THE LETTER KEEPER

s of James's return had already spread through the town-Millbrook was too small for secrets-and several people stopped by their table to introduce themselves and share mem

ng. Margaret stayed a few steps back, giving him privacy for this first meeting with his mother in fifteen years. Finally, James spoke, his voice so quiet Margaret had to strain to hear him. "Hi, Mom. I'm sorry it took me so long to come home." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper-the letter Margaret had opened at the post office, now worn soft from handling. "I wrote you this letter four months ago, but you were already gone. I'm sorry I waited so long to say the things I should have said years ago." He knelt carefully beside the grave, his movements slow and deliberate, and placed the letter on the grass next to the headstone. Then he pulled out something else-a gold watch on a chain. "This is Dad's watch, the one he gave me when I graduated. I told you in my letter that I still wear it, but what I didn't tell you is that I've been carrying it instead of wearing it for years. Every time I looked at it, I thought about how disappointed he'd be in the man I became. But I think... I think maybe it's time to start wearing it again." He fastened the watch chain across his vest, the old-fashioned way his father had taught him when he was young. The gesture was so simple, but Margaret understood its significance. James was reclaiming not just the watch, but the connection to his family, the sense of belonging he'd spent fifteen years trying to deny. "Mrs. Patterson told me about your garden," James continued, speaking to the headstone as if Eleanor were sitting right there beside him. "She said you grew the best tomatoes in town, that you talked to them while they grew. I remember you doing that when I was little-singing to the plants, telling them about your day. Dad used to tease you about it, but the vegetables always grew better for you than for anyone else." He was quiet for another moment, and then he laughed-a sound that was part joy, part sorrow. "I started a garden at the care facility. Just a small one, in containers on my patio. The other residents think I'm crazy because I talk to the plants, but I learned it from you. I tell them about the letters I never sent, ab