Sunny's body jerked and instantly she was awake. Sweat covered her face, neck and chest like a wet blanket. She lay in the darkness of her childhood bedroom for several minutes, trying to calm her breathing without waking Mathew. It's just another crazy dream. Like a detective, she tried to piece together the conversations that had occurred over the past few days. Everything in my dream was white. What does that mean? All the broken baby things? No clue. Lost inside an auction house? Could mean anything. The dove flying into the clouds? We talked about the turkey and Leo being a master bird man. Who knows?
After a few more minutes, she checked the clock. Less than an hour until the alarm was set to sound. Quietly, she slid out of bed, picked up her pajama top and sponged her brow with it. She tiptoed in the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. It only took her a few minutes to dress and she returned to the bedroom carrying her boots. Mathew was sleeping soundly. She smiled and stood next to the bed watching him. He looked like a little boy. Checking the clock once more she hesitated, ready to scrap the whole idea and climb right back in beside him. Instead, she slipped her hand underneath her pillow and placed the clues on the bedside table by the clock. Without a sound, she blew him a kiss then tiptoed downstairs.
She was surprised to find the light in the living room still burning when she passed the door. There sat her father, asleep in his favorite leather chair. His glasses were barely balancing on the end of his nose and a stack of stationary sat on his lap. On the floor beside him she spied a pen, lost as his grip gave way to rest. His late night attempt at letter writing had failed, as sleep had taken over his aged body. Sunny pulled a wool blanket from the back of the loveseat and walked to her father. Gently, she removed his glasses and placed them on the small table beside his chair. Reaching for the papers in his hand, she stopped when she saw the name of the recipient on the first line: My Dear Boy. Curiosity gave way to the rules of privacy, and Sunny sat down on the floor beside her father's chair and read the words he'd written to her unborn son.
My Dear Boy,
I know that it will be years before you are old enough to read the words of an old hippie. However, being that I'm your only living grandparent, I feel that it's my responsibility to get my thoughts down before my time expires. I am Huck Parker and I am blessed and honored to be your mother's father. I must admit that this is now my third attempt to write down something meaningful to you. I may fail again miserably. But for argument sake, and for the sanity of an old man, let's agree to allow the rules of gift-giving to apply in this case and say that it's "the thought that counts."
I could bore you with all the details of my life and my upbringing, but I won't. In fact, my first two letters were comprised of just that—a complete history of the Parker family. Factual. Straightforward. Dull. It finally occurred to me today to tell you about something much more exciting and important to me than where I came from and that's where you came from: your amazing and beautiful mother.
Your mother and father told me several weeks ago that they were expecting you. Actually, I guessed that you were on the way. Your mother was glowing. I knew it the moment I saw her when I arrived in Houston. Now it's Thanksgiving and your parents are here visiting me, and I can't believe the change that has occurred in just a few short weeks. The evidence of your residence is now apparent to me for the first time, and your mother is absolutely stunning. From the moment she stepped from the car, it occurred to me that I can literally refer to every phase of her life as her "most beautiful." She was the most beautiful baby. The most beautiful young girl. The most beautiful teen. The most beautiful young woman. The most beautiful bride. And now, the most beautiful expectant mother. Am I biased? Hell yes! You bet I am! But I'm also honest and I have thousands that can substantiate these claims. But you'll know it too. She'll be the most beautiful Mommy, I have no doubt.
YOU ARE READING
Letters For Lucien: A Novel (COMPLETE)General Fiction
The journey of mature newlyweds, Mathew and Sunny Ellis, as they anticipate becoming first time parents. A little background: I wrote Letters for Lucien way back in 2005. In 2017, I took the letters from the original story, changed the characters na...