“Yes.”
He breathed slowly.
Then:
“Tell Aaron…”
He stopped.
Lily waited.
Wade smiled faintly.
“He was still annoying.”
Lily laughed through tears.
“I will.”
Wade closed his eyes.
His breathing slowed.
Lily stayed.
Because that was what they did.
After the funeral, hundreds of motorcycles followed the hearse.
Lily did not expect so many.
People came from other states.
Veterans Wade had helped.
Children from old toy drives, now adults.
Former employees.
Hospital staff.
Denise Howard, retired.
Marlene Ortiz, eighty-three and still terrifyingly observant.
Thomas Reed, the hospital security officer from that first night.
Dr. Klein arrived with a cane.
Lily hugged him.
“He hated you.”
“I know.”
“He actually liked you.”
“I know that too.”
Aaron’s attorney came.
Older.
He handed Lily a small envelope.
“Wade asked me to keep this.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Lily stared.
Another letter.
Of course.
She opened it later.
Not at the funeral.
At home.
Inside was Wade’s handwriting.
Bad.
Uneven.
Bear handwriting.
Kid,
If you’re reading this, somebody finally managed to get me off the planet.
I hope it wasn’t embarrassing.
You need to know something.
The night your dad died, I did not stay because I was brave.
I stayed because you handcuffed me to furniture.
That is technically kidnapping.
But after that, I kept staying because I loved you.
I should have said that more clearly while alive.
I probably said it badly.
Your dad asked me to tell you every day he loved you.
I did not always say the words because sometimes I thought making breakfast counted.
Or checking your tires.
Or waiting in the driveway when you came home late.
It counted, but I should have said the words too.
So:
He loved you.
Your mom loved you.
Rebecca would have loved you.
Maya would have thought you were bossy.
I love you.
None of those loves cancel another.
Do not spend the rest of your life proving you were worth us staying.
You never had to earn that.
That is the thing I wish every child understood.
Family is not somebody doing you a favor by remaining.
Love that keeps score becomes debt.
You owe me nothing.
Except maybe fixing that terrible scheduling software at the garage.
I never understood it.
Be annoying.
Stay when it matters.
Leave when staying becomes harm.
Know the difference.
Love,
Bear
P.S. I still think purple hair was a mistake.
Lily laughed.
Then cried so hard she had to sit on the floor.
Her son found her there.
“Mom?”
She held out one arm.
He climbed into it.
“What happened?”
“Bear wrote me a letter.”
“Is it sad?”
“Yes.”
“Funny?”
“Yes.”
“Can I read it?”
“When you’re older.”
He looked toward the pink handcuff sitting on the coffee table.
“Can I have that?”
Lily looked.
The plastic hinge was nearly broken.
One side barely closed.
Bear had said give it to the boy.
“Yes.”
Her son grabbed it.