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A woman who finds notes sent to her anonymously assumes its a sign from Heaven.
I turn away from the groups of people and move a loose hair away from my face.
Sunshine seeps through the empty spots of the blooming trees that surround the table, which is empty, save myself.
Pink and white flowers frame the branches of the Oaks, and I admire their beauty, trying to distract myself from my main thought.
The only reason I had left my apartment, was to think, maybe find a logical answer to multiple questions.
I begin to gather my things, so I can do some research on meanings of the words I now know by heart.
The note is clutched tightly between my palms.
It had only arrived yesterday, laying somewhere towards the bottom of the regular stack of mail left at my door.
There was no return address, no envelope, just a folded piece of beige paper with writing in black ink.
Suddenly, as I am unaware, I hit my shoulder on a figure walking towards the opposite direction.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I say, leaning over to pick up my bag, and the few scattered items that have fallen out.
I cup my hand over my eye to block out the Sun. A silhouette stands before me.
"You dropped this," replies the man as he steps out of the light and kneels to meet my gaze.
Tall and slender, with dark blue eyes. Like Paul's. I hold back my pain.
He holds the note.
I take it and thank him, and when he looks away to help me with the other items, I hide it in my front pocket.
I smile innocently as I rise, bag in hand, and we continue in opposite directions.
When I unlock my door, the tears begin to fall.
The cool air hits my face, and I wipe the sweat off my forehead.
After placing his laptop on my mahogany coffee table, I take out the crumpled paper and carefully unfold it.
Then, I search for answers.

I remember him, my dear husband.
His whispered laugh. His short black hair and the scar under his bottom lip.
It has only been three weeks, I cannot think of him, now.
I push the thoughts, the memories, out of my mind, using all the strength I hold.
I click on the web browser and look at recent searches. This is the first time I've used his laptop since his death.
In the recent searches, I find work addresses and information, music downloads and pictures from our vacations.
Nothing linking me to the note. Suddenly, my eye catches the word "flower delivery Orange County, California."
This puzzles me, as our house lies in Napa Valley.
Not to mention, I haven't received any flowers recently.
Anger overcomes me at once. Is it possible that he could have been cheating on me?
He had been on business trips every other weekend, coming home late at night, leaving early in the morning.
I feel guilty for thinking such things of him, but I have to know the truth.
I fill a glass of iced water and slowly cut a lemon wedge. Time slows. I need more answers.
Who can I trust with this information?
His best friend, Nathan, was always trustworthy.
It was too soon to talk to him about it.
They were like brothers, side by side.
Got eachother through everything
I dial the number and put down the peel covered knife, hands shaking.

A few sniffled greetings and mutual apologies later, I told Nathan about the letters. He was silent for a moment, and then I heard a small cough, sigh and welling tears.
I knew this was a bad idea. But it is too late to back down out of our deal. I say nothing, waiting for an answer, but an answer does not come. I tell him goodbye. We could discuss things another time, when we're both more put together, hearts temporarily healed.

Paul, as I'd known him, had no secrets. He was an honest man.
What could he have been sorry about, if the note was even from him?
Did he write it before his death? Or is he sending me notes from the sky?
I want to believe its not a coincidence.
The sun has already set, and I decide to lie down.
I need to give my mind a rest.

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