Sweet Forgiveness by Lori Nelson Spielman Read Free Book Online Page B

receiving them, she will continue the Circle of Forgiveness, and then some.
    â€œOkay, but the instructions say to send one letter of apology, not a half dozen.”
    â€œYou think I’ve only hurt one person in these seventy-six years? Don’t you know, deep inside, we’re all just bundles of shame? I suppose that’s the beauty of these silly stones. They give one permission—or perhaps an obligation—to be vulnerable.”

    When I arrive late that afternoon, Dorothy’s face has transformed. Her frown lines have softened, and she looks positively serene. She sits in the courtyard, under the umbrella table, with Fiona Knowles’s audiobook in front of her. I scowl. The girl who treated me so badly is now an icon for forgiveness, and no doubt cashing in, big-time.
    â€œPeople carry secrets for two reasons,” Dorothy tells me. “To protect themselves or to protect others. That’s what Ms. Knowles says.”
    â€œWhat a revelation. The woman is brilliant.”
    â€œShe is,” Dorothy says, obviously not catching my sarcasm—or perhaps choosing not to. “Did you bring my pouches, dear?”
    â€œUh-huh. White tulle,” I say, placing them in her hand. “With tiny lime-green polka dots.”
    She fingers the fabric, and draws open the strings. “Beautiful. Now, there’s a cup of stones on my nightstand. Fetch it for me, would you, please?”
    I return with a plastic cup filled with pebbles. Dorothy pours them onto the table.
    â€œMarilyn gathered these from the courtyard yesterday.” With care, she separates the stones into groups of two. “This first set will be for Mari,” she says. “Though she doesn’t know it yet.”
    â€œMarilyn?” I’m surprised when she cites her closest and lifelong friend. But on reflection, it makes perfect sense. “Well, I guess when you’ve known a person your entire life, you’re bound to have hurt her feelings at one time or another, right?”
    â€œYes,” she says. “And it was a doozy.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head, as if the very memory sends a shiver through her.
    â€œI’ve always imagined that life is a cavernous room filled with candles,” Dorothy says. “When we’re born, half the candles are lit. With each good deed we do, another flickers to life, creating a bit more light.”
    â€œNice,” I say.
    â€œBut along the way, some flames are extinguished by selfishness and cruelty. So you see, we light some candles, we blow some out. In the end, we can only hope that we’ve created more light in this world than darkness.”
    I pause a moment, imagining my own room of candles. I wonder, have I created more light than darkness? “That’s a beautiful analogy, Dorothy. And you, my friend, cast a very strong light.”
    â€œOh, but I’ve extinguished my fair share along the way.” She searches until her hand finds another set of stones. “These will go to Steven.”
    â€œHow charitable,” I say. “I thought you despised him.”
    I met Stephen Rousseau twice, when I was dating Jackson. He seemed like a decent man. But Dorothy rarely speaks of her ex-husband, except to say that she has no use for the lout who divorced her nine months after she’d had a mastectomy. Though three decades have passed, I suspect neither of Dorothy’s scars has fully healed.
    â€œI’m talking about Steven Willis, my former student. He was a bright boy, but his family life was atrocious. I let him slip through the cracks, Hannah, and I’ve never forgiven myself. I think his brothers still live in town. I’m going to track him down.”
    Such bravery. Or is it? Maybe an apology will soothe Dorothy’s guilty conscience, but might it be an unwelcome reminder to Steven of a childhood he’d rather forget?
    She moves her hand to the next set. “These are for