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Except for one.
A personal letter with a messy scrawl that’s addressed to me.
Picking up the envelope for a closer look, I don’t recognize the name.
“Clay,” I say, frowning. “Who’s this?”
17
delphine
Delphine,
You don’t know me… but I know you. I knew your mother. Leontine was a special woman. There was never a time she didn’t carry herself with dignity and grace. She stunned the city with her talent and charm for years. Black swan is right.
I’m sure nothing I’ve said about her is surprising, but I am sure you’re wondering more about me. Your mother and I go back… way back. We were good friends who made many memories together.
It deeply saddened me to learn of her passing. The two of us never had a chance to see each other again. That’s how life goes sometimes.
But, as her daughter, I’m sure you’re interested in keeping her memory alive. What if I told you I have some possessions of Leon’s—some of her favorite things—that I’ve come across, and know she would love for you to have?
I would like the opportunity to meet so I can tell you some of my favorite stories about her and give you these precious possessions. Are you available?
A close family friend,
Clay
I stareat the letter in my hands with a frown of confusion. I’ve never heard of a family friend named Clay, nor did Mom ever mention she had any special friends at all.
In the letter, he’s included a photograph of her—an authentic, older photo that seems to have been taken in the early ’80s. She’s so young and beautiful, a twenty-something-year-old, smiling at the camera on what looks like a boat of some kind. The water sparkles behind her and the wind appears caught up in her jet-black hair.
It’s a photo I’ve never seen of my mother. I can tell it’s from before she met Dad.
“Everything alright, Mrs. Mancino?” asks Shonda.
“Hmmm? Yes, sorry. I was distracted by this letter.”
Her eyes shine in interest. “Is that the one postmarked by Clay P.?”
I nod. “He says he’s a family friend.”
“But you’ve never heard of him before?”
“It sounds like he and my mother go way back. Excuse me.”
I fold up the letter, sticking it in the pocket of my sleeveless knit dress, and wander out of the kitchen.
Salvatore and Dominic are still playing when I return. Neither notices me at first, too engrossed in their tickle-belly game. Dominic’s giggles are like a song that rings in the air as he lays on the sofa cushion, squirming against Salvatore’s busy fingers.
“Papa!” he squeals amid his giggles.
“Dom-Dom!” Salvatore teases back. He sweeps him up into his arms again to even more giggles from the thirteen-month-old.
I stand back and smile watching them. It’s not until both Salvatore and Dominic are worn out from their play that I’m noticed.
Salvatore sets Dominic down beside Salt and Pepa on the sofa and meets me halfway across the room.
“You took a while,” he says, kissing my cheek.
