Second, how about this? Let’s always write in pen. Never erase, just say whatever’s honest and comes to mind. It’s not like we have a lot on the line, or need to put up a front.
It’s okay that you’re not good with people. In my experience, there are very few people worth making the effort for. I try to give everything I have to those closest to me, and keep that circle small. I’d rather be great for a few people than be mediocre for a bunch.
So let me ask you a question that won’t get censored out—by the way, it’s creepy to think that people read our letters, but I get it.
What’s the scariest choice you’ve ever made? Why did you make it? Any regrets?
Most people would think that I would say it’s having the twins, or raising them, but I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life as I am about my kids. It’s not even Jeff—my ex-husband. I was too starry-eyed to be scared when he proposed, and I can’t regret everything that happened, because of my kids. Besides, regret doesn’t really get us anywhere, does it? There’s no point rehashing things that have happened when we need to move forward.
My scariest choice was actually made just last year. I mortgaged Solitude, which isn’t just a B&B, but a sprawling two-hundred-acre property. My grandma had kept it free and clear, and I wanted more than anything to keep that legacy, except we were run-down on every level. I couldn’t bring myself to sell off any more land, so I made the terrifying choice to mortgage the property and throw everything into improvements, hoping to launch us as a luxury retreat of sorts. I’ve got my fingers crossed that it will work. Between the capital I took out for improvements to the cabins and properties and the construction loans on the new cabins to start in the summer, I’m this crazy mix of hopeful and scared. Not going to lie, it’s kind of exhilarating. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
Off to take on my next scary choice…volunteering with the judgy ladies on the PTA.
~ Ella
…
Wedging Maisie’s binder under my arm, I checked my phone for the room number just as the elevator dinged on the pediatric oncology floor.
It was almost eleven p.m.; those moments with Colt had cost me some time, but I’d had a pretty smooth drive.
“May I help you?” a nurse wearing a kind smile and Donald Duck scrubs asked at the desk. She looked to be about midforties and really alert for how late it was.
“I’m headed to room seven fourteen for Maisie MacKenzie,” I told her. One thing I’d learned in my decade serving in our unit was that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, most people believed you did.
“It’s past visiting hours. Are you family?”
“Yes, ma’am.” According to Colt, I was, so in a really convoluted way, I wasn’t lying.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh! You must be her daddy. We’ve all been waiting to see what you’d look like!”
Okay, that one I wasn’t going to lie about. It was one thing to throw the broad generalization out there, and another to claim the honor of being Maisie’s dad. As I opened my mouth to speak, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“You made it,” Ella said with a soft smile.
“I made it,” I echoed. “So did the binder.” I handed it over, and she hugged it to her chest in an all-too-familiar gesture that made my chest ache. She should have someone to hold her during times like this, not some inanimate object.
“I’m going to take him back,” Ella told the nurse.
“You go right on ahead.”
I walked down the hallway with Ella, taking in the bear murals. “They weren’t kidding about the bear floor label, huh?”
“Nope. It helps the kids remember,” she answered. “Want to meet Maisie? She’s still awake, despite my every effort otherwise.”
“Yes,” I answered without pause. “I would very much like that.” Understatement of the century. Next to the pictures of mountains Colt had drawn for me, Maisie’s pictures of animals were my favorites. But those belonged to Chaos. Just like with Ella and Colt, I was starting from scratch with Maisie.
Our steps were the only sounds as we walked down the long hallway.
“This wing is for inpatient,” Ella told me, filling the silence. “The other two are for outpatient and transplants.”
“Gotcha,” I said, my eyes scanning the details out of habit. “Look, you need to know that nurse thinks—”
“That you’re Maisie’s dad,” Ella finished. “I heard. Don’t worry, she’s not going to force adoption papers on you or anything. I left all the dad info blank because like hell were they going to call Jeff in case of emergency. He’s never so much as seen her.”
“I wish I could say that I don’t understand how someone can do that, but it happens all too often where I’m from.”
She paused just outside the room labeled with Maisie’s name. “And where is that?”
“I grew up in foster care. My mom dropped me at a bus station in New York when I was four years old. Syracuse to be exact. The last time I saw her was when she had her rights terminated in court a year later. I’ve seen some horrible parents in my life, but also some great ones.” I pointed to her. “And if your ex is so pathetic that he’s never seen his daughter, then he didn’t deserve her. Or you. Or Colt.”
There were a million questions swimming in those eyes of hers, but I was saved by Maisie.
“Mom?” The tiny voice called from inside the room.
Ella opened the door, and I followed her in.
The room was a good size, with a couch, a single bed, a padded rocking chair, and the giant hospital bed that held a small Maisie.
“Hey, sugar. Not sleeping yet?” Ella asked, depositing the binder on a table behind the door and moving to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Not…tired,” Maisie said, pausing in the middle for a giant yawn. She wiggled around her mom to peek at me. “Hello?”
Those crystal-blue Ella eyes took in every inch of me in cursory judgment. She was thin, but not too frail. Her head was perfectly shaped, and the lack of hair only made her eyes seem that much bigger.
“Hey, Maisie, I’m Beckett. I live in the cabin next to yours,” I told her as I came to the foot of her bed, using the softest tone I had.
“You have Havoc.” She tilted her head slightly, just like Ella.
“I do. But she’s not with me. I actually left her with Colt to keep him company while I came to see you. I hope that’s okay. It seemed like he could use a friend to talk to.”
“Dogs don’t talk.”
“Funny, that’s what your brother and I talked about, too. But sometimes you don’t need someone to talk back to you. Sometimes we just need a friend to listen, and she’s really good at that.”
Her eyes narrowed for a moment before gifting me with a brilliant smile. “I like you, Mr. Beckett. You let my best friend borrow yours.”
And just like that, I was a goner.
“I like you, too, Maisie,” I said softly, scared my voice would break if I raised it any further than that.
Maisie was everything I knew she’d be and more. She had the same sweet, determined soul her mom did, but brighter and undimmed by time. And at the same moment that I felt overwhelming gratitude that she’d accepted me, I was swamped with the irrational anger that she had to go through this.
“We’re going to watch Aladdin. Wanna watch, too?” she asked.
“We were not going to watch Aladdin. You were going to sleep,” Ella said with a stern nod.
“I’m nervous,” Maisie whispered to Ella.
If my heart wasn’t hurting already, it was screaming now. She was so little to have a surgery like this tomorrow. To have cancer. What kind of God did this to little kids?
“Me, too,” Ella admitted. “How about this. We’ll start the movie, and I’ll curl up with you? We’ll see if we can’t get you to sleep.”
“Deal.” Maisie nodded.
Ella cued up the movie, and I moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you girls to your evening.”
“No, you have to stay!” Maisie shouted, stopping me in my tracks.
I turned to see her eyes wide and panicked. Yeah, I wasn’t going to be the cause of that look on her face ever again.
“Ella?”
She looked from Maisie back to me. “Maisie, it’s really late, and I’m sure Mr. Gentry would rather have a nice big bed—”