I’d spent decades convincing myself that some people belong in your past, no matter how much you once wanted them in your future. Then a voice I hadn’t heard in 41 years said my name.
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The hospital room was at the end of the hall. I stood outside it with my hand on the door, trying to understand how I’d gotten there. Forty-one years.
That’s how long it had been since I’d seen Jeffrey.
I stood outside it with my hand on the door.
Forty-one years since his last letter and since he’d asked me not to contact him again.
And now his son, Peter, stood beside me, saying, “He’s been asking if you’re here yet.”
I looked at him.
Peter had Jeffrey’s eyes.
“Is he awake?”
“He’s been trying to stay awake for you.”
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That almost made me turn around.
Peter had Jeffrey’s eyes.
I was 60
years old. I’d spent most of my life learning how to live without Jeffrey.
Then, 40 minutes earlier, my childhood landline had rung. Now I was about to see him again.
I pushed open the door. Jeffrey lay in the hospital bed. He was thinner than the boy I remembered. His hair had gone white. His face had changed.
But he was still Jeffrey.
He was thinner.
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His eyes found mine.
“Ruthie.”
My throat closed. Then I noticed the chair beside his bed.
Something was waiting on it.
And the second I saw it, I gasped and stopped breathing.
Something was waiting on it.
***
Jeffrey and I became best friends when we were 17. Not boyfriend and girlfriend. Just Jeffrey and Ruth.
He dated other girls. I went out with other boys. I even went to prom with someone else, though my best friend ended up driving me there
about a movie.
Losing my best friend.
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We met at our old high school football field afterward. The gates were open, so we climbed under the bleachers and sat on the grass.
Jeffrey leaned back against a metal support.
“We’re bad at this.”
“Dating?”
“Choosing people.”
I laughed.
“We’re bad at this.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “What if we never get it right?”
“We’ll survive.”
“What if we’re both single forever?”
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I looked at him. Then Jeffrey held out his pinky.
“If we’re both single at 60, we’ll stop being idiots and find each other.”
I stared at his hand.
He wasn’t laughing anymore.
“Jeffrey.”
“I’m serious.”
“What if we never get it right?”
“Why 60?”
“Because if we haven’t figured things out by then, we obviously need help.”
I hooked my pinky around his.
“Deal.”
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He smiled.
“Deal.”
For one second,
neither of us moved.
I remember thinking I should say something. I didn’t.
Two months later, Jeffrey left for college three states away.
“We obviously need help.”
***
At first, we wrote constantly.
Long letters and birthday cards.
Jeffrey told me about his roommate who never cleaned anything. I told him about working at the library while taking classes.
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He complained about the cafeteria food. I complained about customers returning books with coffee stains.
We wrote constantly.
For the first year, I knew more about Jeffrey’s life than people living down his street.
Then the letters became less frequent. Every week became every other week. Every other week became once a month.
I thought college was changing him.
The truth was, my life was changing, too.
I knew more about Jeffrey’s life.
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I started training to become a teacher. I made new friends. I went on dates.
But every
time something important happened, Jeffrey was still the first person I wanted to tell.
Then, during his second year, he wrote about a girl named Margaret. She was studying nursing.
He said she was funny, challenged him, and he thought I’d like her.
That’s when I finally understood something I should’ve known years earlier.
I went on dates.
I was in love with Jeffrey.
I sat on my bedroom floor with his letter in my lap and cried because I’d waited too long to understand my own feelings.
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That night, I started writing to him. I got several pages in.
I told him I loved him and thought I always had.
Then I tore it up.
I started writing to him.
If he were happy, I didn’t want to ruin it. So I kept being his friend for a while.
***
In the summer of 1986, a final letter arrived.
knew something was wrong before I opened it. Jeffrey’s letters usually started with a joke.
This one didn’t.
I didn’t want to ruin it.
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“Ruth,
Margaret and I are getting married. The ceremony is in August.”
I sat at our kitchen table staring at the sentence. I kept reading.
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My best friend told me the wedding would be small and Margaret’s family was helping them get settled.
Then I reached the bottom. There was one more thing.
Jeffrey asked me not to contact him again.
I kept reading.
He said Margaret knew how close we’d been and that he wanted to give his marriage a fair start. Jeffrey said our friendship mattered too much to him to let it become something that hurt someone else.
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Then he wrote:
“I hope you have a wonderful life, Ruthie.
I’m sorry.
Jeffrey.”
I cried for weeks.
But I
and cut
myself a piece of birthday cake.
At 9:17 p.m., the old landline rang.
Almost nobody called on it anymore.
I nearly ignored it, but decided to answer.
I kept the house.
“Hello?”
A man said, “Is this Ruth?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Peter. I’m Jeffrey’s son.”
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I sat down. For a second, I couldn’t speak.
“Jeffrey’s son?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Peter paused.
“My father wants to speak with you. He… doesn’t have much time.”
My hand tightened around the receiver.
“I’m Jeffrey’s son.”
Before I could answer, I heard movement. Then a weak voice came through the phone.
“Ruthie.”
Tears sprang to my eyes.
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Then came a small, weak laugh.
“Jeffrey? You remembered.”
“Of course, I remembered every birthday.”
I covered my mouth.
I heard movement.
Forty-one years disappeared in one sentence.
Then his voice broke.
“Ruthie, I need you to know something before
I die.”
I closed my eyes.
“What?”
“I was in love with you when we made that promise.”
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I couldn’t move.
I closed my eyes.
“Jeffrey…”
“And I’d already bought the ring.”
My eyes opened.
“What ring?”
“The one I was going to give you before I left for college.”
The room seemed to tilt. I stood up.
“Then why did you marry someone else?”
He started crying.
“That’s what I’ve spent 40 years wishing I could explain.”
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“What ring?”
My best friend’s voice dropped.
“I need you to come here.”
“Jeffrey…”
“Please come to the hospital.”
His breathing was uneven.
“There’s one thing you need to see. Once you do, you’ll understand why I walked away.”
“Jeffrey… I…”
“Please, Ruth. Hurry.”
I grabbed my coat.
“Where are you?”
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“Please come to the hospital.”
***
Forty minutes later, I walked into his hospital room. Jeffrey looked at me
and smiled.
Hey, Ruthie.”
I cried before I could stop myself.
“Hey, idiot.”
Then I saw the chair beside his bed.
There was a wooden box I knew.
It had belonged to my father, Thomas.
I cried before I could stop myself.
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He used to keep important papers in it. But after he died, I searched the house for it and never found it.
I looked at Jeffrey.
“Why do you have my father’s box?”
“Open it.”
My hands shook as I lifted the lid.
Inside were letters. My father’s letters. Years of them.
“Open it.”
Beneath the letters was a small ring box. I opened it.
Inside was a simple diamond ring. I looked at Jeffrey.
“You bought this?”
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He nodded.
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
He nodded toward another envelope. That one had his name on it.
The handwriting belonged to my father.
“You
bought this?”
I unfolded the letter.
“Jeffrey,
Ruth will be accepted into a teaching program here. She has a real future ahead of her. If you ask her to follow you, she will. Please don’t make her choose between you and the life she can build here. If you care about her, give her room to become her own person.
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Thomas.”
“She has a real future.”
Tears ran down my face. I looked up.
“My father sent this?”
“Before I left for college. He knew about the ring. I showed it to him, because I asked for his blessing.”
I sat down.
“What did he say?” I asked, although I had an idea.
“I showed it to him.”
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“That we were too young. That you’d give up anything if I asked because you were loyal to me.”
I looked at the letters in the box.
“So you eventually
