned back in his chair. Home was knowing there would always be a chair waiting for you. And somebody who would notice if you didn't sit in it.
Art looked at everyone and smiled. "Anybody hungry?"
Martie stood immediately. "I knew you'd come around."
Lou jumped up. "I'll get the pie."
Vivian followed. "I'll get the coffee."
Ruth laughed. Emily shook her head. "You know, Dad, you've created a monster."
Art looked at the three Bellamy sisters marching toward his kitchen.
"No." He smiled. "I think they created me."
And for the first time in forty years—Art Caldwell wasn't looking backward. He was looking around. And liking what he saw.