THE LONG GOODBYE is dedicated to anyone who has ever become its victim, and who may even now be unable to move ahead without looking back. It is for those who will one day find themselves faced with the difficult decision to be willing to be part of another's journey of transition, even though it will be painful to watch them go through the door. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
"Clarissa, I have something for you."
There was a quality in his tone that alerted her to the fact that he was here as a reluctant messenger. Rather than question him, she stood gazing up at him, her eyes lowering as she watched his hand reach into his pocket for the letter.
He stopped and looked at her intently. "Where is your phone? May I use it?" He took it from her and added himself as a new contact, then messaged himself from it, before handing it back to her. Things were beginning to feel nightmarish to the beautiful, anxious woman.
He reached for her hand and gave her fingers a slight pressure, before lifting it and placing the envelope into her palm. She stared down at it and recognized the artistic, but unsteady penmanship, and prophetic tears immediately rushed to her eyes.
He moved toward the door and heard his name cried out in a broken, panicked, watery voice. When he turned back to face her, the same pain was in his own eyes. She watched him leave, then stared back down at the envelope. She could hear the faint sound of a tear splashing down on it.
"I can't," she whispered to herself. "I can't."
She lifted her eyes and saw a stark, pale, ghostly version of herself in the antique hall tree mirror. There was an envelope in that strange woman's hand as well. Clarissa turned away, bowing her head and allowing a soft moan to escape her lips.
He was finally going to tell her.
