I picked up my book and walked into the kitchen to
fix myself a cup of tea. I thought of my
conversation with George Leskovic. He’s
still a nice guy, I thought. What a
shame to be embroiled in this custody fight with his ex-wife. Well, Marnie did say she was the cause of
their divorce. I poured the boiling
water into the cup and watched it change from clear to brown. But kidnapping their daughter? How could she do that? George said her husband is an attorney. He should know better.
I tried to picture George in my mind as the tea got
darker. I had seen his profile picture
on his Facebook page, but still pictured him with the dark, curly hair he had
back in high school. Well, I sure look
different than I did back then. I tried
to picture how I had looked forty plus years before. I removed the tea leaves and added sugar and
a touch of milk. I picked up the teacup
and my book and walked to the sofa. I
placed the cup on my coffee table, switched on the lamp behind the sofa,
wrapped myself in an afghan and curled up on the sofa, determined to finish Gilead
before the day was done.
I read a page and started on the next page before I
realized I had no idea what I had just read. I started again and tried to
concentrate. That worked for a paragraph
or two, but after that, I realized I was distracted by my thoughts of
George. I thought about how anxious he
must feel worrying about his daughter and how he was going to get her
back. I thought about his article and
the scary and threatening comments from people that disliked the views he had
expressed. I pictured a crazed gun owner
lying in wait for him, studying his movements and making plans to remove George
as a threat to restrict his gun rights.
I took a sip of tea and pulled the afghan closer to
me. I decided I was glad that I had
called George. He sounded friendly,
though clearly concerned about his daughter.
I hope I was able to help calm his anxiety by providing a sympathetic
ear to listen to his concerns. I just
wish there was something more I could do to help him. I could do some internet research on
kidnapping as it relates to child custody, but George is a lawyer. And he has a lawyer. I’m sure I couldn’t come up with any
revelation they haven’t already considered.
I saw my purse sitting by the front door where I
left it after coming home from church.
The letter that Beverly had returned to me was sticking out of one of
the pockets. I had planned to throw it away,
but now I wondered if I should send it to George. If his suspicions were correct about his
ex-wife sending it, perhaps it could somehow help him with his custody
fight.
I should see what Beverly thinks about this. No, I decided, sending it is the right thing
to do regardless of what Beverly might think.
I know I had told George I was done with letters, but I had to write
something to him if I sent along that letter.
Now that I had talked to him, I was less nervous about what I should
write. I unwrapped myself from the
afghan, finished my cup of tea and walked over to my desk. I sat down and pulled out a sheet of my
lavender stationery, picked up my red pen and started to write.
Dear George,
. . ..
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