I stared. “Another surprise?”
The manager smiled. “She said you’d probably complain.”
Inside was another letter.
Apparently, Margaret had decided one farewell wasn’t enough!
“Another surprise?”
“Dear Tommy,
“If you’re reading this, congratulations. You’ve finally done something useful with my bakery. I knew you’d worry about running it. You worry about everything, including whether your sermons are too long. They are, by the way.
But I also knew you’d find a way to help people with it. Kade and I built it together. He was a good man, and he would’ve liked you. Mostly because you’d make him look like a better cook.
“You’ve finally done something useful.”
“I loved my life with him. And I loved finding you again. Being your wife was a gift I never expected. Don’t spend the rest of your life wishing we’d had more time. Be grateful we found each other at all.
Love isn’t something you finish giving, Tommy.
Keep going.
Your loving wife,
Margaret.
P.S. If you ever change the name of Tommy’s Terrible Toast, I’ll haunt you.”
“Keep going.”
I folded the letter carefully.
My eyes were wet, but I was smiling.
For the first time since her funeral, I didn’t feel quite so alone.
***
Six months later, “Margaret’s Table” was serving meals twice a week.
Denise continued running the bakery, Wade helped oversee the finances, and I remained the pastor of our church.
My eyes were wet.
Every Saturday, I stopped by for coffee and a piece of Tommy’s Terrible Toast.
Sometimes, I brought flowers for Margaret’s photo.
Sometimes, I simply sat there, remembering her laughter.
***
One morning, Wade joined me. “Think Mom knew we’d end up doing this together?”
I brought flowers for Margaret’s photo.
I smiled. “Your mother knew more than she ever admitted.”
He pointed at my plate. “Another piece of toast?”
“Of course.”
I looked at Margaret’s photo. “After 45 years apart, she finally got me back. Then, she left me a bakery with a dish named after my greatest cooking failure.”
“Another piece of toast?”
Wade burst out laughing.
I laughed too.
Margaret and I hadn’t gotten the lifetime together we’d once imagined.
But she’d left me something lasting.
A family connection. A purpose. And a place where lonely people could share a meal.
She’d left me something lasting.
I still wear my flea-market wedding band.
And every time someone orders Tommy’s Terrible Toast, I smile.
Because somehow, decades after prom, my first love had finally taught me how to feed people.
Without burning anything.
I still wear my flea-market wedding band.
