The telephone rang at ten seventeen on Tuesday morning. Art was in the kitchen washing a coffee cup when he heard it. He almost let it ring. Nobody called him anymore. Not people he knew, anyway.
Emily had his cell phone number. The sisters had every number he'd ever owned. The electric company called when they wanted money. The pharmacy called when something was ready.
Everybody else seemed to understand that Arthur Caldwell preferred silence.
The phone rang again. Art dried his hands. “Hello?”
There was a pause. Then a woman's voice. “Arthur?” Art stopped breathing. He knew that voice. He hadn't heard it in thirty years. “Evelyn?” The woman laughed softly. “You remember me.” Art sat down. “Of course I remember you.”
“How are you?”
Art looked around the kitchen. A photograph of Margaret sat on the refrigerator. Hank was asleep beneath the table. Across the street, one of the Bellamy sisters was probably watching him through a curtain.
Art smiled. “I'm... better.” Evelyn was quiet. “That sounds like an answer I never expected to hear.”
“Neither did I.”
She laughed. “Margaret would be pleased.”
Art's smile disappeared. “You knew?”
“I knew everything.”
Art leaned back. “What do you mean?”
“I think it's time we talked.”
At precisely ten twenty-three, Vivian Bellamy appeared on the front porch wearing sunglasses. Martie came out behind her. Lou followed. All three looked across the street.
Art was sitting at the kitchen table. His telephone was still in his hand. “What happened?” Lou whispered. “I don't know,” Vivian whispered back. Martie frowned. “Why are we whispering?”
“Because we're observing.”
“That's spying.”
“No, it's not.”
“What is it?”
Vivian thought. “Concerned observation.” Lou nodded. “I like that better.” Martie sighed. “You two are impossible.”
Vivian watched Art through the window. “He looks upset.”
Lou tilted her head. “Not upset.”
“What then?”
“Remembering.”
Vivian and Martie looked at her. Lou shrugged. “That's what his face does when he's remembering something.” Martie lowered her voice. “You're getting good at reading him.” Lou smiled. “I pay attention.”
Vivian looked toward Art's house. “Who called?” “I don't know,” said Lou. Martie crossed her arms. “Then we leave him alone.” Vivian nodded. “Of course.” Lou nodded. “Absolutely.”
They stood silently. For approximately eleven seconds. Then Vivian said, “I wonder who it was.” Martie closed her eyes. “Dear Lord.”
Emily found her father sitting on the porch twenty minutes later. She didn't ask immediately. She simply sat beside him. Art looked at her. “You know, your mother used to do that.” “Do what?” she asked. “Sit beside me when she knew something was wrong.” Emily smiled. “She was good at that.” “She was,” said Art.
They sat quietly. Finally Emily asked, “Who called?” Art looked out toward the street. “An old friend.”
“From where?” inquired Emily.
“Before you were born.” “Her name is Evelyn.”
Emily waited. “Evelyn what?”
“Parker.”
Emily frowned. "Do I know her?”
“No.” Art rubbed his hands together. “She and Margaret were close.”
Emily smiled. “Really?”
“Very.”
“What happened?”
Art looked down. “Life.”
Emily nodded. That single word carried a lot. “Is she coming here?”
Art looked at his daughter. “Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Emily smiled. “That's good.”
Art didn't answer.
“Dad?”
He looked at her. “She said she has something for me.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
Emily waited.
Art looked toward the magnolia tree. “She said Margaret left something with her.” Emily's expression changed. “What kind of something?”
“I don't know.” He paused. “That's what worries me.”
Across the street, Vivian was making tea. Martie was slicing apples. Lou was sitting on the counter. Emily came through the front door. All three women looked up. Lou immediately asked, “Who's Evelyn?”
Emily stopped. “How did you know?”
Vivian looked innocent. “We have eyes.”
Martie shook her head. “Don't blame me.”
Emily laughed. “You really are something.”
Vivian poured tea. “Sit.”
Emily sat. “Evelyn was a friend of my mom's.”
Martie nodded. “What did she want?”
Emily told them. When she finished, the kitchen was quiet. Lou's expression had changed. “Margaret left something with her?”
Emily nodded. “That's what Dad said.”
Vivian leaned back. “What could it be?”
“I don't know.”
Martie frowned. “Letters?”
“Maybe.”
“Photographs?”
“Possibly.”
“Jewelry?”
“Could be.”
Lou looked thoughtful. “Money?”
Martie stared at her. “What?”
“You always think everything involves money.”
“No, I don't.”
“You asked if Art had inherited anything.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was curious.”
Vivian waved a hand. “Whatever it is, it must be important.”
Emily nodded. “I think so.”
Lou looked at her. “Are you worried?”
Emily hesitated. “A little.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad doesn't like surprises.”
All three women laughed. Emily smiled. “Seriously.”
Vivian's smile faded. “Your father has had enough surprises.” She looked toward the window. “Maybe this one will be a good one.”
The next morning, Art was waiting. He had been awake since five. He shaved. Then shaved again and changed shirts twice. At eight thirty, he stood in front of the mirror. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. Hank looked up from the floor. Art pointed at him. “Don't start.” Hank wagged his tail.
At nine fifteen, a silver sedan turned into the driveway. Art's stomach tightened. The car stopped. The driver's door opened, and an older woman stepped out. Her silver hair was cut short. She wore a pale blue sweater and carried a small leather handbag. Art stood on the porch. For a moment, neither moved.
Then the woman smiled. “Arthur Caldwell.”
Art laughed. “Evelyn Parker.”
She walked toward him. He stepped down from the porch. They hugged. Not the polite hug of acquaintances. The kind of hug reserved for people who had once known each other's lives. “You look old,” Evelyn said. Art laughed. “So do you.” She pulled back. “I've aged gracefully.” “You've gotten bossier,” teased Art. “I always was,” she replied. “That you were,” laughed Art.
They smiled at one another. Then Evelyn looked toward the street. Three women were standing on the Bellamy porch. All three were pretending not to watch. Evelyn smiled. Who are those women staring over here?” Art sighed. “The Bellamy sisters.” Evelyn laughed. “Margaret would have adored them.” Art smiled. “You're the second person to say that.” Evelyn grinned, "Then we're both probably right.”
Evelyn stayed for coffee. Then lunch. Then another cup of coffee. By two o'clock, Art finally said, “You said you had something for me.” Evelyn looked at him. “I do.”
She reached into her handbag. She pulled out a small envelope that was old and yellowed at the edges. The handwriting on the front was unmistakable. Art's face changed. He knew it immediately. Margaret's handwriting. His fingers trembled. “What is it?” Evelyn handed it to him. “She gave it to me thirty years ago.” Art looked up sharply. “Why?”
“She asked me to keep it.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew you.”
Art stared at her. “What does that mean?”
Evelyn smiled sadly. “She knew you would need it someday.”
Art looked back at the envelope.
His name was written across it.
Arthur
Nothing else. No date or any kind of explanation. He turned it over. The flap had never been opened. Art swallowed.
“She told me not to give it to you unless you were ready.”
“Ready for what?” Art asked
Evelyn shook her head. “I don't know.” "But we are both getting older and I promised Margaret I would make sure you got this, and I think the time is now, before it is too late.
Art's eyes filled. Evelyn continued, “She said you'd eventually figure out that being alone wasn't the same thing as being strong.” Art closed his eyes. He remembered. Margaret standing in their kitchen. Her hands wet from washing dishes. That look on her face. Arthur, you don't have to carry everything yourself. He'd laughed then. Told her he was fine. He'd always told her he was fine.
Evelyn touched his arm. “She loved you very much.”
Art nodded. “I know.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don't think you do.”
Art looked at her.
“She didn't just love the man you were.” Evelyn's voice softened. “She loved the man you were going to become.”
Art couldn't speak.
Evelyn stood. “Read it when you're ready.” She walked toward the door.
Art looked at the envelope. “Evelyn?”
She stopped. “Yes?”
“Why did she trust you with it?”
Evelyn smiled. “Because I was the one person she knew who wouldn't give it back too soon.” Then she left.
Across the street, the Bellamy sisters were waiting. The moment Evelyn got to her car, Vivian had crossed the street and asked. “Well?”
Evelyn smiled. “Are you always this curious?”
Martie answered. “Yes.”
Lou nodded. “Very.”
Evelyn laughed. “I think Margaret would have liked you.”
Vivian smiled. “We've heard that.”
Evelyn looked toward Art's house. “He's going to be all right.”
Emily stepped onto the porch. “What was in the envelope?” Evelyn looked at her. “I don't know.” Emily frowned. “You don't?”
“No.”
“Then why did you give it to him?”
Evelyn smiled. “Because it belongs to him.”
Lou tilted her head. “What's in it?”
Evelyn looked at the three sisters. Then at Emily. “Whatever Margaret wanted him to know.”
That evening, Art sat alone on his porch. The envelope lay beside him. He had not opened it. Hank rested his head on Art's knee. Across the street, the Bellamy house glowed warmly through the windows. He could hear laughter. He could see shadows moving across the curtains. Emily was inside with the sisters. She had been there nearly two hours. Art smiled. His family was gathering. He looked down at the envelope. Thirty years. Whatever Margaret had written had waited thirty years to find him. He ran his finger beneath the edge of the flap.
Then stopped. Not tonight. He wasn't ready. Not quite. But for the first time in his life, he understood something. Being afraid didn't mean he had to run. He could be afraid...and stay. Art looked toward the magnolia tree. “Not tonight, Margaret.” He smiled faintly. “But soon.”
Then he tucked the envelope into his shirt pocket. And for the first time in thirty years, Arthur Caldwell went to bed knowing there was something waiting for him in the morning. A reason to wake up.