For years she had feared losing pieces of Owen.
Now she understood she was allowed to add imperfect ones.
He had been selfish sometimes.
Stubborn.
Funny.
Afraid.
Loving.
Wrong.
Generous.
Complicated.
Real.
The final page ended with the words Hammer had carried on his vest.
LET HER CHOOSE THE ROAD.
Owen explained:
I spent a lot of years thinking roads meant leaving. I was wrong. Sometimes the bravest road is staying. Sometimes it is coming home. Sometimes it is changing your mind halfway.
Then:
If you hate motorcycles, good.
Hammer frowned.
Lucy continued reading.
If you love motorcycles, your mother is going to blame me from beyond the grave, which is fair.
Mara pointed toward the ceiling.
“You hear that?”
Hammer laughed.
If you become a teacher, teach. If you become a mechanic, get better tools than Hammer. If you raise goats, send pictures. If you move somewhere cold, I will assume you were dropped as a baby.
Lucy smiled.
Then came the last paragraph.
Whatever road you choose, do not choose it because you think it brings you closer to me. You already belong to me, and I belong to you. You do not have to become me to prove it.
Lucy stopped reading.
Nobody spoke.
She looked toward Hammer.
“I don’t know what I want.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“You’re twelve.”
Mara laughed.
Lucy threw a pillow at him.
The letters ended.
Life did not.
That was harder at first.
For eight birthdays there had always been something unopened.
A future message.
A new piece of Owen.
At thirteen, there was no envelope.
Lucy woke on her birthday and felt cheated.
She did not say it until afternoon.
Then she became furious.
“He should’ve written more.”
Mara understood instantly.
“Yes.”
“He had time.”
“Maybe.”
“He could’ve written until eighteen.”
“He could have.”
“Twenty-one.”
“Yes.”
“Thirty.”
Mara smiled sadly.
“He was very sick.”
“That’s not my problem.”
The sentence came out cruel.
Lucy immediately covered her mouth.
Mara walked toward her.
“No.”
“It is your problem.”
Lucy started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I’m mad.”
“Be mad.”
“I hate that everybody keeps saying that.”
Mara hugged her.
The first birthday without a letter became one of the hardest.
Hammer arrived carrying no gift.
Lucy stared.
“What?”
“You always bring something.”
“Not today.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not competing with a dead man’s mail.”
Lucy almost smiled.
Then he handed her his truck keys.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Clubhouse.”
They went to Locker Seventeen.