The Letter

I look at the letter on my desk and spend an hour rereading the words. No, that's not true. I spend days reading the letter. When I eat and pass my office, I read it. When I'm ready to go to bed, I turn on the light to prepare to get up and to read it. I put it in a place my butlers will see it and return to me.

Dear--

When you get this, it means that I have passed on. As I am writing this, I am dying. An infection in the lungs, they say. There is nothing the doctors can do.

I know we have not spoken in quite a long time— but I was hoping that you remembered your promise to me. I have a son. Just me, just my son. And when I die, he will be alone.

I have written to our other brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles with no reply. You are my last hope before I fear he will be in the hands of a nun in the next country over...

There is more to the letter. Details upon details that sow the chasm between us like it hadn't been twenty years. I realize in my study. I realize too late that the feeling in my chest is grief and loss and I let it take me for a few days. I take its hand as it leads me aimlessly into my drawers with old pictures and I rock on our porch. When my wife asks me "are you okay?" It makes me say yes and hand her the torn envelope in the same whispy, white breadth.

She looks up at me with tears in her eyes and mouth wide open and her gaze begs me 'is it true? Is it true?' I think the shock made me forget that there was a time where children filled up our every waking thought, and it filled us with longing that sat and grew moldy like stagnated water. Instead, she asked me, "What's their name?"

"His name is Wallace." I croaked, and when she wrapped her arms around me she pushed her hand into mine—and pulled grief's fingers off.

I followed her with arms clasped behind my back, ordering the butlers to 'open the windows! No, not that wide—there, perfect. I can always count on you to make my house fit for my child— has the bed come in yet?'

Her joy filled the entire manor and while it felt muted and far away, it felt more real than my sibling's death.

"Do you think Wallace will like apple pie?" She asked, smacking her powdery hands together.

"I think Wallace will look so handsome in this." She said, sewing him a peacoat, "whatever, I'll adjust it as needed. I just hope he likes it."

Again, her every waking thought was filled with children, children, children.

She made me promise that I would ask him about his favorite things when I went to fetch him and let him about the preparations. Her preparations. She looked more at ease when I agreed.

He was a very small boy. I don't know if he was always small—my sibling wasn't. Their 'sickness' stole their health away when they were young.

Wallaces tugged at his sleeves and his waistband and his pant legs. When I stepped out of the carriage, I put my hand on the small of his back and asked him if he was okay.

"Yes." He said in a tone that made me think that he was still in denial. I squeezed his shoulders and told him it was time to come home.

*

I thought I would, but I didn't regret telling him all the stories from our youth—dutifully leaving out the events that would later lead to our massive distance. That was for later. That was when anger seized his heart and he demanded answers from me like I knew he would.

"—And he wanted me to suck in—but I knew it had dirt in it, you see—"

"And he said 'if a cat can do it, so can I!' Famous last words, child—"

And he laughed. He laughed so hard that the noise seemed too big for him. And he surprised me by offering some of his own stories. My face hurt from smiling, my stomach hurt from laughing. My eyes stung as I came to realized that the person I thought was cold and callous had grown and flourished—flourished!—and I can see that Wallace was loved.

"Are you crying?" He asked softly, and I let out a noise that was partly a sob.

I wanted to say I miss them. I regret I didn't see you two grow together. I hate that our family drove a wedge between us. I wish we didn't have to meet like this.

"You're just like them," I said.

"I've been getting that a lot lately," He said glumly as he propped his face up with his hand. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he continued, "but I never really knew who that person was. Until now."

A silent and mutual thank you passed between us.