Draft 3
What if an envelope arrived to your name and address, but inside was a letter written to someone else thirty years ago?
I've somewhat cheated in order to "finish" this story. There are lots of conversations between the characters that should occur, lots of unanswered questions. The story and idea are pretty good, but the writing is--well, not dreadful but pretty close.
I'm going to perform a heavy revision, trying to improve the writing. I won't be adding the implied second "chapter", at least not right now. But I may add some detail from their trip, letting these people talk more. At the same time, there's a bunch of text that just has to go.
She enjoyed eating cereal for dinner. After a long day, it was simple, nutritious, and excitingly cold. She loved cold foods, especially cold beverages. In her pantry were ten boxes of cereal, and thirteen types of tea from which she could brew iced tea. She would mix the teas--though not all would mix well, such as pumpkin and jasmine--and so have, for her purposes, an infinite variety.
She mixed the cereals, too. Tonight, it was Cap'n Crunch and Alpha-bits. A dessert cereal.
She had measured the portions from the captain's box, and from the box of glyphs, in her traditional two-to-one ratio. Outside, she heard steps, glanced at the clock, waited for the metallic scratch-then-slam.
Six oh five. She secretly believed that the postman could deliver her mail in early afternoon, but instead brought it at this time in hopes of meeting her. He was cute, but she never went outside when he arrived.
She did, however, get the mail soon after it was delivered, wondering if he was somewhere nearby, watching. Creepy? Or nice? She imagined him sighing, then getting into the right hand side of his little truck and driving home, unable to easily stop at a drive through for dinner. She hoped he would instead go to a coffee shop, order a caramel latte and a scone. She saw him cautiously sipping and nibbling, and worrying about the days when she received no letters.
Hot beverages belonged to others, in her view. She placed the milk in the freezer, set the microwave timer for ten minutes, and went outside to get her delivery.
There was one letter, posted to her five days ago, with no return address. She'd have taken it for junk mail, except that it was hand addressed. The most accursed thing she'd seen in the last seven years were junk letters printed to look as if they were hand addressed, and worse, hand written.
Five days ago would be from somewhere on the coast. Or, maybe it got lost.
Or maybe the postman held it back a couple of days ago, when she really had two letters. Kept it aside so that, if an upcoming day was empty, he could still deliver to her.
She opened the envelope with a table knife, and slipped out the paper. The microwave numbers showed eight more minutes. The paper was brownish, and wide ruled. There were four sheets. She could smell the paper, too, and it smelled as if it had been too near a welder's work. She saw, briefly, two iron bars in clamps, and that tight sun fusing them together.
The paper seemed brittle, too, but not so much that it would fall apart. She unfolded carefully. The writing was big, funny looking.
Childish, that was it. The front page said, "Dear Grandma".
In older books, and some movies, they talk about the breath catching in the throat. A "sudden intake", as if the person were blowing a balloon and quickly relaxed and let the air reenter the lungs. Not quite the opposite of a cough, or a sigh. Perhaps the opposite of a gasp. And yet, the two, one explosive the other vacuumed, have the same gripping connotation. Surprise, shock, dismay, the startling realization that something is wrong, but you can't be sure what it is.
Her breath did this. Then she released it quietly through her open lips. Not a whistle. An airy gesture of wonder.
In a few minutes her milk would be ready. She could read the letter before then.
Dear Grandma,
Today was my birthday, and I wish you were here, but Mom says I can write you all about it, so here it goes.
You know we're at the Grand Canyon, because Mom and Dad told you using their new phone before we left. I like that phone, but I wish it was sky blue, that would be a cooler color than brown. Anyway, we're at the Grand Canyon, and we hiked for hours. Dad yelled at me for walking so slow, but I was tired and Mom said so. Later he said he was just hot and bothered. He said I did really well, especially since I was wearing my own backpack! Guess who gave me that! Thank you, that was a big surprise! I love the colors and everything, especially the extra pockets on the side, and the hidden pocket inside the main one. I'm using it to put my pictures in.
The canyon is huge. It doesn't look real, standing near the edge. Mom wouldn't let me get too close, and I got scared because Dad stepped over the rope to take a better picture. Mom was scared, too, but he came back and laughed. I hope it was a good picture. Maybe he'll enlarge it, like he did of Taffy for my room. I hope she's okay, and that the kennel is taking good care of her.
Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be telling you about my birthday. I didn't have a fancy party, but we did go to a Pizza Hut and I got to choose which pizza I wanted, which was peperoni and hamburger. Dad made them put hamburger just on one half, and Mom said that was a good idea. I tried both ways, but liked it with hamburger better. That's the way I had it last summer at your house, remember?
After pizza, we went back to the hotel and I got all my presents, and the card from you with the money! I'll buy you a postcard, and maybe a book with the rest. I got a shirt from Grandma Casey with a drawing of Snoopy on it, and I'm wearing it right now. Mom and Dad gave me a box of colored pencils and paper, a new wind breaker, and a book on space. The space book is really cool. I didn't know there were so many kinds of stars!
Mom is telling me I need to get ready for bed. I hope you can read all this. I tried to print it all except this part that I'm doing in cursive. Can you read that OK? I hope so.
Anyway, I hope the flowers are blooming okay, even without me there to weed the garden (hee hee). Maybe next summer. . . . . .
I love you,
Jeremy
June 21, 1976
The microwave dinged while she was rereading the letter. She took it and the envelope to the kitchen table and layed them down, then set a book on them. She didn't want them to blow off, or have something spilled on them.
In ten minutes, milk becomes, not ice cold, but just enough colder that it can send shivers through your mouth at the first bite of cereal. White liquid mixed with tan, hardened grain powder. Immediately, the words began swirling around the captain's little gold nuggets, and the white ocean slowly metamorphosed to the color of a sandy beach.
Each spoonful brought the same questions. Who had sent the letter to her? Why? Who was the little boy?
Five minutes later, she caught up the bowl in both hands and finished off the remaining milk draught. She had another question that would be answered tomorrow.
Would the postman help her?
* * *
Lester McCain loved street maps. He'd been mad about them ever since he was a kid. He remembered the first time he'd understood that just by following the squiggley lines he could go from
here to
anywhere. Over the years, he'd copy routes onto paper--just around the neighborhood--and follow them. He didn't write down the directions, but instead drew simplified version of the map. Over the years, he'd memorize one or more routes to destinations, then set off for them. Since he wasn't worried about getting lost (he knew
how to get there, after all), he could just enjoy seeing what was along the way.
Lester discovered the patterns of streets, the same way a poet uncovers the lyric sense of language. He could be in a strange city and quickly know how to get out of, or into, the place he wanted to be. People remarked that it was sometimes uncanny that he even seemed to know where the one-way streets would be, or that in a few turns such and such road would become a dead-end.
His favorite street was the cul de sac, defined by the dictionary as "a passage with access only at one end". Not merely a dead-end, but a cartographic box canyon.
He refused promotion to management at the post office, because he wouldn't be able to travel the routes any more. The only reason he'd considered promotion was because it would have meant more money for him and Aggie--especially Aggie and her crooked teeth and hunger for colored pencils and tablets of blank paper. She wasn't much for math, but at only eight years old she could draw a cardinal in flight that would take your breath away. She also drew a pretty mean topographical map. That, she knew, thrilled her old man.
Aggie was out of school each day at 3:30. Lester's years of service allowed him a little leeway with management, and so he could interrupt his route, pick up his daughter, and she'd ride along with him for his final deliveries. This was why Gina Davies received her mail at about six. It was his last stop before returning his truck to the office.
Lester didn't, in fact, have any idea what Gina looked like. He never held back mail. By the time he was closing her mail box, Aggie was usually either complaining about being hungry, or working on her latest artistic creation, and all Lester wanted was to get home, fix dinner, and spend time with his little girl.
It was Aggie who pointed and asked, on Thursday, "Who's that, Daddy?"
He'd seen the woman whom he assumed was Ms. Davies. She was in her early thirties, brunette, pretty enough. She was also clearly waiting for her mail.
Wonder what she's so anxious for? thought Lester. He didn't remember anything special about her small stack of letters. He brought the truck to a stop and smiled at her, friendly and professional.
"Here you go. Hope what you're waiting for is in here."
"Thanks. Uh. Can I ask you a question?"
Aggie was watching the woman, wondering what was keeping them from supper.
"Sure," said Lester.
Gina seemed unsure how to start, but finally showed him an envelope and said, "This arrived yesterday. It was postmarked about six days ago--"
"Sometimes mail takes longer to process. Sorry."
"That's okay. I'm not asking about that. It's the letter inside. It wasn't to me, and it was written thirty years ago. I was wondering if you could help me find out who it came from, or how to get the letter to the right person."
Lester took the envelope from her and took out the letter. She seemed anxious about how he handled it, even saying "Careful, it's old." She was right. It had been written on writing tablet paper, the kind that isn't used so much anymore. He scanned through the letter, noting it was from a little boy to his grandmother, and the letter's date.
"You say it came in this envelope?"
"Yes. You delivered it yesterday."
He almost reminded her that he delivered about a thousand pieces of mail each day, but instead looked more carefully at the envelope. He was no expert on stationary, but being a carrier he'd seen his share. This wasn't an old envelope. Then he came back to the postmark.
"Hmm. It was sent from Kansas City, Kansas. Know anyone there?"
"No. Isn't there some way to find out who sent it?"
This was going to be the hard part. But before he could explain, Aggie jumped in. "What's the letter about, daddy?"
"It's from a little boy to his grandmother, sweetheart," he said.
Aggie peered at Gina. "You don't look like a grandmother," she decided.
Gina smiled. "Well, I'm not. The letter came to me by mistake. And, it was written way before you were even born. In fact, it's almost as old as I am."
"How old is that?" asked Gina, squirming in her seat. She was hungry and curious at once, which usually isn't a good combination in children.
"Gina, that's not something we need to ask," began Lester.
"Oh, it's all right," said Gina. She looked at Aggie again. "I'm thirty-four. How old are you?"
"I'm eight, but I'll be nine in September. And daddy's going to buy me a new bike."
"Maybe," warned Lester.
"Uh uh! You promised!" exclaimed Aggie.
"We'll talk about it later. We need to answer Ms. Davies' question, then get some supper, okay?"
[fix this. Make it really clear that it's now Gina talking, not Aggie]
"Sorry," said Gina, "I didn't know you were trying to get home."
Lester smiled at her. "No problem. The thing is, I don't know any way to find out who sent this. It could have been dropped in any postal box, or come from any house, near the sorting station. It wouldn't even have to be a resident. It could have been someone just visiting from California or New York. Sorry."
She was disappointed. "Well, okay. But, if you can think of something, will you let me know? I just can't understand why someone mailed me this letter."
"Maybe they like you," said Aggie.
"Hush, sweetheart. Ms. Davies, I'll ask around, and if I think of something I'll let you know. But, I've got to tell you, there's lots of mystery mail that never gets explained. The US Post Office does a great job, but . . . well, anyway, sorry I can't help you more."
Gina took back her letter and stepped back. "Thanks. Your little girl is cute."
Lester looked fondly at Aggie. "Yep. But she's also a real pain when she's hungry. Aren't you, pickle?"
Aggie giggled and protested loudly, "Don't call me pickle!"
Lester laughed and said goodbye again, waved, and headed for the office. Gina went back inside her house.
Inside, she sat at her kitchen table and felt disappointed. She couldn't find out who sent the letter, or who it should go to. And the mailman didn't seem at all interested in her.
She took out and reread the letter. Four people were directly involved in this "mystery mail." The sender, the little boy, the grandmother, and her. Six, if she included the boy's parents. There had to be a way of finding one of these people.
* * *
Two days later, on Thursday, Aggie said in her most exaperated manner, "Oh, not again!"
Gina was waiting at her mail box. Lester didn't have any mail for her, today, but stopped at her box, smiling.
"Hi. Nothing for you today. Any more about that letter?"
"I've got a question. Hi Aggie," she said, making a little wave.
"Hi," said Aggie, shortly.
Lester smirked and said, "She's hungry today."
"Oh, okay. I won't take long. I just wanted . . . do you think you can find out which office my letter was sent from? You called it a 'sorting station'?"
"That's right. All the mail goes to a sorting station where it's initially postmarked, then sent to the next station. You could probably find out on line, but I can check if you want. We've got a book."
"That would be great. Here, I copied down all the info, and I made a copy just in case."
Lester took the sheet of paper. "Okay. I'll try to have something for you tomorrow. So, why do you want to know the station?"
"I just thought it might give me some ideas. I'm going to buy a Kansas City map and--well, I don't know after that."
"Huh. Well that sounds like--"
"My daddy has over five hundred maps," announced Aggie.
Lester looked a little embarrassed, but didn't correct her. Gina looked from Aggie to him. "Really?"
Lester nodded. "Yeah. It's a hobby. I, uh, like maps. Guess that's good for a postman, huh?" Clearly he didn't like talking about this.
"Yeah. Um. I don't suppose you could recommend a good one for Kansas City?"
"Rand McNally's always pretty good, and easy to find."
Aggie spoke up again. "He doesn't lend maps, because people don't know how to fold them."
"All right, Aggie," said Lester, then turned back to Gina. "It's kind of a collection. You know, there's that bookstore nearby and they have a pretty good selection."
Gina nodded and said thank you, then went back into her house. Lester started to drive back to the office, commenting "Aggie, sweetheart, you don't need to tell people everything you know about daddy, okay?"
"Why?" she asked, and Lester knew it would be a long drive.
* * *
The next day, Lester warned Aggie in advance that he would be talking to Ms. Davies, and to behave herself. He told Gina the exact address of the station, and asked if she had her map yet. She did, went back inside, and brought it out. Lester got out of his truck, went to the front and carefully, confidently, unfolded the map onto the hood. He pointed to a street in the north area.
"Right here, on Armour Rd."
"Thank you for looking it up. That's great."
"No problem. I hope you don't mind, but I called down there and mentioned your letter. They didn't know anything about it, but said if they heard something they'd let me know. Don't get your hopes up, or anything, but there's always a chance."
"Thanks, again," said Gina. She glanced up and saw Aggie squirming. "Well, I'd better let you go."
Lester had refolded the map, quickly, perfectly, and handed it to her. "I hope you find something."
They said goodbye, and didn't talk again for a week and a half. Gina got busy with work, and didn't have any clue how to find out about the letter. Then, on a Wednesday, there was a knock at her door while she was fixing a bowl of Frosted Flakes (it had been a long day). Lester was at the door, holding out a parcel of mail.
"Hi. Here's you mail."
"Thanks. Wow, personal delivery."
"Well, I was thinking. You might find out something about your letter if you could get some flyers posted around that sorting station. I can't do anything about putting stuff in the post office--that's not allowed. But I bet there's places nearby. Do you know anybody up there, maybe an old friend or relative?"
"That's a great idea, but no, I don't think I've ever known anyone in Kansas City. I called my mom and she didn't think there were any family friends out that way. I guess I could mail flyers to a bunch of places and hope they put them up, but--that would be kind of crazy, right?"
Lester smiled. "I've seen crazier things. Believe me. But a lot of places probably won't put them up. Anyway, just wanted to let you know. Take care."
"Okay," said Gina. "Thanks. I'll tell you if I find out something."
"I'd be interested," he said and went back to Aggie.
* * *
A week later, Gina told Lester that she was going to drive to Kansas City and put up flyers herself.
"That's a lot of work," he said. "You're awfully determined to get to the bottom of this."
"Well, I've never had a real mystery in my life. It would be a shame to let this one slip by. But, I have to tell you, I'm pretty nervous."
"Why?"
Gina looked down. "You'll think it's dumb, but I'm afraid to drive around in places I've never been."
"You've got your map, right?"
"Yeah. But . . . you see, I'm . . . not very good with directions. Or maps."
Lester didn't know what to say. It would be like telling Wolfgang Puck that he wasn't comfortable turning on a stove.
"Um," said Gina, "I'd better get back inside. I just wanted to keep you up to date."
Lester smiled at her. "Thanks. It won't be as bad as you think. Just let the map tell you where to go."
She didn't seem reassured, and Lester decided he'd said the wrong thing. But, it was too late.
* * *
When Lester knocked on Gina's door a few days later, he had Aggie with him.
"Listen, I was thinking about how worried you were about going to Kansas, and about how much solving this mystery is to you. This is going to sound like a weird idea, but I want you to hear me out. I have a couple weeks of vacation time, and Aggie's out of school in a week and a half. Would you like to make the trip together?"
Gina was startled, and it showed.
"Don't," began Lester, "uh, don't get the wrong idea. I'm not trying to start something with you. I'm not ready for anything like that. But don't take that the wrong way, either, I'm sure you're a nice person . . . I'm really putting my foot in my mouth, aren't I?"
Gina couldn't help laughing. "Yes. Yes, you are. I don't know whether to be insulted or grateful. I'm going to settle on grateful. If what you're saying is that you'll drive in Kansas City and any big cities along the way . . . I accept. I think I was going to chicken out, so you're saving the mystery from remaining unsolved."
Aggie had her arms folded. Gina noticed.
"Aggie, what do you think? Would you mind if I joined you on your vacation?"
"I wanted to go to the beach, but Daddy says this will be fun, too. Will you at least take me swimming?"
"You know what? I'll bet there will be a swimming pool in one of the hotels." She looked at Lester. "Motels? Camping? What were you planning?"
"Motels, separate rooms of course. My car is in good shape and gets good mileage. I figured we'd split the gasoline."
Gina had them over for dinner that weekend, both as a thank-you and to finish planning.
The trip took twelve hours, which they split into two days. Lester drove through all cities that Gina deemed too complex, and Gina did her share of driving in between, plus played games with Aggie and read stories to her. She and Lester had made sure each motel had a swimming pool.
* * *
Four days after putting up the flyers, Gina had a phone call. Lester was at the motel pool with Aggie. Gina asked some questions, wrote down an address, a phone number and directions. Then, she went to find Lester and Aggie and tell them the good news. They were on the road in twenty minutes.
* * *
Dr. Peggy Nilson was plump and had long dark hair that she wore in a bun. She greeted Gina, Lester and Aggie cheerfully, and escorted them to her office.
"Jeremy has been living here at Tri County for almost twenty-five years. I'm afraid he's had a hard life. He had a bad fall when he was twelve, which caused brain damage. His parents died in a car accident when he was thirteen, and no living relatives were found. If you hadn't put up your flyers, we wouldn't have known he was sending these letters."
Gina glanced at Lester. "Letters? He's sent more than one?"
"Yes," said Dr. Nilson. "I've talked with him, and he says he's been sending letters for two months. Once every week or two we take some of our residents to the library. Aparently, Jeremy has sent his letters from there. We keep an eye on all our residents, but Jeremy has been with us so long, and he's more reliable . . . we just didn't notice."
"Wait. I'm confused. I've only received one letter."
Dr. Nilson became thoughtful. "Jeremy didn't say much to me. He can be quite taciturn. I assumed that all his letters went to you, though I had no idea why."
"No. Just one. I'm sorry about his condition, but I'm very curious why he sent me a letter he wrote thirty years ago."
"Well, he was probably just confused about the year when he dated the letter."
Lester shook his head and spoke up. "Doctor, I've been a postman for a long time. I'm no expert, but I've seen lots of letters on lots of paper. This letter wasn't written recently. It was written when Jeremy was a kid."
Dr. Nilson looked slightly alarmed. "Are you sure? If you are, then we need to talk with Jeremy. He has several boxes of letters that were sent to him. He also has letters that he sent. His parents--I'd never heard of this, but it turns out to be common--would ask relatives for Jeremy's letters so that he could have them when he was older. He has boxes of photos, too, all dated with little descriptions. That helped us try to track down his relatives, or at least that's what I was told. All that was done before I began working here."
"Can we talk with him, too?" asked Gina.
"As long as I'm with you. Certainly. But he may not be comfortable with people he doesn't know. And your little girl should wait in our playroom."
"Daddy, I want to go with you," said Aggie instantly. She had recognized the "adults only" tone of Dr. Nilson and didn't like it.
"Honey--" Lester began . . . then turned to Dr. Nilson. "If she behaves, I'd like her to come with us. If she becomes a problem, I'll take her out, okay?"
"It's irregular. But, you seem to be a nice couple."
Gina smiled to herself, but didn't bother correcting the doctor. They walked down some hallways and Dr. Nilson finally knocked on a door, glancing at a video monitor before entering.
"Jeremy? You have some visitors."
The room smelled a little too clean. A man was sitting on a couch, watching television. He turned and looked at them steadily, but without particular expression.
"Jeremy, I want to talk with you about the letters you've been sending. Let's turn off the television."
"Am I in trouble?" he asked her. His voice was someone flat, as if his emotions had been dampened either by his accident or by drugs.
"No, Jeremy. We're just very interested. This woman received one of your letters, and she was wondering why you sent it to her."
Jeremy looked at Gina, who smiled at him. He didn't smile back. He stared at Lester, then at Aggie, who squirmed and hid behind her father.
"I don't know you," he said simply, then stood up and went to a closet. Dr. Nilson didn't move. She seemed to be used to this abrupt behavior, and waited patiently. Jeremy rummaged for a few minutes, then returned with a box that he set on the coffee table.
"These are my letters."
Gina took a step forward and pulled her envelope from her purse. "Jeremy, I received this about a month ago. Will you tell me if the letter inside belongs to you?"
He nodded, and when Gina handed him the letter he said, "I sent this to my grandma."
Dr. Nilson took over. "Yes, you did. You sent it a long time ago, during a vacation with your parents. Then, you sent it again from the library."
Jeremy nodded slowly, as if he wasn't sure where this was leading.
"We'd love to hear why you sent the letter from the library."
"I sent it to my grandma," insisted Jeremy.
Dr. Nilson didn't argue. "Jeremy, where did you get the address that's on this envelope?" She handed it to him. Jeremy looked at it for a long time, then handed it back. "The library book."
"Which library book, Jeremy?"
"The phone book in the A's. I want to see my grandma."
Lester got it just ahead of everyone else. "Jeremy? What's your grandma's name?"
Jeremy looked blankly at him for a second. "Dummy. It's my grandma Davies. She's supposed to visit."
Before anyone could interrupt, Lester asked another question. "You've sent her lots of letters, haven't you?" Jeremy nodded. "Which phone book did you use last time?"
"It was in the B's. Boston."
Dr. Nilson took a sharp breath, and Gina looked astonished. She asked, "Jeremy, what is your grandma Davies' full name?"
"Regina Davies. She lives out of town, and she can only visit in the summer, and I'm supposed to visit her, too, but she has to call first."
"Why?" asked Aggie suddenly. Lester shushed her, but Jeremy answered, "To make sure I'm home. Silly snot."
"Jeremy, that's not nice," said Dr. Nilson. "Thank you for talking with us. I'll be back later and we'll talk some more."
"Okay," said Jeremy. He turned on the television and sat on the couch again.
On the way to Dr. Nilson's office, Gina said what they all thought. "He's been sending a letter to each Regina Davies in the phone book, starting with the cities beginning with 'A'. Anaheim, Akron . . . just think how many he would have sent. I'll bet everyone else just threw the letter away."
Lester asked, "I assume his grandmother died some time ago?"
"I'll have to check his records, near my office. I'll meet you there."
A few minutes later, she came in carrying several large folders, and began going through them. After ten minutes, she mumbled "huh", then looked up.
"They didn't find her. The last address for her was wrong, and there was no forwarding information. There's a note in the file that says 'Some indication of family problems. Grandmother presumed deceased. Would likely be unwilling to care for the patient.' Both parents were only children, and the other grandparents were dead."
Gina and Lester were quiet. Then Gina said, "That's really sad. He just wants to see his grandma. He doesn't know if she's dead. I'll bet he just assumed she's alive. What could have caused him to try to find her after all these years?"
"I'll try to find out, but it could have been anything. A television program, something he read, a conversation in the hallway. We'll find a way to stop him sending out his letters, since it would be a shame for them to be lost. I suppose I should just tell him his grandmother's dead, and help him through that."
Aggie tugged on Lester's sleeve, and said in a typical child's stage whisper, "You could find that man's grandma, Daddy."
Lester looked uncomfortable. Aggie was still too young to understand what death meant, but she knew that some people went away and didn't come back.
"Honey, Jeremy's grandma may have gone away where I can't find her."
"Oh. But you found him, right? Can't you find her?"
"I don't think so, sweetheart. Let's talk about it later, okay?"
Aggie folded her arms. "Always later."
Dr. Nilson smiled, then stood. "Well. Thank you for finding out about Jeremy's letter. I've never heard of anything like this before, and it's . . . well, it's truly amazing."
She shook their hands and walked them to the entrance.
The drive back to the motel was very quiet. Aggie was busy drawing. Finally, Gina spoke up.
"Lester, Aggie's pretty smart."
Lester frowned and said, "Thanks. Yes, she is. Why?"
"I know I should feel good about this. The mystery is solved. But I'm just so sad for Jeremy. Maybe he won't understand when Dr. Nilson tells him his grandmother's dead. But, I'm just thinking about all those letters. No, what I'm really thinking about is that. . . ."
"What?" asked Lester.
"We don't know, do we? We don't know if she's alive?"
Lester turned this over. "Jeremy is about forty. If she had him when she was young, his mother today would be about sixty. If her mother had also given birth young, she'd be about eighty. I'm sorry, Gina, but it's not very likely is it?"
"No," she said. "No, you're right."
They arrived at the motel and parked. Before getting out, Lester looked back at Aggie, who was still drawing furiously. He looked sad, all of a sudden.
"I'd want her to know for sure," he said quietly.
He looked at Gina, who nodded. "Looks like we've traded one mystery for another. I'll call Dr. Nilson right now and ask her to not tell Jeremy anything, just in case."
She opened her cell phone and placed the call. Lester was only half listening. He had got out of the car, then into the back and sat next to Aggie. She was drawing a bird's eye view of the hospital they'd just come from, making up the sections she hadn't seen. Gina said, "Thanks, doctor. We'll do our best to find her. No, no. It's no bother. We want to do it. Goodbye," and closed her phone. Lester didn't move to leave. Instead, he patiently waited for Aggie to finish her drawing, answering questions and making suggestions.
"I'll be inside," said Gina quietly, and opened her door. Aggie looked up.
"Do you want me to make you a drawing?" she asked.
Gina turned back, met Lester's eyes briefly, then smiled at Aggie. "Yes, Aggie. That would be very nice."
"Okay," said Aggie. She turned to a blank page and got to work.
Draft 2 |
Final