“Hi, honey,” Dad said. “Lottie and I were just talking about Helen. She was great, wasn’t she? You liked her, right?”
“You know I loved your sister, Sal. Like my own sister.”
Mom swooped into the room, moving so quickly she was almost a blur. But before I knew what was happening she was holding Dad’s wineglass and he was standing up, stretching, yawning.
“Let’s get you to bed,” she said, taking his hand.
“To bed!” he agreed.
He stumbled out of the room before her, and she hung back a second, taking stock of the state of my bed, the letters and the book. She took a step toward me and put her hand on my cheek.
“Are you doing all right, my love?”
“Just sad. But all right.”
“The sadness will always be there,” she said, never one to mince words. “It will never go away. But you will learn to move around it, and then it will fade a little, and then it will be replaced with happiness that you got to be so close to your aunt.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Get some sleep, Lottie.”
She kissed the top of my head and left. I read until dawn.
I woke up early the next morning,Alvin Hatter and the Everlife Societystill open on my chest.
The first thing I thought of was my aunt’s letters. I could open the second one now. She had told me to be okay, I had mostly succeeded, and now I could open her second letter.
I pulled myself up to a sitting position and found it, still on the bed. I opened it carefully, blinking sleep away from my eyes, and began to read.
Dear Lottie,
I told you this letter would be more fun than the first one.
Forgive me for not checking with you (I have the convenient excuse of not actually being around to check with you), but I have taken the liberty of throwing a party. Everything is taken care of. Harryis a good lawyer and an even better friend; he had his instructions, upon my passing, to send out a stack of invitations, to reserve the space, to contact the caterers and florist, to essentially plan my wake. See, I was never one for formal sadness. It’s depressing to everyone who’s alive, and the one it’s for, the dead one (I’m sorry to be blunt; it’s the mood I’m in), can’t even appreciate it. So I want you to have some FUN, Lottie, and that’s why I want you to have a freaking party! And the invitations have been sent, yes, but really anyone can come. The more the merrier!
The party will be held the first Saturday after I’m gone, at a hotel called the Nautilus. I’ve given Harry instructions to book all the rooms: first come, first served. I want you guys to have an absolute blast, and I want you to send me off in style. Sneak some champagne and keep your father away from the red wine. I would have traded my Guinness Book for the chance to be there with you, but I guess that would have defeated the purpose just a little.
Who knows—maybe you’ll even meet somebody interesting. (I have a lot of interesting friends.)
Love, H.
The first Saturday after she was gone was...
Today. That was today. I took the letter and practically ran downstairs, finding Mom at the kitchen table, her headresting on her folded arms. After an overnight she sometimes fell asleep in weird places.
“Mom,” I said, almost shouting, trying not to scare her.
She stirred awake, raising her head and rubbing at her eyes just like a cartoon of a sleepy person.
“Hi, honey. I made coffee.”
“Mom, I have something crazy to tell you.”
She shook herself awake. “Are you okay?”
“Here, just read this.”
I wasn’t planning on letting anyone read the letters, but this one was different. I knew my mom wouldn’t believe it until she actually read it in Aunt Helen’s handwriting.
