Free Sweet Forgiveness by Lori Nelson Spielman

summer studying poetry and visiting the romantic countryside before returning home. The two of us spent hours perfecting our application essays. My goodness, the wastebasket in the commons was littered with pieces we’d written and scrapped.
    â€œThe night before the postmark deadline, Paddy and I sat in the commons, reading our final essays aloud to each other. I nearly cried when he read his.”
    â€œIt was that touching?”
    â€œNo. It was that abominable. I knew he’d never get accepted.
    â€œThat night I didn’t sleep a wink. I was quite confident that I’d receive the scholarship. I had the grades and a fine essay, if I can be so bold. But I didn’t want to go without Paddy. And it would break his heart if I got the scholarship and he didn’t.
    â€œI made a decision the next morning. I wouldn’t apply.”
    â€œHe was okay with that?”
    â€œI never told him. Together we went to the mailbox, but unbeknownst to him, the envelope I slid into the slot was empty.
    â€œThree weeks later, Paddy got the news. He’d been accepted.”
    â€œAccepted? Oh no! You really could’ve gone together.”
    â€œHis parents were so pleased. He’d be studying in their home country. I tried to hide my surprise . . . and my regret. He was over the moon and convinced that I’d hear my own good news soon. I certainly couldn’t tell him I had so little faith in him that I’d disqualified myself.
    â€œI waited two days before telling him I’d been rejected. He was sick about it. He swore he wouldn’t go without me.”
    â€œSo you both lost out.”
    â€œNo. I told him he’d be a fool to stay back, that I’d be waiting to hear all about it come September. I absolutely insisted that he go.”
    â€œAnd he did?”
    â€œHe left in June. I never heard from him again. He ended up staying in Dublin for twenty-five years. Became an architect. Married an Irish lass and had three sons.”
    â€œAnd today he finally apologized for leaving you?”
    â€œLike me, Paddy knew he wasn’t competitive for the coveted award. And he, too, hated the idea of our separation. He needed something to boost his odds of getting the scholarship. That night in the commons, he took one of my discarded essays from the trash. Later, he retyped it. Apparently it was a lovely essay about the importance of family and finding our roots.” She lifts her hands. “I haven’t the foggiest recollection of it.
    â€œHe claims that’s how he got accepted. My essay. Imagine that. He’s been wallowing in guilt all these years.”
    â€œWhat did you tell him?”
    â€œWell, I forgave him, of course. I would have forgiven him years ago, had he asked for it.”
    â€œOf course you would have,” I say, wondering what might have been, had Patrick Sullivan trusted Dorothy’s love. “What a story.”
    â€œThese stones, Hannah, they’re more popular here than a new male resident.” She laughs. “At our age, the stones give us the opportunity to clear the air, to make amends before the final curtain, so to speak. It’s a wonderful gift Ms. Knowles has given us. A group of us residents are going to see Fiona when she’s at Octavia Books on the twenty-fourth. Marilyn’s coming, too. Perhaps you’ll join us.”
    â€œMaybe,” I say. “But I’m still not convinced. A stone seems hardly sufficient for stealing someone’s essay. Or bullying someone, for that matter. Seems like people are being let off the hook a little too easily.”
    â€œYou know, I’ve been thinking the same thing. Some grievances are just too big for a stone, or even a boulder. There are times when a simple apology isn’t enough. Times when we deserve a little comeuppance.”
    I think of my mother and feel my pulse quicken. “I agree.”
    â€œThat’s why I’ve yet to