Chapter 21: The Letter

Joost came out of room four at dawn with his boots in his hand, and found Greet and me staring at an envelope.

Greet looked at him over her coffee.

"Sleep well?" she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thought so. The whole lake heard the bed."

He closed his eyes briefly, and I looked hard at the stone on the porch rail.

"You told me to," he said to me, very low, so only I could hear. "Four times. I counted."

"Don't."

"I'm only saying I kept my word."

"I know you did."

It was almost a smile.

Then he saw what was on Greet's lap, and the smile went.

"Burn it," he said.

"No."

"Femke. It's his hand."

"It's addressed to my son."

"He was a liar, and he cut you out of your chair."

His jaw was tight.

"I won't have his voice in your kitchen. Burn it unread. I'll light the match."

"Then we'll never know what he wanted."

"I know what he wanted. He wanted the boy."

"Not what," I said. "Why."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he sat down at the table, heavily, across from me, and put his hands flat on the wood.

"Read it," he said.

I broke the seal.

The paper inside was heavy and cream-colored, folded in three.

It was written in pencil, in a hand that wobbled and sloped.

I read it out loud, slowly, to a kitchen that did not move.

Grandson,

I will be dead when you read this, so I can say what I like.

The club passes to blood. It always has.

I had a son, and I did not have a grandson, and I was running out of lungs.

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