The Letter - Chapter 10

I hit the speed dial number on my phone to call Liz.

“Jen?  Hi.  Where the heck have you been?” Liz asked.

“We were excused from classes for rehearsal week.  Did you come to the play?”

“Of course!  I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!  You were amazing as Miss Barrett! That was a huge part.  I’ve never seen Up the Down Staircase before.  You’re a natural.  I would have congratulated you, but you were absolutely inundated with fans.”

“Thanks,” I said.  Yeah, even my mom was there, along with her jerk husband.  Anyway, I guess my part was a good fit, since I want to be an English teacher.  And I haven’t ruled out teaching in an inner city school like the one in the play.  Those kids need good teachers too.”

“I agree.  Anyway, the play was over a week ago.  I was afraid your dad might have grounded you after the whole letter disaster, since I hadn’t heard from you.”

“Well, I did follow your advice and confess I’d taken the letter.  My dad rushed to the basketball game in the middle of that snowstorm, but he and the mystery lady never connected.  I’m not sure what happened.”

“So what did he do to you?” asked Liz.

“Actually, nothing.  I mean I gave him the letter and was literally bawling as I tried to tell him how sorry I was.  I waited for the other shoe to drop after he returned from the game, but he didn’t do anything.”

“Well, who can understand parents, right?  So where have you been?  I mean, I’ve seen you around in school since the play, but you seemed like you were in a haze.”

“Yeah, well, Dad’s been super depressed since getting stood up at the game.  I found the letter in his wastebasket.  I’ve been trying to figure out if there’s anything I can do to help.  I’d like to give that woman a piece of my mind.”

“Maybe, it wasn’t her fault.  Shit happens as they say.  Maybe something kept her from the game.  Maybe she got into an accident or something.”

“I guess anything is possible.  She was coming from out of town.”

“Yeah, where is she from?”

“I don’t know.  You remember.  No signature, no return address.”

“Yeah, a true mystery. . . . Hey, Jen.  You know what?  We should try to solve this mystery – you and me.  I always wanted to be like Nancy Drew.”

   

“But there are no clues.  A detective needs clues to solve a mystery.”

“I never said it would be easy.  Come on.  This can be fun, and you can redeem yourself from disappointing your father.”

“Maybe you’re right.  It might be worth a try anyhow.”

“That’s right.  Tell your dad you’re coming to my house to study after school tomorrow.  I’ll tell my mom to plan on you having dinner with us.  That will give us a few hours to get started.  Bring the letter and any other clues you can think of.   In the meantime, I’ll brush up on my Nancy Drew.  I have a bunch of them here on my bookshelf.”

“Yes, Liz.  We can be guided by Nancy.”

“Hey, Jennifer!  I‘d forgotten about this.  There’s one on my shelf called Nancy’s Mysterious Letter!  What do you think of that?”

“It will no doubt lead us directly to the mystery woman,” I responded with a chuckle.  Talking to Liz always makes me feel better.  I guess that’s what friends are for.

The Letter - Chapter 9

I felt depressed and angry as I drove home from the basketball game.  I wasn’t sure whether I was angrier at Jennifer for taking the letter or at myself for acting like a foolish school boy running after a non-existent romance.  But before I got back home, I realized that there was nothing to be gained by punishing my daughter.  Jennifer was mortified by what she had done.  She cried almost uncontrollably when she gave me the letter and confessed that she had broken the trust that had built up between us over the year since her mother had walked out on us.  Nothing more could be gained by grounding her, which was about the only punishment I could give her that made any sense.  I mean, you can’t spank a 17-year old.  Taking her phone would only mean I couldn’t reach her, and she couldn’t call me to let me know where she was.  She needed her laptop to do her school work, so taking that away made no sense.  I suppose I could have deprived her of watching TV, but honestly, I would be punishing myself.  I really enjoyed watching television with her and sharing a bowl of popcorn.

No, I concluded that her embarrassment of telling me she had taken and read my letter was punishment enough.  Rightly or wrongly, I decided that any further punishment actually would have made my daughter feel less guilty about what she did.

The day after getting stood up at the basketball game, I picked up the letter and re-read it searching for clues that might lead me to the sender’s identity.  I double-checked the date of the game to be sure I hadn’t gotten it wrong, but there was no doubt that I had gone to the right one. 

I asked Jennifer, “Do you think it’s possible that your mother sent this as some sort of cruel joke?”

“Well, I definitely smelled Wind Song on the letter, but mom stopped using that ages ago.  You remember when I was in middle school and decided I was a fashion expert?   I talked Mom into changing perfumes to something I thought was young and trendy.  I don’t even remember what it was.  I mean, Mom can be nasty, but I don’t think she would play that kind of trick on you.”

I tried to put it out of my mind, but the letter and its sender kept coming back to my thoughts.  Perhaps I was the one that stood her up.  I hadn’t shown up until the game was practically over.  Maybe she left early because she didn’t see me, or maybe she just got cold feet waiting and decided to leave.  It continued to bother me over the next week.  I remembered the team schedule the students had given to me.  It actually contained a list of the members of the team, along with their height, class and other statistics.  I pored over the list to see if any of their last names rang a bell.  They didn’t.  I even pulled out my old high school yearbook to be sure, but there were no matches.  I tried to visualize being in my sophomore English class and looked around in my mind’s eye to see who was there with me.  But I drew a total blank.  It was just too many years.  I thought about the last class reunion I had attended.  Unfortunately, I had skipped the one that had occurred last fall.  And outside of a few good friends, I couldn’t remember who had attended the previous one.

No, I decided it was a hopeless puzzle and tossed the letter into my wastebasket.