Page 36 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

She opened the text from Mariah that contained her aunt Jill’s contact info. She clicked on Jill’s number to open a new text.Hi, this is Veronica Barrington, she wrote.I’m traveling with Mariah. She said there are some letters Rachel wrote while she was in India, and I was hoping you might be willing to scan them into an email for me. She doesn’t want to see her mom’s handwriting, which is why they’d come to me. Are you comfortable with that? You can email me at [email protected].

“Jill contact, made,” she said aloud, but Henry had gone back to his book.

Neither of the boys said anything about finances or their father. Ben said, sweetly, that he hoped she was having a good time. Tim, terse as always, said,I passed my final. Onward!

When she couldn’t put it off anymore, she took a breath and opened Spence’s texts.The heater went out completely, and I have to replace it right now. I can’t afford it. You’ve got to sign those alimony adjustments. I can’t do all of this on my own.

Veronica frowned. Did he really have to replace the furnace? Or was that another ploy? It had been on its last legs for a while, so it wasn’t out of the question.

But how was that her problem? She didn’t actually own the house anymore. It was his.

The next two texts detailed what he would do if she didn’t sign the agreement—cut Jenna’s rent, and go back to court.

She closed her eyes. What was the right thing here? She really didn’t know. In light of what she’d learned about Mariah, alimony squabbles seemed ridiculous.

And yet—she had to live in the world, which required money. Her biggest bill was a repayment for damages she’d invoked in the incident that led to her arrest, and it came out before anything else, a substantial sum. If she signed the agreement, she wouldn’t have enough to pay rent, even with the current income from this gig with Mariah.

For a moment, she stared out the window where the rain fell harder. The early dark was already creeping in. Henry had turned on the gas fire against the wall, and the warmth made the room cozy and snug.

Part of her conflict was her love of the house itself. She wanted it to be well tended. After a childhood spent in a single-wide trailer in northern New Mexico, she’d fallen hard for the space, the windows, the expansive kitchen. It was something out of a fantasy she’d spun, night after night, reading design magazines in her tiny room, earphones connected to her Walkman playing Sinéad O’Connor and Depeche Mode while her little brothers played Nintendo in the living room, her stepdad resolutely zoning out in his shed with a portable TV.

“I lost my mother when I was young,” she said aloud to Henry, surprised to hear it come out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “I was younger, sixteen, and it wasn’t violent, just run-of-the-mill cancer, but I was furious, for so long. She didn’t really get the treatment she needed because she didn’t have health insurance, and as much as we tried, it was pretty much too late by the time they found it.”

Henry put his book down. He had such a calm way about him, not the tortured thing she’d expect from a man who’d spent his time shooting images of people in pain. He held his hands in his lap, his eyes on her face. He waited.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. You can keep reading.”

“Or you can keep talking. I don’t mind listening.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “She was so full of life. She taught me to cook, and sew. My stepdad thought she hung the moon, and he was just wrecked when she died. He only lasted a few years.” She let go of a breath. “So sad, and yet, not as sad as—”

He nodded, still calm, still focused on her. Waiting.

“Life is really not fair.”

“That is a true statement. Maybe the truest of all.”

She put the phone down on its face. “Do you have family?”

“Lots.” He half smiled. “Parents, a bunch of siblings, cousins, aunties, uncles. Even a grandmother who is still living.”

A thread of envy wound through her. “That’s unusual. Do you see them a lot?”

A single lift of his shoulder. “Not really. We don’t have a lot in common. I get back a couple of times a year, kiss and hug everybody, and we’re all happiest like that.”

Her phone buzzed, and she looked at the screen, prepared to ignore it if it was Spence. Instead, it was Jill.Hi, Veronica. Good to meet you. There are quite a few letters. I have a lot going on, so I’m not sure how many I can do at once, but I’ll get started tonight when I get home. How is Mariah?

She’s okay. Sleeping right now.

Well, now that you have my number, feel free to call me anytime. And you can ask me anything.

Got it. Thanks.

Veronica looked at Henry. “Jill is going to scan the letters Rachel wrote when she was in India. Maybe there will be some clues in them.”