Opal and Jacob: A Love Story

"We spoke over the phone quite a bit, but she was fond of written correspondence." Mildred reached into her purse and pulled from it a small stack of letters, four in all. "She really loved you, Jacob, and if even half of what she told me about you is true, I can see why." She held the letters out to me. "Go ahead. Read them."

"Now?" I asked.

"For the sake of closure, I think it important that you do," she responded, so I did. The first letter spoke of how Opal and I met and how she had found joy being with someone who appreciated her for no other reason than she was herself. The second divulged her growing feelings for me and her stating that if it didn't last then she knew deep in her heart that she had been truly loved. The third spoke of our continuously growing love, and the fourth she had written on the eve of our wedding. She spoke of the growing love she and I shared, and how she knew that she had found true love after so many years alone. By the time I finished them, I was weeping.

I looked up at Mildred and said, "I loved her so much."

"Of course, you did," she said as she sat next to me. She produced a tissue and I dabbed my eyes and nose with it. "There's one final letter, though, and although I'm apprehensive of you reading it, I feel you should." She handed it to me. I opened it and began to read.

Dear Mildred,

I write this letter to you shortly after celebrating four glorious years of marriage. I still feel like I am living a fairy tale where true love prevailed when Jacob and I become united as one. We have given ourselves over to one another so honestly and completely. There is, however, a touch of gray in this silver lining. Several, in fact.

Neither Gary, Pat, nor Amy want anything to do with me, and it breaks my heart, but if they are forcing me to choose between them and my most wonderful husband, then I will continue to choose Jacob every time.

I haven't been feeling well lately, Mildred. I think my time is coming to an end. I am at peace with it, but, of course, I have to wonder how Jacob will live with himself once I am gone. He has been so wonderful to me. He will need looking after once I pass, and that is the main reason I am writing you.

You and I have always shared a sacred bond, Mildred, which is why I would ask of you to take my place in Jacob's life when I pass. He will be reluctant at first, so be patient with him. I am sure he will come to love you just as much as he loves me. You are the only person I trust this to.

All my love,

Opal.

I had read it four or five times over, and by the time I set it on the coffee table it was soggy from my tears. Very quietly, I said, "She knew she was going to die."

"She wanted to spare you any worry."

"She should have shared it with me," I managed to say before breaking down.

Mildred held me to her bosom. "There, there. Let it all out."

I did. I hadn't cried all week, but now that I was, I didn't want it to end anytime soon. I can't say for sure how long it lasted, but I was finally all cried out. I wiped my face, blew my nose, then poured myself a triple bourbon.

Nothing was said for a good ten minutes, then Mildred spoke. "I understand completely what Opal's intentions were when asking me to look after you, but we both know that something like that cannot be forced. Besides, I doubt very seriously that you are in any position to want another relationship so soon after Opal's passing. That being said, with your permission, I would like to remain here in one of the guest rooms as a caretaker of this house, and you."

"I don't know," I whispered.

"Just think it over," she said as she removed a pack of Winston Lights from her pocket. "I'll be on the back patio."

"I'll join you," I said. It had been well over two years since I last smoked a cigarette, but now, just as was the case with the bourbon, I really needed one. I bummed one off her and we smoked together in relative silence. With my back to her, I asked, "Could you be happy here, Mildred?"

"I could be happy anywhere," she replied.

I turned to face her. "Would you like to stay?"

"Yes."

"The room at the end of the hall will be yours," I told her. "I like the idea of you being caretaker, and caregiver. Insofar as the other goes ... I'm not ready."

"I understand," Mildred said.

We finished our cigarettes, then moved her belongings into her room.