Chapter 22: The Letter

"I'll read it upstairs," I said. "By myself."

Mom half rose from her chair, and Dad put two fingers on her sleeve.

"Take as long as you need," Dad said.

I went up to the room with the blue quilt and sat on the bed with the envelope on my knee.

It held three sheets of lined paper, folded in thirds.

The handwriting slanted harder at the end of each line.

"Quinn,

"You told me to write as myself.

"I tried to write it nicely four times, and this is the fifth try.

"You asked me on the counter if I'd ever be sorry.

"I told you I was sorry it didn't work, and that was true.

"Here is the rest.

"I knew the night you posted the train ticket.

"I read 'I made it, I'm coming home,' and I typed 'Drop the act' under it.

"I did it because if you came in the door starving, they would look at you and see it.

"I wanted you not to arrive.

"I'd like to say I never thought you might die.

"I thought about it for about as long as it took the pie to cool, and then I carved the turkey.

"The phone started two years ago, with small messages about money that were almost nice.

"Then came the August of the divorce, and I was seventeen.

"Dad's lawyer left a folder on our kitchen table, and I wanted them to stop treating me as the last thing left in the house.

"I sent the two messages you heard read at the table.

"They screamed at each other that night, and for once neither of them asked me what the other had said.

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