Hot Rival ( jenlisa ) ( Gip )

26

Jennie

The pain of letting Lisa go doesn't lessen over the weeks that follow. Work is easier now that Rich is gone, but the rest of my days pass in a dull fog. I've had one Homes for Hearts event that I was supposed to go to, but I begged off and told Tomas I had a bad head cold and wouldn't be able to make it.

It was a lie, of course. I was sick, but it wasn't with a cold. This kind of sickness can't be cured with sleep and a hot toddy. Believe me, I've tried. This kind of sickness takes time — nothing else will heal the pain of a broken heart but time.

And time passes much more quickly when you keep yourself busy.

That's why I've finally started tackling the townhouse. Boxing up a few of Dad's things, organizing the kitchen cupboards, calling storage facilities to figure out if maybe I can store some of the insane amounts of furniture Dad collected. I've got no idea what I'm going to do with it long-term, but maybe getting it out of the house temporarily will open up the space a little and give me some breathing room to figure it out.

The one area of the house I've been avoiding is Dad's office. I haven't attempted to tackle that room since the night a few weeks after he died, when I'd started to go through his things and ended up sobbing over a pair of his old reading glasses.

Actually, I think with a start, that was the same night that I went to the Design Times anniversary party. The same night I met Lisa.

Well, I've put it off long enough. I ease the door of the office open and flick on the light. Dust motes swirl in the air, just from the current caused by opening the door, and I curse myself for putting this off for so long.

Just one more reason that it's good to no longer be so distracted.

I step across the plush carpet and over to the desk. Everything is as it was last time I was in here. The closed laptop. The stacks of papers from the lawyer's office. Those damn reading glasses.

I slip into the seat behind the desk, then lean back and look around the office objectively. I don't need two desks. I definitely don't need three chairs. And why on earth are there so many lamps?

I start inventorying what I might be able to put in storage. Who knows? Maybe I can actually turn this into a useable office again. If I'm going to be devoting all my free time to Kim Living, that means I need a place to do it, and this is as good as any.

I root around the desk for a piece of scrap paper so I can start to make a list of what can go, when I see the envelope from the lawyer's office.

"Ugh." I know I should have gone through this ages ago, but looking at property deeds and bank records is the last thing I've wanted to do.

I pick up the envelope and a sneezing fit overtakes me. I shake the dust off the envelope.

Clearly, I've been putting this off long enough.

I slide the sheaf of papers out of the stiff yellow envelope and start to thumb through them. A single sheet of paper flutters off the pile and into my lap.

I gasp. I'd recognize Dad's handwriting anywhere. I pick the page up carefully and realize it's a letter.

A letter to me.

A letter that's been sitting here for months, without my knowledge.

I choke back a sob.

"Oh, Dad..."

I lean back in my chair. With shaking hands, I hold the letter and begin to read.

My dear Jennie Bear,