30 Nights Read Free Page A

would do this now. I slid my thumb beneath the lip and gently tugged the envelope open. I was right in that there was only a single sheet of paper, but wrong that it was the only thing inside. She’d folded it in thirds, as though it were hugging the other item—a picture. Before I opened the letter, I shook it to the side and the photograph slid out.
    When I’d been very young, Great Glenna had taken me to the Eaton Center on one of her visits to Toronto. We’d gone into a photo booth and had our picture taken together—two generations bound by a single name. We’d divided them up, two for her and two for me. Over the years, I’d lost my copies. Having a replacement wasn’t something I’d ever thought possible, having forgotten that she would have kept hers.
    The tears that I’d kept at bay earlier now trickled down my cheeks. Why hadn’t I spent more time with her? They’d moved her to a nursing home here years ago, available for me to see whenever I wanted. She was my Great Glenna, a woman whom I’d admired for years, and I’d always done my best to live up to owning her name. I was a horrible great-granddaughter.
    Sniffing the tears away, I finally opened the paper so I could read her final words.

    Dear Little Glenna,
    I know I’d told you this before, but I was always secretly pleased that you were the great-grandchild that bore my name. Not that I have any particular attachment to the moniker, but rather because the first moment I saw you as an infant, I knew we were kindred spirits.
    I’m so proud of you and what you’ve accomplished in your life. Working at a college? Well, that’s certainly something that I could have never done. My biggest regret was that I never continued my education. Thank you for showing me what could have been.
    When I sat down to write these letters, there were so many people I wanted to offer some final passing thoughts to. Most of them it was simply a good-bye. For you my sweet girl, I wanted to give you something a bit more than that. I want to give you a tiny bit of advice.
    I’ve watched you grow up into a beautiful, intelligent woman. You live your life with care and thought. I want you to stop that. Not completely, but just a bit. I want you to do something wild. I don’t use that term lightly. I see you going down a path that is going to give you most of what you want from life. Eventually, I have no doubt that you’ll marry and have children of your own. I want that for you.
    But I want you to make sure it is with the right man.
    I don’t want you to get to be my age and be full of regrets.
    Today, tomorrow, next week, I want you to go out and do something that will make you say, “Great Glenna would have loved this.” I would hope this would involve a man, but only you can decide if that’s right for you.
    Regardless, I want you to know that I love you. Your mother often told me that you felt bad for not spending more time with me. I’m an old woman, but I’m not a petty one. The time we had together was precious. As you know, I’m a fan of quality over quantity. You always gave me that.
    I love you.
    Yours for eternity,
    Great Glenna.

    “Dammit.” I wiped the tears away with the heel of my hand. “Dammit.”
    Every ounce of guilt and regret I’d had filled me. I crushed the letter to my chest and let out a sob that must have been audible to everyone close. She loved me, was proud of me.
    She wanted me to take chances.
    I leaned forward until my forehead touched my knees. Folded over, I was able to shut everything out, and for just a moment enjoy the darkness and let her words sink in. In so many ways, she was an observer the way I was. She had an uncanny ability to get to the heart of a problem by simply asking a few questions. While I put my skills to work in academia, she used hers to help people live better lives.
    She was amazing.
    It took me a while to pull myself together enough that I felt I could face my family.
    When I returned, the doctor