Chapter 7 - THE LETTERS
There were twenty-two letters.
All from Laura.
Ages:
Ryan two.
Three.
Four.
Six.
Eight.
Ten.
Thirteen.
Sixteen.
Eighteen.
Then fewer.
Diane kept them inside a locked file cabinet in the basement.
Ryan sat on the floor reading.
Laura never demanded money.
Never threatened.
Never called Diane a kidnapper.
She wrote:
I hope he likes school.
Does he still hate peas?
Please tell him I remember the way he slept with one fist under his chin.
At Ryan’s thirteenth birthday:
I know he probably thinks you are his mother. I will not take that away. But please don’t erase me completely.
Ryan stopped reading.
Claire sat beside him.
He whispered:
“She knew.”
Claire looked at him.
“She knew I thought Diane was my mother.”
“Yes.”
“And she let it stay that way.”
Claire did not answer for Laura.
Good.
Then Ryan opened the letter marked AGE 18.
Diane had never shown it to him.
Ryan, if you ever want to know me, I will answer every question honestly. If you never do, I will still be grateful you are alive.
Address:
Portland, Maine.
Phone number.
Old now.
At the bottom:
I am not asking you to choose between mothers.
Ryan covered his face.
Then one final envelope.
Returned mail.
Seven years earlier.
Laura Bennett
ADDRESS UNKNOWN.
Ryan looked at Diane.
“When did you stop sending updates?”
Diane said:
“When you were six.”
“Why?”
“Because every letter made me feel like I was borrowing you.”
There.
May you like
Not protection.
Fear of losing.
