The Letter - Chapter 11

I poured the freshly brewed tea into each of our cups and sat down at the kitchen table.

“OK, Beverly, what do you think?  Is there any way to make a silk purse out of the sow’s ear that I’ve told you about?”

“Well, Ellie dear.  You’ve got lots of options.  First of all, sows have a right to keep their ears firmly attached to their heads.  You’re under no obligation to fix this.  You can just let this go.”

“So you’re advising me to do nothing?”

“This is a discussion, Ellie” Beverly smiled.  “We need to take a clear-eyed look at your options before we decide on a course of action,”

“All right.  But I don’t feel good about the ‘do nothing’ option.  Unless he’s changed drastically, George is a nice person.  I don’t want to burst into his life with a mysterious letter and then disappear without a trace.  Somehow that seems cruel,” I said.

“So then we go to Plan B, or option 2, however you want to label them.”

“Option 2 it is.”

“So under option 2, you need to communicate with dear George in some manner.  How about just ringing him up on the phone?”

“I don’t have his phone number.”

“Ellie, you’re just creating barriers.  You have his name and address, and you have the all-knowing internet.  I’m sure you can find his number in just a couple of mouse clicks,” Beverly said, brushing back a strand of her silver hair.

“Of course, you’re right,” I said taking a sip of my tea.  “I just would feel so awkward.  I’d probably lose my nerve if he answered. I might just hang up.”

“You sound like a nervous teenager.  What do you have to lose?”

“Well, it would be so out of the blue.  I would say, ‘Hello, George.  This is Eleanor Barnhart.’ No, that’s my married name. I mean, ‘This is Eleanor Kosko.’ And he’d say, ‘Who?  I don’t know any Eleanor Kosko.’  And then I’d slowly melt like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day and seep into the floor boards as the receiver fell to the floor, and the last thing I’d hear would be his voice from the telephone receiver saying, ‘Who is this, really?  If you’re selling something, I don’t want any, so goodbye.’ Click.”

“Hmm.  I think someone is in dire need of a shot of self-confidence.”

“Oh, God, Beverly.  I’m sure you’re right.  But I really don’t think I can make that phone call,”  I sighed.

Beverly took a sip of her tea.  “Moving on to option 3 – telegraph.  By the way, do you have any cookies?” she asked glancing at the empty plate where her lady lock had been.

“Be serious,” I said.

“I am.  At least about the cookies,” Beverly teased.

I got up and walked to the counter and brought the cookie jar back to the table.  “I hope you like ginger snaps.”

“Love ‘em.  So long as they’re snappy.  Nothing worse than soggy ginger snaps.”

“I just picked them up at Trader Joe’s. Enjoy,” I said taking the lid off the jar and offering it to my friend.

“OK, so no telegrams.  That leaves carrier pigeon, email or snail mail.  How about another letter?”

“That’s sort of what I was thinking.  What should I say?”  I reached into the cookie jar and grabbed a handful of cookies.  “This is going to spoil my appetite for lunch.”

“You need energy to think,” Beverly said.  “And anyway, who says we can’t have cookies for lunch?” Beverly said with a wink.  “Go get a pen and paper.  You dictate, and I’ll write.  We’ll knock out a draft, and you can review and revise before you copy it onto your famous lavender stationery and douse it with perfume!”

“You’re incorrigible,” I giggled as I got up to get a pen and pad.  Beverly was making me smile again.