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“What is?”
“Everything.”
“Bad different or good different?”
“Some of both.”
“Yeah.” Her hair smells like fruit. Cherries. “It’s that way for me, too. You think you could ever get used to it?”
“Probably.”
We’re quiet for a minute. Her body is loose in my arms. Relaxed.
“I love you, West,” she says.
And Christ, it feels good.
It feels solid. Strong enough that we can build on it. Sweeter than I expected, because she hasn’t said it in months.
I hold my baby sister for a long time.
“You ever think about what I asked you? If you could do anything, be anybody, what you would want?”
“Not really.”
I kiss the top of her cherry-scented head.
Say, “Start.”
The package from my grandma shows up a few days into January. At first I think it was delayed by bad weather, but the postmark shows she didn’t mail it until December 29.
Inside, there’s a backgammon set wrapped up for Frankie, a new afghan big enough to cover the back of the couch, and a lumpy envelope with my name on it.
I slip the envelope into my pocket. Later, when Frankie’s gone dancing back to her room and Caroline’s talking to Paul on her headset, I put my boots on and take the letter out on the landing at the top of the stairs.
I read it holding my breath.
Dear West,
Michelle showed me the book you sent her with your pictures in it. It looks like you and your sister are doing good.
I’m sending you my 5 yr. chip from AA. I’m going to get my 10 yr. next month. I don’t know what you’d want with it, but it’s something I’m proud of, like you are.
I wish I could give you more. I never knew how to make things right with you.
Your uncle Jack doesn’t talk about the trial anymore. Stephanie says they got a letter from the lawyer saying he’s given up the case so I guess that’s over with.
Write to me when you can and tell me how you’re doing.
I’ll keep an eye on your mother.
Love,
Joan
It makes me fucking cry, that letter. I don’t know why.
Maybe because of the things that are so obvious, she doesn’t even have to say them.
