Letters in Time by Reiss Susan (i love reading books .txt) 📕

took us to get to the Cottage, the storm had moved off. The rain had stopped. The sun, low on the horizon, peeked through the clouds. The sunset would be impressive, but we were both focused on something more compelling. He toweled the dog dry so Ghost wouldn't track mud through the Cottage or have to wait in the truck. I offered TJ coffee, which he refused. I suspect he knew I was stalling. With no other option, I led him into my writing den and we sat down.

I began the story at the beginning--that first next morning here at the cottage—when I’d found the first letter from Daniel.

“I thought at first,” I said with a nervous laugh. “That you had broken into the Cottage and left it on the desk to spook me.”

He didn’t even smile. “That’s why you had me change all the locks and took my key.”

I averted my eyes and nodded slowly.

“So, who left the letter?”

“The letter was signed Daniel. Since I couldn’t figure out how the writer had gotten into the Cottage, I wrote a response demanding to know who would address me as My Dearest Emma and left it on the desk by the stack of paper. The next morning, I found the reply.”

“Can I see it, read it for myself?”

This is where it got complicated. I opened the door to the cubbyholes and pulled out the transcribed copy I'd made and printed.

“Yes, here you go. I didn't know the words were going to fade away so I wrote down everything I remembered.”

It only took him a moment to read the short missive. “This is a bit of fanciful writing. It could have been a practice writing assignment." He flung the sheet toward the desk, but it missed and fluttered to the floor. "I trusted you. Now, you have two minutes to tell me the truth."

This was the moment, the moment when he could decide to walk out or I could earn an ally and discover all I could about Emma and Daniel. It would not come again. I had to take the chance.

With the door to the desk open, I reached up to the cubbyhole where I'd stashed all the letters and copies. I opened my photo gallery on my cell phone. With my file and my phone in hand, I confronted TJ. Confronted him, so he'd know I wasn't being polite or trying to mislead him.

I took a deep breath and began. “As I said, the morning after I moved into the Cottage, I found a letter here on the desk addressed to My Dearest Emma written in black ink. I think they used to call the handwriting style Copperplate—flowing, a little ornate. Only calligraphers write that way today. I had to show you the copy I made of that first letter because the words disappeared without warning.” I flipped through the papers in my hand. “But I can show you the most recent letter I’ve received. The words haven’t faded yet.”

TJ took the paper and shook his head a little in disbelief. “You mean you have received more than one letter from this Daniel?”

I held up the papers. “Oh, yes.”

“How is that possible?”

I cringed because this admission would make me sound crazy. "I've been answering Daniel's letters. We've been corresponding since that first morning." I thrust the papers and phone at him. "They're all here, pictures of his letters and copies of mine. There are copies of the letters that faded away. Go ahead, read them. Tell me what you think. I'll be in the kitchen." I turned and walked out of the den, leaving a mystified man in my wake.

I had time to make a fresh cup of coffee and sit with my thoughts while I finished it before he stumbled into the kitchen and fell into a chair.

“This is unbelievable,” he began. “How do I know you didn’t concoct this whole thing?”

“Why would I do that?”

He shrugged, but not in an angry way. I think he was as mystified and confused as I had been when Daniel’s letters first began appearing.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged again. “Boredom, maybe?”

I straightened up, ready to defend my sanity and honor, but he reacted before I could say anything.

“No, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. It’s all just, I don’t know, incredible.”

I relaxed a little. “But you’re not convinced that Daniel is a ghost.” I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“You have to admit it strains reality as we know it. Don’t we need to know more?”

My hackles went up again. "Whoa, you're not going to suggest that we bring in those crazy ghost hunters with equipment, microphones, and eerie green lights, are you?" I started shaking my head. "Because I—"

He held up a hand for me to stop. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what you’ve shown me. Can you give a guy a break?”

I knew I should. He had earned it. I put my elbows on the table and ran my hands over my face. We sat quietly together as the reds and violet of the sunset faded to the deep blue of night. In the growing darkness, I made TJ an offer.

“It’s my turn to write a letter. I was going to leave it on the desk tonight. If he continues the routine, his reply should appear on the desk by morning. Why don’t you watch me write the letter then I’ll go upstairs? You sleep in the den. When we find his letter in