Chapter 17 - Isabella's Last Letter
Anton waited until the children were asleep.
He wanted Delia there.
Celeste too.
That surprised everyone.
Eleanor placed the sealed envelope on the table.
Yellowed slightly.
Isabella's handwriting.
Anton ran one finger across his name.
Then opened it.
The letter was short.
My Anton,
If you are reading this, then I was right about one thing and desperately wrong about another. I was right that life is fragile. I was wrong because I always assumed we'd have more time.
Anton stopped.
Delia placed her hand over his.
He continued.
Do not make a shrine out of me.
Celeste laughed through tears.
“That sounds like her.”
Anton smiled.
The letter continued.
Tell our babies I was loud. Tell them I burned garlic. Tell them I cheated at cards and denied it. Tell them I loved you when you were impossible and when you were worse than impossible.
Anton wiped his face.
And then live.
Not survive.
Live.
If someone makes you laugh again, laugh.
If someone makes the house warmer, let it be warm.
If our children love people I never met, don't make them feel disloyal to me.
Love is not a chair someone else steals when they sit down.
There is room.
Delia began crying.
Celeste did too.
Anton continued.
And if you ever love another woman, do not compare her to me.
That would be cruel to both of us.
Love her for who she is.
Let her love you for who you become after me.
Anton stopped.
He couldn't read the final lines.
Delia took the letter.
She read aloud.
You once told me the Marchettis never abandon family.
Learn something harder.
Sometimes loving family means letting them change.
Yours, always,
Izzy.
Nobody spoke.
Finally Celeste whispered, “She knew.”
Anton looked at her.
“Not about Delia.”
“No.”
Celeste smiled sadly.
“About all of us.”
Anton folded the letter carefully.
Delia wiped her eyes.
“She gave you permission to live.”
“I didn't know I needed it.”
“You didn't.”
He looked at her.
“But it helps.”
“Yes.”
Celeste stood.
“I should go.”
Anton looked surprised.
She hugged him.
Their relationship had been damaged.
Not repaired completely.
But honest.
That was better.
Before leaving, Celeste stopped beside Delia.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not making him choose between remembering Isabella and loving you.”
Delia shook her head.
“He shouldn't have to.”
Celeste nodded.
“I wish I understood that sooner.”
After she left, Delia and Anton sat on the floor.
The letter between them.
“I am not Isabella,” Delia said.
“I know.”
“I will never cook as badly as her.”
Anton smiled.
“High standard.”
“I also refuse to cheat at cards.”
“Disappointing.”
“And I snore.”
“I know.”
Delia stared.
“You've never slept beside me.”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“You fell asleep in the nursery chair.”
She shoved his shoulder.
“You're terrible.”
“I love you.”
The words no longer frightened her.
“I love you too.”
Months passed.
A year began to form around them.
The triplets turned one.
Bayou Grace hosted their birthday breakfast before opening hours.
Frank made three tiny pancakes.
Nico threw his on the floor.
Matteo ate both hands first.
Lucia demanded whipped cream.
Celeste arrived carrying sensible gifts.
Anton looked suspicious.
“No designer clothing?”
“I'm recovering.”
Everyone laughed.
The children's speech improved rapidly.
Doctors eventually concluded that their earlier silence probably resulted from several factors.
Prematurity.
Stress.
Constant caregiver turnover.
And temperament.
Delia hadn't magically cured them.
She had simply restored a familiar cue at the right time.
That explanation pleased her.
She preferred science to destiny.
The neonatal volunteer program received enough donations to expand.
Delia accepted a part-time paid coordinator role.
Not through Anton.
Through the hospital foundation.
She reduced her diner shifts but kept two weekly.
“I like serving pie,” she told Anton.
“I know.”
“You're not allowed to buy the diner.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Possibly.”
Frank yelled from the kitchen:
“HE CAN BUY HALF.”
Delia laughed.
Eventually Anton and Delia began spending nights together.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He kept Isabella's photographs.
Delia never asked him to remove them.
Delia kept Samuel's yellow blanket.
Anton never asked her to put it away.
One evening they sat beside the triplets' cribs.
Lucia was asleep.
Matteo held a stuffed alligator.
Nico had kicked his blanket off.
Anton whispered, “I want to ask you something.”
Delia froze.
“That sentence is suspicious.”
“I know.”
He reached into his pocket.
She immediately stood.
“No.”
Anton blinked.
“I haven't done anything.”
“You are reaching into your pocket.”
“For this.”
He pulled out a key.
Delia stared.
“A key?”
“To the side entrance.”
“Oh.”
“You look disappointed.”
“I look relieved.”
“Were you expecting something?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Liar.”
Delia took the key.
“What is this for?”
“So you stop ringing the bell when your hands are full.”
“That is aggressively practical.”
“I am capable of romance.”
“Debatable.”
He kissed her.
A week later Delia found a small wooden box in her dresser.
She stormed downstairs.
“ANTON.”
He appeared from the kitchen.
“What?”
She held up the box.
His face went pale.
“This is not funny.”
“I know.”
“You hid a ring in my underwear drawer?”
“I panicked.”
“Why?”
“I had a plan.”
“What plan?”
“Garden. Dinner. Music.”
“And?”
“Then you almost found the ring in my office.”
“So you put it in my underwear?”
“I needed somewhere you wouldn't expect.”
Delia stared.
Anton sighed.
“This has gone badly.”
She started laughing.
He looked offended.
“You think?”
She laughed harder.
Anton took the box.
“Forget this happened.”
“No.”
“I will try again.”
“No.”
Delia reached for the box.
Anton blinked.
She opened it.
A simple ring.
Elegant.
No massive diamond the size of a chandelier.
Exactly right.
Delia's eyes filled.
Anton became serious.
“I don't want you to marry me because the children love you.”
“I know.”
“I don't want you to marry me because Isabella wrote a letter.”
“I know.”
“I don't want you to become part of my family if it means losing yourself.”
“I know.”
He took her hand.
“I want to build a family with you because you are Delia Marsh.”
Her tears spilled.
“And because you insult my humming.”
“Important.”
“And because you tell me no.”
“Frequently.”
“And because when everything in my life became terrifying, you didn't promise to fix it.”
Anton lowered himself onto one knee.
“You stayed.”
Delia covered her mouth.
“Delia Marsh, will you marry me?”
She looked toward the nursery.
Then at him.
Then at the yellow blanket visible inside a nearby memory box.
Isabella.
Samuel.
Grief.
Love.
Nothing had disappeared.
It had expanded.
“Yes.”
Anton stood so quickly he nearly dropped the ring.
Delia laughed.
He slid it onto her finger.
From upstairs came Lucia's sleepy voice.
“DEEEE!”
Delia looked up.
Anton sighed.
“Perfect timing.”
They ran upstairs.
Lucia stood in her crib.
She looked at the ring.
Her eyes widened.
“Pretty!”
“Yes.”
“Papa?”
“Yes.”
Lucia pointed between them.
“Wedding?”
Delia stared.
“Who taught you wedding?”
From the doorway Erin smiled guiltily.
“Maybe me.”
Lucia bounced.
“Wedding! Wedding!”
Matteo woke.
“CAKE!”
Nico sat up.
“Dog.”
Anton closed his eyes.
“One day that child will respect me.”
Delia kissed his cheek.
“Don't count on it.”
And downstairs on the table, Isabella's final letter remained open to the line that had become the center of their new life:
May you like
Love is not a chair someone else steals when they sit down. There is room.
---
