Chapter 6: What Phillip Knew
Phillip called the following morning.
I was still at the house.
I'd driven home the night before, packed a bag without thinking too hard about why, and come back.
I'd slept in the upstairs bedroom on a mattress Elliot had left with the frame and the linens still on it, which should have felt strange and didn't.
"Dana told me she came yesterday," Phillip said.
"She did."
"She told me about the second letter."
"Yes."
A pause.
"I didn't know he'd written it.
She didn't tell me she had it."
"She told me she didn't read it."
"She didn't," Phillip said.
"That's true.
Dana has a lot of faults, but she's not dishonest." Another pause, longer.
"Can I ask what it said?
You don't have to tell me."
I thought about it.
"He wrote it eight months ago," I said.
"He told me he'd been calling me and hanging up.
He said he was afraid I'd already moved on.
He said he was still — that he still felt the same way.
And then he asked Dana to burn it because he'd already made his decision and he didn't want to undo it."
Phillip was quiet for a moment.
"He called you," he said.
"Four times.
He never let it ring."
"Lord." The word came out low and tired.
"He told me he was at peace with it.
With ending things.
He said he'd made his peace."
"Maybe he had, by the end."
"Maybe." Phillip didn't sound convinced.
"I want to tell you something.
About why he structured the will the way he did.
The condition."
"Dana explained it.
He didn't trust her not to talk me out of accepting."
"That's part of it." Phillip paused.
"The other part is me."
I waited.
"About six months after he ended things with you, I called him.
I'd had a couple of drinks.
I told him I thought he'd made a mistake.
That he should have let you decide.
That it wasn't his call to make." Phillip stopped.
"He told me I was right.
He said it clearly.
He said, 'You're right, and it's too late, and I need you to let it go.' So I let it go."
"But?"
"But I'd already looked you up.
Before I called him.
I'd found your number.
I was going to call you myself and tell you why he'd left.
I thought you deserved to know."
My grip on the phone tightened.
"He found out," Phillip said.
"I don't know how.
He always knew things.
He called me the next day and he said, 'Don't contact her.
Promise me.' And I promised."
"So you knew.
For almost a year.
You knew why he left and you didn't tell me."
"I promised him."
"I spent a year thinking I'd done something wrong."
"I know." Phillip's voice was steady but not defensive.
He wasn't making excuses.
"I know that.
I've thought about it a great deal.
I told myself a promise to a dying man was sacred.
I still believe that.
And I also know it cost you something." A beat.
"Both things are true."
I stood at the kitchen window.
The bird feeder was still.
No sparrows this morning.
"Why are you telling me now?" I asked.
"Because he's gone.
And the promise ended with him.
And I think you should know the full shape of it — not just the letter, but all of it.
What we knew.
What we kept.
What it cost." He paused.
"You're going to be in that house.
You're going to be part of whatever this family is now.
You should know who we are."
"Who are you?"
"People who loved him and handled it imperfectly," Phillip said.
"Same as most people, I expect."
I didn't answer right away.
Outside, one sparrow landed on the feeder.
Then another.
"He talked about you," Phillip said.
"After you were together.
He didn't say much, but what he said — he lit up.
Elliot didn't light up easily."
"I know," I said.
"I noticed that early."
"He noticed that you noticed." A quiet sound — not quite a laugh.
"He told me that.
He said, 'She pays attention.
Real attention.' He said it like it was the rarest thing in the world."
I pressed my hand flat against the kitchen counter.
"Phillip," I said.
"The house.
I don't know what to do with it.
I don't know if I'm supposed to sell it or live in it or — I don't know what he wanted me to do with it."
"He didn't say?"
"The letter said there were no conditions on the property."
"Then he wanted you to choose," Phillip said.
"That was intentional.
He took one choice away from you.
He was trying to give you another one back."
I looked around the kitchen.
The window.
The garden bed.
The bird feeder.
"I slept here last night," I said.
A pause.
"Did it feel right?" Phillip asked.
I thought about waking up in the upstairs room.
The light coming through the curtains.
The sound of the maple in the wind.
The way the house had been quiet in a way that didn't feel empty.
"Yes," I said.
"Then maybe that's your answer," Phillip said.
"For now, at least."
After we hung up, I stood in the kitchen for a long time.
Then I went to the backyard, found a bag of birdseed in the small shed near the fence, and refilled the feeder.
May you like
It felt like the right thing to do.
I didn't examine it further than that.
