PART 49 — THE LETTER THAT BELONGED TO LUCY
The letter arrived in February.
This time, my mother asked before sending it.
She wanted to write to Lucy.
She said I could read it first.
She said there did not have to be an answer.
I told her I would consider it.
Then I spoke with Lucy.
We were folding towels on the living room floor.
She had made three neat piles and one pile she described as experimental.
“Grandma would like to write you a letter,” I said.
Lucy looked up.
“What about?”
“I think she wants to apologize in writing.”
“Again?”
“Yes.”
She folded a corner of the towel against her knee.
“Do I have to read it?”
“No.”
“Can you read it?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me if it says anything strange.”
I smiled.
“All right.”
Two weeks later, the envelope came.
It was addressed to me, with a smaller envelope inside bearing Lucy’s name.
I opened it at the kitchen table.
My mother’s handwriting looked familiar and different at the same time.
Perhaps because the sentences were.
Dear Lucy,
You were right when you said you were not bad.
You asked about your mother because you loved her and wanted her at the table.
There was nothing wrong with that.
I was angry, and I treated you cruelly.
I helped keep you in a locked room.
I knew you were hungry.
Then I blamed your mother instead of telling the truth.
None of that was your fault.
You do not need to visit me, hug me, answer this letter, or say that everything is all right.
I am sorry for what I did.
Grandma.
I read it twice.
Then I put it in a drawer until Lucy came home.
She asked about it before I could mention it.
“Did it come?”
“Yes.”
“Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
“Anything strange?”
“No.”
She considered that.
Then she said, “You can read it to me.”
We sat on the sofa.
Benjamin rested beside her, his bent ear touching her arm.
I read slowly.
When I finished, Lucy took the page.
She looked at the first sentence for a long time.
“She wrote that I was right.”
“Yes.”
“And she knows I wanted you there.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Why didn’t she know then?”
I took a breath.
“I think she knew you wanted me.”
“She didn’t treat that kindly.”
Lucy looked down.
“Because she was mad at you.”
“That was part of it.”
She traced the edge of the paper.
“But I wasn’t you.”
“No.”
“You weren’t.”
For a moment, she looked so young that I wanted to lift her into my lap.
Then she folded the letter herself.
Not neatly.
One corner stuck out.
“Can I keep it?”
“Yes.”
She stood.
I expected her to put it with the cards and schoolwork.
Instead, she carried it upstairs.
Later, when I passed her room, I saw the envelope tucked inside the rabbit book.
She had chosen where it belonged.
I did not move it.
PART 50 — THE ANSWER SHE DID NOT SEND
For three days, Lucy wrote replies.
She used different paper each time.
A blue sheet.
A page from her school notebook.
The back of a drawing.
She did not show me the words.
I did not ask.
On the fourth evening, she came into the kitchen carrying all three.
“I don’t want to send them.”
“All right.”
“Is that rude?”
“No.”
She spread them on the table.
The first began with thank you.
The second began with I remember.
The third contained only one sentence.
I wanted you to open the door.
I sat down.
Lucy watched me.
“I keep trying to write more.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But it looks too short.”
“It says something important.”
She stared at the sentence.
Then she asked, “Would she be sad?”
“Probably.”
Her face changed.
I reached for her hand.
“That doesn’t mean you’ve done something wrong.”
“But I don’t want to make her sad.”
“I know.”
We sat quietly.
Then I said, “You’re allowed to keep words for yourself.”
“Even if they’re about somebody else.”
Lucy looked at the three pages.
“Can I put them away?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe when I’m bigger.”
“Maybe.”
“And maybe never.”
“Yes.”
She gathered the papers.
Then she went upstairs.
I remained at the table.
There had been so many years when I believed every feeling needed to become a conversation.
If I could explain myself clearly enough, perhaps Mom would understand.
If I could find the right words, perhaps she would stop.
Lucy had written the truest sentence in the house.
She did not owe it to anyone.
LAST PART 3-Christmas supper was off-limits to my 7-year-old daughter………….
