reach up to steady Binka as we head back to our sun chair. She hops off my shoulder when I sit down, then runs sideways with her tail arched and electrified. She disappears into our bedroom while I sit by myself and commence staring at the thin cardboard in my hands. I stare so hard at the part that says “pull here,” complete with arrows just in case you don’t know which way to go with the pulling, that my eyes start to burn a little. I flip the cardboard over and stare at my name in Officer Archie’s all-caps handwriting. Binka scratching in her litter box and meowing quietly to herself wakes me up a little. I need to blink and when I do there are tears.
I “pull here” and the package opens. I’m left with a curled strip of cardboard I set aside for Binka. She’ll go full spaz when she sees it, probably hide it behind a bookcase like she does her kibble.
There are two envelopes inside. One says “For Lily, from Archie.” The other simply says “Lilybeans.” The one with Lilybeans is in my mom’s calligraphic handwriting.
I stare at the letters for a long time. The bees start up with their humming—a full hive, no messing around with just one or two. Before I go I notice a pattern in the buzzing. There are the bees and then quiet and then the bees again. The pattern repeats once before I’m pulled in.
* * *
When I come back, I’ve still got the letters in my hands and my cell phone’s playing a tune. Binka’s curled up in my lap again, asleep. A whole hour’s gone by according to the clock on the wall.
I shake my head and reach for the phone on the table next to me. Binka’s cardboard strip is gone. I missed her full spaz.
“Hello?”
“Lily? Where have you been?” Margie is panicked.
“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear the phone. I was napping.” The lie is easy when I think about Margie’s fear.
She’s quiet for a minute. “Really napping or the other?”
“Napping. Honest, Aunt Margie. Mom’s letter came.” I know this will distract her.
“Have you read it?”
“No, not yet. Should I wait until you come home?”
“What do you think? It’s up to you. I could read it with you or we could take it to Dr. Pratchett’s.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“I love you.”
“Okay.”
Before I put the phone away, I snap a few pictures of Binka’s sleeping face and make her my phone’s wallpaper so I can see her whenever I want. My always-tether, Binka. Click. Snap.
I open Officer Archie’s letter first. Between the tear-prisms and the scratchy handwriting, I can barely read the note. Luckily it’s just a single sentence.
Lily,
I hope this letter finds you well. Please call if you have any questions at all.
A Utah number is scribbled under his name at the bottom. I set the note on the table next to me. Like it’s inspired her to get clean, Binka stretches on her tiptoes, hops on the table, sits on Officer Archie’s phone number and starts bathing her face.
I hold Mom’s letter for a long time, then flip it over. It’s not sealed, but it’s been carefully opened, not ragged like I expect. I slip a couple fingers inside and pull the letter out. It’s not your typical notebook paper. Not for Mom. She loved stationary and she used her fanciest for my letter. It’s one page long. Four short paragraphs. The date is two days before Hank came. There’s a “Love, Mom” at the bottom, a “Dear Lily” at the top and a lifetime of words in between.
Dear Lily,
If you ’ re reading this, it is for one of two reasons: either you ’ ve gone snooping, which you rarely do, or something happened and I ’ ve had to leave you. No matter how old you are, it ’ s too soon. I ’ m sorry and I love you.
My sweet Lilybeans, it ’ s important you listen to me now. Read this letter out loud and listen to my words. Pretend I ’ m with you. Hear my voice. It ’ s that important. Are you reading out loud? Good girl.
Your father said things to you that were not
I “pull here” and the package opens. I’m left with a curled strip of cardboard I set aside for Binka. She’ll go full spaz when she sees it, probably hide it behind a bookcase like she does her kibble.
There are two envelopes inside. One says “For Lily, from Archie.” The other simply says “Lilybeans.” The one with Lilybeans is in my mom’s calligraphic handwriting.
I stare at the letters for a long time. The bees start up with their humming—a full hive, no messing around with just one or two. Before I go I notice a pattern in the buzzing. There are the bees and then quiet and then the bees again. The pattern repeats once before I’m pulled in.
* * *
When I come back, I’ve still got the letters in my hands and my cell phone’s playing a tune. Binka’s curled up in my lap again, asleep. A whole hour’s gone by according to the clock on the wall.
I shake my head and reach for the phone on the table next to me. Binka’s cardboard strip is gone. I missed her full spaz.
“Hello?”
“Lily? Where have you been?” Margie is panicked.
“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear the phone. I was napping.” The lie is easy when I think about Margie’s fear.
She’s quiet for a minute. “Really napping or the other?”
“Napping. Honest, Aunt Margie. Mom’s letter came.” I know this will distract her.
“Have you read it?”
“No, not yet. Should I wait until you come home?”
“What do you think? It’s up to you. I could read it with you or we could take it to Dr. Pratchett’s.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“I love you.”
“Okay.”
Before I put the phone away, I snap a few pictures of Binka’s sleeping face and make her my phone’s wallpaper so I can see her whenever I want. My always-tether, Binka. Click. Snap.
I open Officer Archie’s letter first. Between the tear-prisms and the scratchy handwriting, I can barely read the note. Luckily it’s just a single sentence.
Lily,
I hope this letter finds you well. Please call if you have any questions at all.
A Utah number is scribbled under his name at the bottom. I set the note on the table next to me. Like it’s inspired her to get clean, Binka stretches on her tiptoes, hops on the table, sits on Officer Archie’s phone number and starts bathing her face.
I hold Mom’s letter for a long time, then flip it over. It’s not sealed, but it’s been carefully opened, not ragged like I expect. I slip a couple fingers inside and pull the letter out. It’s not your typical notebook paper. Not for Mom. She loved stationary and she used her fanciest for my letter. It’s one page long. Four short paragraphs. The date is two days before Hank came. There’s a “Love, Mom” at the bottom, a “Dear Lily” at the top and a lifetime of words in between.
Dear Lily,
If you ’ re reading this, it is for one of two reasons: either you ’ ve gone snooping, which you rarely do, or something happened and I ’ ve had to leave you. No matter how old you are, it ’ s too soon. I ’ m sorry and I love you.
My sweet Lilybeans, it ’ s important you listen to me now. Read this letter out loud and listen to my words. Pretend I ’ m with you. Hear my voice. It ’ s that important. Are you reading out loud? Good girl.
Your father said things to you that were not
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