Willow

As the willow reclines beneath the stars

So my love retires between my arms

I vow to recite every ballad I know

Until their soulful eyes fall low

A young woman slowly exposes her eyes to the first few rays of sunlight in the Northeastern sky. She can’t see much from her window, only clouds and a hazy skyline below, but she knows she’s home. There’s something about the New England sunrise that brings her back to peaceful mornings with her Grandpa and Nana, hot tea steaming between her cold hands as she listens to them recite poems in the autumn air. A small smile creeps onto her tired face, despite the circumstances. Those memories always had that effect on her.

The landing and disembarkation weren’t too bothersome. She’d been too preoccupied in her thoughts to mind the minor inconvenience, anyway. So many times before had she taken this very same trip to visit the couple who raised her, but this time was so different. Wrong. She went through the motions of finding her bags, locating her exit, and getting a rideshare, but couldn’t shake the feeling of everything being out of place. She’d lost count of how many times she’d checked her bags to make sure everything was there, in its place. She obsessively reopened the app for her rideshare to make sure she had gotten in the right vehicle during the journey to the house. If she’d taken the time to breathe and let her thoughts be, she might have noticed how cold and foreign the ride home felt without Grandpa’s raspy singing and Nana’s vanilla air freshener choking her the entire thirty miles.

Suddenly, the car stopped in front of a quaint ranch house and she was notified that she’d arrived at her destination. She thanked the driver and gathered her things on the sidewalk in front of the building she’d called home for most of her childhood and adolescence. She’d half expected to see her Grandpa come through the screen door shouting her name and beckoning her to try one of Nana’s new recipes. A scoff escaped her lips and she shook her head. The young woman picked up her things and trudged onward to the front door. There would be no welcome.

The moment she opened the door, the silence hit her like a brick wall. The furniture was all in place and the family portraits were still aligned above the fireplace, as if nothing had changed. As if one or the other would come around the corner and finally greet her, blaming a midday nap for the late welcome. They never would.

She dropped her bags and made a beeline to the beat-up leather lazy boy, Grandpa’s chair. She grabbed the blanket draped along its back and slumped into the recliner, wrapping herself in the flannel quilt. It still smelled like him. At least she still had this.

A quick rap at the door broke her out of her thoughts. She’d almost forgotten about Mr. Sinclair’s message. He’d reminded her that he would visit when she arrived to go over the will. She was grateful he came so soon. The better to get it over with.

The balding attorney offered a somber smile when she opened the door. He may have uttered the usual condolences, but she was only half-listening. He sat with her on the sofa, laying out a set of documents on the coffee table before her. This is what the two most important people in her life were reduced to, a thin pile of legal documents. She wondered how long this would take.

“Ms. Blackwood, I understand what you’re going through, and wish to be as brief as possible. As you know, your grandparents went through some financial hardships with Mr. Blackwood’s injury and Mrs. Blackwood’s heart condition. Most of their assets went toward medical bills and your education once they legally adopted you after the… incident…”

Yes, the car accident. That day had been mentioned so many times by medical practitioners and legal advisors during her brief life, the young woman admittedly felt nothing whenever it was mentioned. What was once a traumatic, unthinkable black spot in her history became nothing but an inconvenient reminder to be obsessed over by the professionals around her.

“-were able to leave some finances behind for you to do with as you please. A small inheritance of twenty thousand.”

Mr. Sinclair gently pushed a small black box toward her. He stared at her expectantly, with the same sad smile he plastered on at the front door. She took that as her cue to open the box. With a frown, she reached out to the velvet lid. She was hoping to do this alone, in the comfort of her empty living room, but she supposed it didn’t matter. It was just a check or information for a bank account in her name.

However, when she opened the box, inside was more than just a piece of paper. There was a small book underneath it. It was black, like the box it had come in, but the cover was smooth leather. Curious, she picked up the book, sliding a finger along the professional binding and admiring the texture. There was something precious about this item, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She was almost scared to open it. Almost.

A gasp escaped her agape mouth and tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes.

“They wanted you to have this. They’d been writing those for each other since they met.”

She cradled the small notebook in her arms, pressing it tightly to her heart. These were the poems they used to read to her on those lazy mornings overlooking fallen leaves in the yard. All this time they were love letters, and they read them to each other until they both fell asleep.

“About the house, Ms. Black-”

“I’ll keep it.”

“But the payments and its condition-”

“I’ll take care of it with the inheritance.”

There was a pregnant pause in the conversation. Mr. Sinclair took in a short breath, as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately decided against it. “Very well. As you wish.”

He’d offered a few more condolences and well wishes as he left the property. Finally, she was alone, again, but she wasn’t lonely. In her hands, she held the love that raised her and would guide her through this time and the times to come.