For Mary, From Ben

“How did you find me?”

“Your address was written in the back,” Ginny holds out a small black notebook. “I know we’ve never met, but he obviously wanted you to have this.” The old woman takes it and gently thumbs through ink-smeared pages. Dates and sloppy cursive dance across crinkled paper.

“He was never one for words,” the old woman gnarls. Past the wrinkles and confusion, an anger hides in the corner of her eyes.

“Maybe he was one for writing them.”

“Maybe?” the old woman snorts. She shows Ginny a few journal entries. The paper has been thinned at the corners where ink stained fingerprints dot the pages.

“It’s his apology.”

“I know,” she mutters. The woman licks a finger and flips the paper, pointing to a name and date at the top. “Every page is addressed to me. ‘Mary. Dear Mary. My love, Mary.’ The man was delusional,” Mary scoffs. But Ginny sees Mary’s eyes glass over, a sadness breaking the anger.

“He loved you,” Ginny looks down and nervously picks at the skin around her fingernails.

“Oh, so he let a thirty-something-year old deliver that news to me?”

“Um, I’m only twenty-eight,” Ginny looks up, a nervous smile forming on her mouth. Mary laughs from her gut, lighting up the room with her exaggerations. She flops the notebook down on the coffee table.

“Have I become that old?” Mary smiles, her once white teeth faintly yellowing.

“Possibly,” Ginny retorts, biting her inner lip. Ginny runs a finger through her ember colored hair, picking a white piece from the rest. “Look. Not that different, are we?” Mary laughs and flicks a hand through her long, gray mane. The room settles and the quiet ascends. Only the outside seagulls try to break up the emptiness.

A phone rings, the mechanic melody breaking the softness. Ginny takes out her phone.

‘Mom,’ reads the screen. Mary watches in confusion as Ginny rolls her eyes and sends the phone the voice mail.

“What happened between you and Ben? He designed a $20,000 trip to apologize to you, Mary,” Ginny asks, ignoring the call.

“It wasn’t his mistake, darling. It was mine.” Mary looks down. “Where did he intend to take me?”

“Before he passed-“

“Passed?” Mary freezes.

“He died, Mary… Of cancer. I thought you knew.”

“What kind?” Mary’s eyes fill with tears.

“Lymphoma. It’s all in the notebook. Here,” Ginny flips to a page. “I won’t have much longer, my dear. I’m at stage four, now.”

Mary places a hand to her chest and curls her fingers into her palm. Her knuckles turn white. Ginny watches as Mary stands up and closes the window.

“Stupid gulls.”

Mary shakes as a tear drips down her skin onto her red turtleneck. She turns around and untucks a silver locket from her shirt. Mary runs a pristinely polished finger over the distorted “B+M.”

“How did you find the money and notebook?”

“It was a gift. From my mother.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The coat extends past her knees, hiding her lanky form under the bagginess of wool. Beige. How absolutely boring. The buttons dangle upon thinning string and are one accidental yank away from disappearing. Bland, ugly, and itchy. Ginny shudders and takes the coat off, placing it on her bed beside shredded wrapping paper and a hand-crafted note.

‘I’m sorry, honey. I know this isn’t much.

Love,

Mom’

Ginny tears the note and tosses it onto the floor. She flops into bed and jumps as a sharp pain hits her hip.

“What the…” Ginny rolls over and thumbs through the coat’s pockets, coming across a pouch. Ginny tosses it on her bed and keeps searching. She stops as she reaches a hard, leathery object. Intrigued, Ginny pulls it out and stares at a small black notebook.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“He just left it in a coat?”

“Yeah. Weird, right?” Ginny leans back.

“Where’d your mother get it?”

“I’d assume an estate sale. I guess Ben put everything in the coat intending to go out and mail it to you.”

“And your mother?”

“What about her?” Ginny retorts. The old woman sits back down in the chair and leans forward, her elbows on her knees.

“You flinched when I said her name.” Ginny desperately avoids eye contact with Mary. The old woman leans back into her chair, dropping the topic.

“Anyway, the journal had no title, and I assumed that the ‘Mary’ in the pages was, well, dead. So I followed Ben's journey,” Ginny breathes. She fidgets with the flaking skin on her fingertips. They are red and raw.

“Where did he take you?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ginny looks at the buzzing neon sign, then back down at the notebook. She clenches her jaw and walks into the dimly lit restaurant.

“Welcome to Sammy’s. Gimme’ a minute, darlin’,” a purple haired, middle-aged woman with tattoos yells out.

Ginny looks back down at the journal entry and reads. ‘Sit at the bar and talk to the waiter with dyed hair. Be warned, she has a sass to her.’ Ginny sighs and walks over to the bar, sitting amongst a throng of empty chairs. The waiter greets Ginny and leans her forearms on the counter.

“Whatcha’ want, sweetie?” the woman smiles. Her name tag reads “Pauline.”

“Um, just a Coke, thanks.” Ginny watches as Pauline sloppily fills a glass from the fountain.

‘Ask Miss Pauline for a slice of their apple pie, a shot of vodka, and one cherry.’

“Excuse me? Um, can I order something else, too?” Ginny points to the cursive writing. Pauline freezes and tilts her head, brow furrowed.

“You… Mary?”

“I’m doing this for Mary,” Ginny lies.

“Could she not make it?”

“Yeah,” Ginny fakes a smile and nods too quickly.

“Alright. Gimme’ a sec.” Pauline runs to the back and returns with a picture. She drops it in front of Ginny.

“What’s this?”

“The apple pie, vodka, and cherry.”

Ginny takes the picture in hand and smiles at the young couple in the photo. The woman is frozen in laughter. She leans over the pristine bar with a cigarette in hand. A pack of cigarettes lie on the counter named Apple Pie’s. The young man dangles a cherry over his mouth with his right hand and holds a shot glass in the other.

“Ben wanted her to have it. A lil’ reminder, I ‘ssume,” Pauline says, placing the soda in front of Ginny.

Ginny turns the photo over and notices an inscription.

‘December 1975. The first night we met. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in this dingy place.’

Ginny bites her lip and looks up at Pauline. “I lied. I don’t know Mary.”

“What’re ya’ doin’ then, love?” Pauline tsks.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You were going in my place,” Mary stands at the window, her words echoing in the silence. “Why?”

“I needed an escape from my world... Oh, here,” Ginny says, grabbing her purse off the floor. She pulls out the folded picture and hands it to Mary. Reluctantly, Mary reaches out and takes the photo. She holds it as if a simple touch could tear it to pieces.

“The men had all finally come back from Vietnam. I met him and a few other soldiers at this bar,” Mary says, her voice shaking. She looks up and makes eye contact with Ginny. Mary’s composure finally gives out and she starts balling. Tears darken her turtleneck, the color red as blood. She tries to speak but the sadness chokes her. Suddenly, Mary’s knees give out. Ginny assists as Mary slides down the wall. They sit, embracing the silence.

“Where else did he take you?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ginny watches the endless stretch of cars until concrete fades into countryside. A small lake glistens through bushes and trees. Over a hill, a small, welcoming cottage stands alone amongst a field of flowers.

Ginny steps out of the taxi and grabs her case. As the taxi drives back down the dirt road and fades into dust, Ginny pulls the notebook from her purse.

‘Go down the stone path and stop at the dock. A boat should be waiting for you.’

A canoe waits at the dock. She hops in and oars her way out to the center of the still water.

A soft breeze flows through her shining hair. Birds bounce from tree to tree, singing their own stories. The sun warms Ginny’s skin, and she lifts her face to the sky.

After a moment of peace, Ginny notices scratches on the canoe’s floor. She places her legs up on the bench and reads the inscription.

‘Under the seat.’

Ginny leans forward and reaches a hand under the seat. She pulls out a pouch. Inside is a navy velvet jewelry box.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ginny hands Mary the navy velvet box. Mary’s eyebrows raise and she gasps.

“Open it.”

A folded paper falls out, and hiding behind it is a ruby ring. Mary’s mouth drops open as tears form once more. She plucks the ring from its resting place and stares at the natural stone in the sunlight.

Ginny picks up the paper from the floor and reads it aloud. “I did the proposal wrong. But not this time, my love. Forever yours, Ben.”

Mary slides the ring onto her left hand. Her fingers play with the stone as she watches the clouds above her.

“Do you know why I gave up on Ben?” Mary asks.

“No. He never mentioned it.”

“He was going to propose,” Mary struggles to say. “We were taking a train into the city, but the noises were too much for him.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny asks, leaning in.

“He thought when the train was stopping, that guns were going off,” Mary breathes. “I was embarrassed. I hadn’t seen him like that before. He ran up to other passengers and forced everyone to get down. The police showed up and I blamed him... It was shell shock.”

“You gave up because you were scared,” Ginny says, realizing the truth.

“When the police were arresting him, Ben kept screaming my name… They found a ring box in his pocket,” Mary says, crying. “I don’t know much, but I know this; it’s better to forgive yourself and others than stay bitter about what could have been.”

“It’s not that simple-“ Ginny begins.

“It is. You have to overcome the fear of forgiving. It’s hard to admit you had a fault in the outcome of your choices. I wish, more than anything, that I could go back and change it. But I can’t.”

Ginny takes the black notebook and flips to the last entry.

“To my love, Mary. I know I scared you. I know you regret it, because I do, too. I’m sorry. I wish you to be free from all the pain of the past. I received your letter years later, and you’re forgiven. I love you. All my love, Benjamin,” Ginny reads.

“Thank you,” Mary mutters, still watching the clouds.

Ginny stands and drops the pouch on the table. “This is what’s left of the money.” As she turns to leave, a soft hand falls upon her shoulder. Ginny turns and Mary falls into her arms.

“Thank you for bringing him back to me,” Mary whispers. She pulls away and wipes a final tear. She wears a tired smile, radiating her warmth.

“Keep this,” Mary says, handing the money pouch to Ginny.

“Are you sure? There’s more he wanted you to see.”

“I’m sure. And Ginny? Try to learn from my mistakes.” Mary places the pouch in Ginny’s hands.

“Thank you,” Ginny strains against the lump in her throat.

Mary leads Ginny to the door and watches as Ginny takes a deep breath. Ginny steps out into the front garden and takes her phone out. She thumbs through the contacts and takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Hello? Mom?”