Chapter One
October 2005
A real letter. When was the last time she’d received one? It was probably silly, but a thrill ran through her. The plain envelope was addressed to Mrs. Charles Waite at their old White River Junction address and stamped for forwarding. It bore no return address, but the postmark said “OK.” She knew only one person in Oklahoma, and that woman had stopped communicating a decade or so ago.
She took the letter over to the chair in front of the window, slitting open the envelope as she walked. Inside was a single sheet of lined paper obviously torn from a spiral notebook, about two thirds of the page filled with Emma’s once-familiar script.
Dear Kerry,
I’ve been so bad about Christmas cards, and you just keep sending them.
Anyway, this isn’t about Christmas. It’s about Mom. She died a few weeks ago. We had her living with us for the past couple of years. She was old and tired and lonely, especially since Dad died. Anyway, I started going through some of her stuff, and found a number of things that reminded me of you. She kept clippings about you and Tom and notes you two had exchanged. She even had your high school graduation picture! We arranged for a memorial service back home so her friends who are still around can say their goodbyes. It’s next Sunday. It occurred to me that you might want to know. I hope you get this. I don’t know if you’re even at the same address.
I hope you and Charles are well. Greg is fine, looking forward to retirement, like that’s going to happen before I can retire, too. Both our kids are out of school and in jobs. Hard to believe. In spite of my guilt and best intentions, you probably won’t get a Christmas card from me this year either, so Merry Christmas.
Fondly,
Emma
Kerry leaned back in the chair, trying to absorb the note, chuckling at Emma’s endearing quirkiness. As for her news, she wasn’t sure what she felt. It wasn’t that Mrs. Crandall’s passing was an immediate loss. She hadn’t seen or spoken to the woman in years. Rather, it was all of what she associated with someone who was once so special to her. It was Emma’s remark about the newspaper clippings. The reminders of that old relationship.
And it was the time of the year that made Kerry more vulnerable than usual, unleashing so many feelings. The weight of regrets. The torrent of memories.