Love Letter

Ian:

Some would think I would have Stockholm syndrome since I have been locked up in this tiny cabin for two months. Since New Year, I had done nothing but work on writing. Amanda had stayed with me a week after the New Year until I freaked out on her and told her she had to leave. She was tip-toeing around me; she was too much to handle. I started cursing at her after telling me I should just go to NYC and apologize. Like an apology could fix what I had done. I know Jack Daniels had helped me be so brutal to Amanda. She must have known this as well since she left me her car and had Kevin give her a ride back to the city. I had stocked the deep garage freezer full of pizza and chicken strips, anything that I could pop in the oven and be done with it.

The only human interaction I had was when I would go into town into the Book Store and have my weekly coffee with Mrs. Frankel. Since the first time I had picked Lynne her coffee up from there, I had been doing this. I didn't mean for it to happen, but something about Mrs. Frankel was peaceful to talk to her. As far as that, there was nothing else. I was getting calls from Jimmy asking when the next rough draft would be turned in, but I eventually kept my phone silent and let all his calls go into voice mail.

I was doing better until my sister had called and left a voicemail for me. All she said was, "Hey Ian – I saw Lynne today. She looks almost as bad as you had the day I left. Give me a call. Please." It had come to the point that my sister was pleading with me to call her back. This was the longest I had gone without talking to her, and I knew it was killing her to not know if I was doing okay.

Amanda picked up after the second ring "Ian, about time you call me. How are you doing?" she asks.

"Amanda, I am sorry for how I treated you. I was heavily under the influence, and I am sorry." I say.

"I know. I know. I take it you got my voicemail?" she asks.

"Yes," I say. "Why did you see her? How?" I ask, wanting to know everything.

My sister divulges how bad Lynne looked like she had quit eating altogether.

"That bad... Can you do something for me?" I ask her.

"Anything," she responds.