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Dear Beth

By Alyssa Schwarz

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Chapter One

There are two types of people in this world: those who are open to love, and those who are not. ~ Letter from a friend

Beth Walsh raised her palms and scrunched her face in puzzlement. “What did I do this time?”
Irma Holbroke and the other ladies clucked simultaneously, wagging their heads in disapproval. The woman’s arthritic hands adjusted her heart-shaped broach as she spoke. “Honey, what did you think the boy would do? Ride in on a white stallion and say he was sorry?”
The unlikely possibility had crossed her mind once or twice.
Hey, a girl could dream, right?
“I never said that. Did I say that?” She turned toward Ed, head ducked beneath his tweed newsboy cap as he diligently tried his best to avoid the conversation altogether.
Aside from a couple of families who volunteered with their kids on the weekends, Beth was the youngest one in the group by about forty years, give or take a decade.
“Don’t go running to poor Ed for cover. He knows we’re right, even if he pretends to be deaf.” Irma tossed a heart-shaped candy in Beth’s direction and hit Ed square in the chest.
It was a wonder he put up with these ladies. No one forced the residents of Ivy Hills Retirement Center to take part in the tradition, but every year, Ed came along without fail.
“I wouldn’t have to pretend if you all would stop yammering and get back to work.” His white mustache twitched into a frown. “These letters won’t stamp themselves, you know.” He pounded the rubber stamp into the bright red ink and sealed it across the envelope in front of him.
Irma folded her arms across her ample chest. A woman on a mission. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. How am I supposed to sit here every day and not say something? The girl is throwing away every chance at love, and no one has bothered to say a thing.”
Ouch. Irma’s direct approach left something to be desired, but she got her wish. Now everyone was interested in doling out their opinions. It wasn’t Beth’s fault that the men she’d dated had been all wrong. Not every frog became a prince, at least not for her, and her prospects had grown more warty with each year.
“What was wrong with this one? I thought he was very handsome, and he was even a doctor.” Edith’s husband had been a pediatrician for fifty of their sixty-plus years of marriage. She was understandably biased.
Beth wished she could adopt Ed’s approach of silence. But even that tactic didn’t deter the ladies’ persistent questions for long.
After a couple of seconds, she gave in and swiveled toward Edith. “He was a dentist, if you must know. And he had more time for his patients than for me.”
She pounded a stamp on the next envelope. He’d stood her up on their last date, and it hadn’t been a one-time occurrence either. She might not have had much luck in love, but she wasn’t about to settle for a no-show.
“And the gentleman before that,” Mavis chimed in, her eyes growing large behind her pink acrylic glasses. “You broke up with him because he was too outgoing. Who ever heard of such a thing?”
Beth released a breath of hot air, blowing a thick auburn curl from her face. “I never broke up with Kevin because we were never officially dating. He spent the entire dinner flirting with the hostess and only talked about himself. Not the greatest of foundations to build a relationship on.”
She felt as if someone had thrown her into the middle of the Spanish Inquisition.
Mavis all but skewered Beth with a horn-rimmed, bottle cap stare. “But you did call things off with Tye. I don’t know why you let that boy go. He was as sweet as they come, and he looked just like one of those Hemsworth brothers. Chris or Liam? Oh, it’s been so long I’ve forgotten.”
“I thought he had brown eyes, not blue.” If Edith had mastered the Smartphone her daughter bought her for Christmas, she’d no doubt have scoured the internet for a picture to show Mavis.
The women continued to rattle off their complaints about Beth’s failed relationships and debate over Tye’s attributes, considering themselves experts on the topic.
Why did Mavis have to bring up Tye Prescott? It had been three years, and Beth’s heart still ached whenever she thought of him. To tell the truth, no man since had lived up to Tye, which might explain her current relationships—or lack thereof. But that was all in the past. It didn’t matter how her stomach flipped at the mere mention of him.
“Why don’t you all leave the poor girl alone?” Ed finally chimed in. “It’s not like any of you have never turned a guy down before. And don’t you argue with me, Irma. I know you better than most.”
Bless Ed for his timing.
Irma relented and lowered her head back to her letters. Beth didn’t miss the slight flush to Irma’s skin, but unlike some ladies, she was too polite to pry.
Edith took the reins of the conversation at Irma’s silence and charged ahead. “Well, we all know how Mavis snagged her Fred.” She grinned with a knowing smile. “Tied him to a pole in the fourth grade and wouldn’t let him go until he agreed to kiss her.”
“Oh, he was just being stubborn about it. If Nancy Jorgensen hadn’t dared me to do it, he would have eventually gotten around to it himself.” Mavis waved a pink and green manicured hand in the air as if trying to shoo away a fly. “But it worked, didn’t it? We were married for sixty-two years. If that doesn’t make me an expert, then I don’t know what does.”
They’d all heard the story a thousand times before, and the details became more outlandish with each new iteration. Beth figured the true story was a little less dramatic, but Fred had never corrected her. He’d passed away a few years ago, but everyone knew how much he’d adored his wife, eccentric or not.
Snow swirled in waves outside the windows of the Loveland Community Center. This was Beth’s third year volunteering for the town’s traditional Valentine’s Day re-mailing program, and she couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a late January afternoon. Every winter, letters from all over the country poured in to receive a special stamp of love before reaching their final destinations by February fourteenth. It was a quaint tradition, tracing back over seventy-five years, earning Loveland its signature nickname: The Sweetheart City.
Maybe she’d never be on the receiving end of one of those letters, but that was probably for the best.
Next to Beth, Irma worked in relative silence as the rest of the seniors continued down memory lane. Together, they worked their way through a stack of envelopes before the older lady leaned over to speak privately to Beth.
“It sure isn’t the same this year without your grandmother here. We all miss her dearly.”
So did Beth. “Thank you. Gran loved doing this with you all.” Gran had been everything to her, especially after her parents’ accident. She’d taken Beth in, a freckled preteen with braces who didn’t know how to deal with loss. Fifteen years later, not much had changed.
Irma and Gran had been best friends since grade school, the two of them nearly inseparable until cancer finally took her grandmother last February. Since then, Gran’s friend had taken it upon herself to act as protector and guardian over Beth’s future happiness. Although Beth appreciated the sentiment, she didn’t need a man or anyone else to make her happy.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Irma said as she scooted closer, “but your grandmother would want you to go on with your life, not while away the time with us old folks in a stuffy community center. You can’t hide forever in that little bookstore of yours.” She placed a wrinkled hand over Beth’s arm and gave her a loving pat.
Beth was fine living out her dreams through books and her friend’s lives if it meant she didn’t have to experience any more loss. She was too bruised to risk putting herself out there again.
Irma had a good heart, and she meant well, but there were some things she didn’t understand.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. But I’m happy right where I am.” She gave her a smile and reached for the next envelope.
For a blessed moment, Beth actually thought Irma might let this whole misguided mission of hers go. The sounds of shuffling paper and stamps filled the room as Mavis and Edith gabbed across the table.
Irma paused in her work and cleared her throat. The respite had lasted a mere three minutes. “You might be able to convince the others, but don’t think you have me fooled, dear.”
Beth stamped the next envelope with a little too much force and winced at the smudged ink. “Why does everyone insist I need a husband? I’m fine as I am, really.”
Irma’s tone softened, and she laid her own stamp beside the red ink pad. “Beth, look at me.”
Beth lowered the envelope in her hand and sighed. “Irma, I really don’t think—”
“No, you listen to me.” Irma frowned, pulling the wrinkled skin around her lips downward. “Now there’s a lot I’ve never told you, and I won’t get into any of that now, but trust me when I say I know just how lonely the road can be to care for someone. You can give and give of yourself until there’s practically nothing left. And when it’s all over, it can be near impossible to leave it behind.”
Beth’s breathing stilled, the memories rushing back to those last few months with Gran, how she’d put everything on hold to care for her—career, friends, relationships.
“I know it’s difficult to just turn off that side of you and move on, but there’s still life beyond those we’ve lost. It’s easy to pretend we’re fine, but it’s even easier to let grief keep us from truly living.”
Beth fought against the burning sting in her throat and swallowed. Was that what she’d been doing? “But what if I don’t know how?” She voiced the fear that had been eating at her for months.
Irma gave her a timeworn smile and laid a soft hand on her shoulder, her bangle bracelets clinking with the movement. “You’ll know. God has a way of speaking to us, if we choose to listen.”

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Letter to Beth from her grandma at the hospital, written a year ago:

My Dear Beth,
You should see the blue birds just outside my room. They don’t care that it’s a hospital window they’ve made their nest in, but it makes me smile every time I hear them sing. The nurse tried to force maintenance to get rid of them, but poor old Roger didn’t have the heart to move them away from their home. I hope you’ll see the two birds next time you visit. I know I’ll see you later today, like always, but forgive an old woman for her love of writing letters.
With love,
Gran

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