Summer arrived slowly. The magnolia bloomed and the garden grew wild. The Bellamy sisters spent afternoons on the porch. Art spent more time outside than he had in years. Emily stayed, not permanently. Not yet. But long enough that Art stopped wondering when she would leave.
Then one afternoon, she found him in the attic. “What are you doing up here?”
Art turned. “Looking for something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
Emily smiled. “That sounds like something Mom used to say.”
Art laughed. “Probably.”
Boxes surrounded him. Old clothes. Christmas decorations. Fishing gear. Photographs. A broken lamp and an old record player. Emily picked up a box. “What's this?”
Art looked. “Your childhood.”
She opened it. Inside was a tiny red shoe, a stuffed rabbit, a school picture, and a Mother's Day card. Emily picked up the card. She smiled. “I made this.”
Art nodded. “You spelled 'beautiful' wrong.”
“I was seven.”
“You spelled it beautifully.”
Emily laughed. She sat on the floor. “Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you keep everything?”
Art looked around. “I don't know.”
Emily smiled. “Yes, you do.”
Art sat beside her. “I suppose I was afraid that if I threw anything away, I'd lose the person attached to it.”
Emily looked at him. “Did you think that about Mom?”
Art nodded. “For a long time.”
“And now?”
He looked at the box. “Now I know better.” He picked up the old Mother's Day card. "She isn't in the card.”
“No.”
“She isn't in the dress.”
“No.”
“She isn't in the photographs.”
Emily smiled. “She is in you.”
Art nodded. “And in you.”
Emily rested her head against his shoulder. They sat quietly. Then Art reached into another box. He pulled out a small wooden jewelry box. Emily looked at it. “What is that?”
“I don't know.”
He opened it. Inside was a ring.
Emily gasped. “Mom's?”
Art stared at it. “No.” He turned it over.
There was an inscription.
For Margaret — Always.
Emily looked at her father. “Dad, I've never seen that before.”
Art spied a small piece of paper folded in the bottom of the chest. He picked it up carefully.
“What does it say?” asked Emily.
Art read the note aloud.
“Arthur, if you're reading this, then I want you to know I found the ring.” "I know you so well, and I know you were waiting on the right time, but dearest Arthur, there is never a right time, but I am telling you that the right time is now."
He stopped. Emily looked at him.
Art smiled. “Your mother apparently had a lot to say.” Art laughed.
The note continued. “I want you to give this to Emily someday.”
Emily's eyes filled. “Me?”
Art nodded. The next line made him stop. “Tell her that loving someone doesn't mean you get to keep them.”
Art looked at Emily. “It means you help them become who they're meant to be.”
Emily tried to control the tears that would not stop falling.
Art continued. “And if you have done that, then you have loved well.”
He folded the note. Neither spoke. Finally Emily whispered, “She wanted you to give it to me.”
Art nodded. “I think she knew we'd find it.”
Emily looked at the ring. “Why didn't you ever give it to her?”
Art's eyes filled. “Because I thought there'd always be another day.”
Emily reached for his hand. “There wasn't.”
“No.” He looked at her. “But there is today.” He handed her the ring. Emily cried. Art smiled. “Your mother wanted you to have it.”
Emily shook her head. “I can't take this.”
“Yes, you can.”
“But it's hers.”
Art smiled. “She says it's yours.”
Emily looked at the ring. Then slipped it carefully onto her finger. It fit.
Art laughed softly. “Of course it does.”
Emily smiled through her tears. “She knew.”
Art nodded. “She always did.”
That evening, Emily walked across the street wearing Margaret's ring. The sisters noticed immediately. Vivian's eyes widened. Martie stopped pouring tea. Lou gasped. “What is that?”
Emily smiled. “My mother's.”
The sisters gathered around. Emily told them about the attic. When she finished, Vivian touched the ring gently. “She wanted you to have it.”
Emily nodded. Lou looked across the street. “She's still taking care of you.”
Emily smiled. “I think so.”
Martie put an arm around her. “She never really left.”
Emily looked at the ring. “No.” Then she looked toward Art's house. “I think she just changed where she lives.”
Lou smiled. “That's beautiful.”
Vivian nodded. “It is.”
Martie wiped her eyes. “I'm getting tired of crying.”
Lou nodded. “Me too.”
Vivian looked at her. “You cried over a squirrel yesterday.”
“He was limping.”
“He was walking.”
“He was emotionally limping.”
Martie sighed. They all laughed.
Across the street, Art stood on his porch. He could see them laughing. He smiled. He put his hands into his pockets.
And for the first time in his life, he didn't feel like he was losing anything. He was simply watching his life expand. And somewhere in that expansion was Margaret. She was woven into everything he'd become. Art looked up at the sky. “Thank you.”
Then he went inside. He had a daughter waiting for dinner. Three women waiting to argue about dessert. A dog waiting for somebody to drop food. And a life waiting to be lived. He wasn't going anywhere. Not anymore.