Sitting on the love seat parallel to the huge natural stone fireplace, Carrie Richards gazed out the window at the tall red rocks of Sedona, the unopened letter in her hand. Light snow fell, dusting the earth.

The postman had delivered the letter more than an hour before. It was addressed to Ms. Carrie Richards at her home. It was the return address that prevented her from opening it.

“It can’t be,” she said aloud to herself for the twentieth time. “Phillip is dead. He has been for six months. This cannot possibly be from him.” Fear and curiosity both crept up her spine as she anticipated what on earth this letter could be. A sick joke, a sales promotion, or heaven forbid, a message from the grave. Carrie shuddered!

Finally resisting no longer and compelling herself to face her fears, she tore open the envelope. With shaking hands, she pulled out an ordinary sheet of writing paper.

Dearest Carrie,
I have arranged to have this letter sent to you six months after my funeral. I want you to have time to adjust to my death before telling you this news. Before I continue, I want you to know that you have been the love of my life, my soul mate, and the reason for my very existence. I have loved you from the moment we met and I have never been unfaithful to you. Please understand, darling, I cannot write the whole story down on paper, for it is long and complicated.
I must now tell you that I have two children, twins, Phillip and Jessica. Their Uncle Ron lives in Phoenix. If you choose to pursue this, and I pray that you do, he will tell you anything you want to know. Below are his phone number and address.
My Eternal Love,
Phillip

Still wearing the jacket she put on to collect the mail, Carrie went out the door and began walking the grounds, the letter clutched tightly in her hand. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she walked the snow-covered yard and across the barren, rocky plane beyond, high above the towns of Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon. Through moist eyes, she viewed the splendor that had brought her and Phillip to this wonderland. Mountains provided all the splendor of a western movie by day and a breathtaking view of city lights by night surrounded by the tall red rocks reaching majestically for the sky.

Walking her property usually had a calming effect on Carrie, but today, it was just the opposite. Weeping uncontrollably, she returned to the house and collapsed in gut-wrenching sobs on the living room carpet in front of the huge picture window. She cried for Phillip’s illness, for his pain and suffering and for his death. She cried for all the long, lonely days and nights she’d endured since then. She cried for her anger at him for leaving her after only thirteen years and for her future without him, but mostly, she cried for the betrayal. The secret family he chose to keep hidden from her and her lack of understanding why.

Carrie remembered the first time she had met Phillip. She was working at a large bookstore in Phoenix, near where she lived. Fresh out of college and with an adequate inheritance from her grandmother, she wanted to own a bookstore. Not a large chain in a big city like this one, but a store all her own she could fill with books on every subject, from classics to best sellers, great literature to children’s books. She had a goal for her future, but her plan included at least one year of on-the-job training, and this job was perfect. Not only did she ring up sales and help customers, but she was allowed to be involved in the purchasing and inventory as well. Her business degree would see her through the rest.

When Phillip walked into the bookstore, Carrie noticed he was tall, attractive and handsomely built. He wore dress slacks and an open collar on his shirt with an air of sophistication about him and a pleasing smile on his face.

Phillip was looking for a book on Northern Arizona. He explained to Carrie he was short on time and asked if she would assist him. While browsing through the books, he told her that he was a doctor working in the emergency room of a local hospital. He was saving his money to open a practice of his own in the small community of Sedona, in the mountains of northern Arizona. They chatted amicably while searching for just the right book. With the selection made and transaction completed, Carrie handed him the receipt. Phillip thanked her and left.

The following day, Carrie received a bouquet of pink roses with a card.

Thank you for helping me find the right book. Would you please have dinner with me Thursday evening?

The card was signed Dr. Phillip Richards, followed by a phone number. Carrie held the bouquet to her nose, inhaled the heady sweet scent and blushed. She picked up the phone, dialed the number and after a brief exchange, a date was arranged.

Never in her young life had Carrie met someone so easy to be around. She told him of her ambitions and listened to his. They talked of their jobs and dreams for the future. When taking her home, he asked her out again and she accepted. When a little more than a year had passed, Phillip proposed marriage.

Carrie had no idea how long she huddled on the floor, gazing out the window through her tears and the falling snow at the beauty and wonder of the Sedona Valley. Tears spent and body exhausted, she looked at her watch. Seven o’clock. The entire day spent in tears, hurt, loneliness and confusion, missing Phillip all over again. She didn’t understand how she could have been married to Phillip and not known he had children or that he’d been married before, if he had. I’m so confused, I don’t know what to think or do!

Rising from the plush, ivory carpet covering the floor, Carrie went upstairs to take a shower. She took the crumpled, tear-soaked letter and smoothed it out on the coffee table, her hand lingering over the paper, feeling Phillip’s nearness at the touch of her fingers on the handwritten words.

The shower helped to calm Carrie as she stood under the hot stream of water trying to make sense of Phillip’s letter. Dried and dressed in soft flannel pajamas, she heated a can of soup and made a sandwich. She wasn’t really hungry, but felt the need to do something. Nibbling at her meal, she tried to sort out her thoughts. First of all, Phillip had lied to her all these years. Anger rising, she questioned how he could have done this to her. It was no wonder he didn’t mind that she couldn’t have children. He already had his. Why didn’t Phillip allow her to meet them, get to know them, learn to love them? She would have been so good to them, she thought. Carrie pounded her fist on the kitchen table, stood and pulled out a kitchen drawer. She fumbled with the silverware tray, reached behind it and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. That was where she was hiding them from herself while trying to quit smoking. She walked out the kitchen door to the deck, lit a cigarette and leaned on the rustic wood railing.

The snow had stopped and the mountain air was crisp and clean. Carrie stood mesmerized by the beauty. She made a complete circle of her body to get the full view of the western wonderland dotted by city lights, enfolded in the shadows of the red rocks and mountains, giving the illusion of providing a safe haven from the world.

Carrie shivered with cold as she stubbed out her cigarette and went inside, remembering how happy and content she and Phillip had been living here together. She walked the house, as she did every night since Phillip’s death, locking doors and checking windows. When all was secure, with letter in hand she climbed the stairs to her room and bed. She lay in bed a long time that night, striving to will herself to sleep, the letter and Phillip swirling around in her mind.

When Phillip proposed marriage, Carrie knew she had to tell him that she couldn’t have children. She explained about the tumor and subsequent hysterectomy at the tender age of sixteen. Phillip was thirty-four years old, he told her reassuringly. By the time he was established in his medical practice and financially secure, he thought he would be too old to want to start raising a family. Carrie accepted his proposal eagerly and they were soon married. Within two years, they were settled in Sedona, Phillip with his steadily growing medical practice and Carrie looking for an appropriate site for her bookstore. They had been married for thirteen years when Phillip was diagnosed with terminal liver cancer.

Near dawn, Carrie fell into a restless sleep, waking frequently, until she gave up and rose to start another day alone. Showered and dressed, she poured a cup of coffee and went into the living room to start a fire in the fireplace. All of yesterday was lost to her, except for the letter. One whole day of tears and grief left her no closer to an answer as to why Phillip sent her this letter now, or an explanation for why he wanted her to know this after his death. Feeling helpless and alone, she did what she always did in times of stress. She called her sister, Cyndi.

“Cyndi, hi. Are you up and about?” she asked wearily.

“Hi, Carrie. It’s early, but yes, I’m up. Is something wrong?”

“Cyndi, I really need to talk to you. Can you ditch Adam and Andy to come over here for a while?”

“Just a minute,” said Cyndi, as she left her sister holding the phone.

Waiting nervously, Carrie paced the length of the cord.

Cyndi returned, saying, “Sure, honey, Adam doesn’t have anything planned. He said he would hang out with Andy this morning. How about in an hour? I need to shower and get dressed.”

“That’s fine, and thanks, sis.” Carrie hung up the phone, grabbed a cigarette and stepped out onto the deck. I’ve got to quit smoking, she scolded herself as she inhaled the smoke and let it out slowly.

* * * *

Cyndi arrived with bran muffins and a jar of her own peanut butter and honey spread. With hugs and hellos out of the way, Carrie poured boiling water for herbal tea. Cyndi adhered to a strict diet. No caffeine, red meat or junk food and she glowed with health while Carrie had, since Phillip’s death, slipped into all her old bad habits—coffee, sweets and cigarettes.

“Now, Carrie, what are you doing up so early on a Sunday morning? Has something happened?”

Carrie picked up the tear-stained letter from the counter as she felt moisture glisten in her eyes. Wordlessly, she handed the letter to her sister.

Eyeing Carrie in confusion, Cyndi took the letter and began to read it silently. Finished, she looked at Carrie in dismay. “Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

Tears falling, displaying the fragile state she was in, Carrie just shrugged her shoulders and painfully answered, “I don’t know what to tell you. This came in the mail yesterday. It was such a shock. I don’t even know who sent this, or why Phillip had it mailed to me. I don’t know why he thought he had to tell me this now. He sure never did when he was alive! How could he do this to me? How could he not tell me something this important?”

“I don’t know, Carrie. This is so hard to believe. Have you called this Uncle Ron?”

“No,” she said, raising her voice angrily, “why would I? I was Phillip’s wife. He didn’t even tell me he had children!” Carrie continued rambling in short sentences. “He said he was faithful to me. The children are obviously adults, or nearly. They don’t need to know me and I certainly don’t need to know them!”

Cyndi sipped her tea and remained quiet, knowing that if she gave her sister time, Carrie would continue.

“Well,” Carrie retorted, “why would I call this Uncle Ron? Obviously it was a deep, dark secret Phillip couldn’t share with me. Why would I want to hear about it from the children’s uncle, and who the hell is their mother? Why didn’t he give me her name and phone number? Oh, I’m so confused, I can’t think.” Carrie let out the sob she had been holding in and dropped her folded arms and head on the table, her curls falling over her face.

Cyndi walked around the table, kneeled and took Carrie in her arms. She held her gently, smoothing her hair back off her face, giving her the comfort she so desperately needed.

Anger spent and tears dried, Carrie took her coat and a cigarette out to the deck, with Cyndi following right behind her.

“Are you still smoking?” Cyndi scolded.

As she turned to face her sister, Carrie’s shoulders drooped. “Just a little, but please don’t nag me. I really have been trying to quit. This letter is just so bizarre, I feel totally out of control.”

“I know,” soothed Cyndi, “this really is shocking. So what are you going to do now?”

“To tell you the truth, I really don’t know. I’m angry and hurt. I keep thinking this is none of my business. Phillip is dead and his children, whoever they are, and their mother don’t need me, but I keep wondering about that one line in the letter. ‘If you choose to pursue this, and I pray that you do’. I keep reading it over and over again. It’s as though Phillip is asking me for something from beyond the grave and I feel like I need to do it for him. There must be a reason why he asked that, don’t you think? At the same time, I feel so betrayed. It’s like I was married to a stranger all those years.”

Cyndi sensed that Carrie had run out of steam. All her questions asked, but no answers given. Quietly, she said, “Carrie, Phillip was a good man and a good husband. He loved you. He knew for several months he had terminal cancer and he was going to die. I’m not making excuses for him. God knows what he did is unforgivable, but when I read this letter,” she continued almost in a whisper, “I could almost feel his cry for help. As though he had unfinished business he didn’t have time to complete and knew he could trust you to do it for him.”

Noticeably calmer, Carrie said, “Maybe I will call this Uncle Ron. I need to think about it a while longer. This is too important to make a snap decision.”

“Okay, Carrie, you think about it and do what your heart tells you. Just remember, whatever you decide, you have to live with the consequences.”

“Consequences!” Carrie blurted out, with a shocked expression on her face.

Cyndi waved her hand in a dismissing gesture. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that it’s been a secret all these years. Once you know, you can no longer be ignorant of the facts.”

“Oh,” was Carrie’s only reply.

* * * *

Monday morning after a near sleepless night, Carrie showered and dressed in camel trousers and a brown tweed jacket over an ivory silk blouse. She left home to open her bookstore in town. Business was slow and for that, she was grateful. She was tired and had dark circles under her eyes. She sat at her antique mahogany desk trying to place orders and pay bills, but she was so distracted, she didn’t accomplish much. The letter lay open on her desk. Several times during the course of the day, Carrie picked up the phone to call Uncle Ron, always backing out before the last numbers were selected. At ten to six, Carrie closed up shop and drove home, stopping on the way at a convenience store for a pack of cigarettes. Upon arriving home, she immediately went to the phone and dialed the number.

“Hello, my name is Carrie Richards and I’m looking for a man named Ron. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t given his last name.” Carrie was rambling and she knew it, but seemed unable to control the words emitting from her mouth. “Do you have a Ron at this number?”

* * * *

Ron had been expecting this call from Carrie Richards. He’d mailed the letter on the previous Wednesday, per Phillip’s instructions. A feeling of dread swept over him as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. Now it was out in the open. She knew about the twins. He had a feeling his life would be irrevocably changed with that one piece of mail.

“Yes, Mrs. Richards, this is Ron. I’m so glad you called. Phillip said you might be in touch.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” she retorted, sharper than she’d intended. “Well, when was that?”

“A short time before he passed away. He asked me to come to Sedona to see him. We had lunch together.”

“I see! You seem to know more about this than I do. Frankly, I’m at a loss. Do you suppose we could meet and discuss this face-to-face?”

“Yes, of course. I could come to Sedona on Friday, if that’s convenient for you. I could be there around six thirty.”

“That will be fine. Why don’t you come to my house for dinner?”

“Sounds good, Mrs. Richards, I’ll see you then.”

“Goodbye,” Carrie said quietly as she hung up the phone.

* * * *

How odd, the man acts as though he’s known me all his life and I don’t even know his last name. I didn’t even ask about the children. So many questions and all I did was act like a tongue-tied idiot and invite him to dinner. He must think I’m insane. No matter how odd, Carrie felt relief for the first time since the letter had arrived and suddenly realized she was very hungry. She baked a potato, steamed a small amount of broccoli and heated one of Cyndi’s muffins. After eating every bite, Carrie was full and felt more relaxed. She cleaned up the kitchen and at a loss of what to do with the rest of the evening, she went out to the deck to indulge in one more cigarette and a cup of chamomile tea.

The stars gave off little light and the evening air held a chill, but the snow had melted, leaving the landscape in shadows and looking used and rusty. She had just sat down when Cyndi, Adam and little Andy drove up. By the time she put out her cigarette, they had made their way to the deck and all went inside. Four-year-old Andy gave Aunt Carrie a big hug and headed for the television set to watch his favorite program, while the adults settled in the living room with a cup of tea.

“Carrie,” Adam began, “Cyndi told me about Phillip’s letter. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, Adam, you’re family. I just wanted to talk it over with Cyndi first.”

“Well, are you all right? I know it must have been a shock to you.”

“That’s an understatement,” she quipped, smiling for the first time in days.

Cyndi asked, “Carrie, have you made any decisions yet?”

“Adam, Cyndi, I’m so glad you’re here. You’re the only family I have left. You’ll never know how much help you were to me when Phillip died,” she said, then added wistfully, “and now this.”

“We love you, Carrie,” said Cyndi mistily.

“I know, and I love you both. Anyway, I’ve decided to meet with the children’s Uncle Ron. Adam, why don’t you read this?” Carrie handed Adam the crumpled, tear-stained letter. “I called him today and he’s driving up from Phoenix on Friday. I’ve invited him to dinner. I guess I’ll find out then what this is all about.”

Moving to where her sister was sitting, Cyndi gave her a big hug. “I’m glad to hear that, sis. I thought you might.”

“What made you think that? I could have chosen to totally disregard this letter and go on with my life,” she said curtly.

“Curiosity, my dear sister, curiosity!” She laughed and Carrie and Adam joined in.

“I guess you’re right about that. I just have to know what this is all about.”

“Carrie,” said Adam, “Cyndi told me how she felt when she read this letter.” He waved the sheet of paper in the air. “And after reading it myself, I have to agree with her. It does appear as though he’s asking you to do something for him. It’s strange he didn’t explain the situation to you.”

“I know,” replied Carrie soberly, “that’s what’s so frustrating. It’s driving me mad. He keeps this secret from me the entire time we’re married, then six months after he dies, he tells me just enough to make me angry and hurt and jealous.” Carrie shook her head from side to side. “Oh, not of the children, only that separate part of himself he felt he couldn’t share with me. I agree that whatever it is he wants from me, I have to find out. I’m consumed with it! I hardly slept or ate since I received this letter until after I made that call today. Now that I’ve made a decision and had a good meal, I think I can sleep.”

“As long as you’re comfortable, I think it’s time for us to go home and let you get some rest. Call if you need me,” said Cyndi helpfully.

“Thank you,” responded Carrie as she retrieved Andy and walked them to the door.

Carrie may have felt more relaxed after making a date with Uncle Ron and eating a good meal, but sleep was still slow to come. She took the pillow off the other side of the bed and held it close. After all these months, she could still smell Phillip’s scent. How many nights had she gone to sleep with his pillow in her arms? Carrie inhaled the faint lingering aroma of Phillip’s after-shave, his musky male scent. She cradled the pillow to her breasts as she loitered on the brink of sleep, craving Phillip’s touch, and tortured by his betrayal.

* * * *

Carrie spent the next few days burning up nervous energy. The house was spotless, the bookstore dusted, orders sent and new arrivals artfully arranged. She had even gotten up early that morning to put together a dish of lasagna for a casual dinner. This meeting was anything but casual and Carrie wanted to be prepared and in control.

She was probably taking this way too seriously, she mused, relaxing a little as she locked the bookstore and headed home. Phillip’s letter, Carrie reasoned, was probably one of those deathbed confessions that made it easier for him to die in peace, not taking into consideration the pain it would cause her. She thought she might be able to forgive this lie of omission and go on with her life. It’s really nothing, she continued with her thoughts, feeling noble and self-sacrificing. After all, she had loved him, still did, as a matter of fact, and they had enjoyed a wonderful marriage. This doesn’t concern me at all!

With her newfound sense of freedom from this nightmare, she popped the lasagna in the oven, prepared a salad and ran up the stairs to shower and change.

Leaving the shower, she dried her impossibly long hair and tied it with a red leather cord at the base of her neck, then put on a little makeup. She dressed in an ankle length, red wool skirt and a white long sleeved tailored shirt embellished with cotton lace at the collar.

Surveying her image in the mirror for the first time in months, she took a good hard look at herself. Coffee brown hair touched with red highlights, stray wisps of curls fluttering softly around her face. Blue eyes so pale, they looked gray with a nose a little too sharp and pink full lips. Nothing special, she noted, still nervous at meeting this man, and subconsciously wondering how she compared to the first Mrs. Phillip. At least she’d kept her figure. One hundred and twenty-five pounds carried well by her five foot six inch frame. Not so bad for a thirty-six year old widow! This is nonsense, she scolded herself. I’m meeting a complete stranger to find out why my husband never told me about his children. How I look doesn’t even enter into it. She eased down the stairs, lifting her skirt to avoid tripping, confident that when this evening was over and she knew all the details of Phillip’s secret, she would wash her hands of the past once and for all.