The Letter - Chapter 2

I poured boiling water into my favorite porcelain cup – the one with the violets.  A dark brown color emanated from the tea strainer and began to diffuse throughout the clear, hot liquid.  Steam rose, and I inhaled the distinctive aroma of bergamot.  God, I love that scent!  Why don’t I brew Earl Grey more often?  It seemed particularly fitting on this day as I watched a bone chilling rain fall outside my kitchen window.

The doorbell rang. I clutched my bulky cardigan closer as I walked from the kitchen toward the front door.  I felt a twinge of something – regret, perhaps – as I walked past my desk and saw my red pen sitting on top of the packet of lavender stationery.  I looked out the window at the top of my front door to see who had disturbed my solitude.

“Beverly!” I exclaimed, opening the door.  My neighbor and dearest friend.  I would have been annoyed if just about anyone else in the world had been standing on my front porch at that moment.  But not her.  Beverly handed me a small box and turned around to give her umbrella a few good flaps before setting it on the porch floor to dry. 

“What brings you out on a day like this?” I said.  “Please come in.  I was just about to have a cup of tea.  May I make one for you?  And what’s in this box?”

“Lady locks.  A treat to lift your spirits.  And mine too,” Beverly chuckled.  “I bought two of them and hoped you might share one with your favorite neighbor.”

“You hoped I might share one with Mrs. Mulligan?” I teased.  We both laughed.  Mrs. Mulligan is the crabbiest woman in our neighborhood. 

“But seriously,” Beverly continued, “I noticed that you seemed really down . . .and a little distracted when I saw you at the grocery.  Is it Jim?”  Beverly followed me into the kitchen.  “Is that Earl Grey?  I’d love a cup of that.”

I removed the tea strainer from my cup, shook out the spent leaves, rinsed it and refilled it with fresh tea leaves from my purple, tin canister.  I pulled a tea cup from the shelf and put the tea strainer in.  The water in the kettle was still hot.  I sighed as I poured it in.

“No, it’s not Jim,” I said, reflecting on my late husband. 

“Are you sure?  I still get depressed when I think of Jerry, and it’s been ten years since he passed.  You may recall that Jerry retired early so we could enjoy our so-called golden years together.  Two months later, the bastard died on me.  Fifty-eight years old.  I’m never sure whether to be sad or angry when I think of him.  And for you, it’s been what, two years?”

“Nearly two.  No, it makes me sad when I think about it, but I was upset when you saw me at the store because I was thinking about something I did that was so incredibly stupid.”

“Ellie, honey, you are one of the brightest, most level-headed women I’ve ever met.  What could you have done that was so bad?”  Beverly lowered her voice to a whisper.  “Are you having an affair?”

I burst out laughing.  “Beverly, you slay me.  An affair?  I should be so lucky at my age.”

“Your age?”  You’re what – late fifties or early sixties?  You’re a spring chicken.  You’re still young enough to sow some wild oats.  Jim wouldn’t mind.  Those vows were ‘till death do us part.’  He’s dead – game over.  I’m sixty-eight, and I wouldn’t turn away opportunity if he came knocking at my door.  That’s what I say.”

“I say, sit down.  Your tea is ready, and I can’t wait any longer to bite into one of those lady locks.  And then I’ll tell you about the letter I wrote that was probably a huge mistake,” I said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

 

“OK, give me a lady lock, lady,” Beverly grinned and sat down across from me.  “I am all ears.”