“Deal, Miss Apple Pants.” She shook my hand a little too hard and smiled. “Should we get the picture?”
I nodded and grabbed the picture from under my bed. It was a picture of me and Mom standing, hand in hand, at Dallas Love Field. The nice-looking lawyer—wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses—was standing in the back, holding on to the urn.
It had been such a beautiful afternoon. We were all there: the lawyer, Mom, Dad, me, mustard-purple tie, and Cruella De Vil minus a few spotted dogs, and we had all held hands as we had watched Miss T’s ashes fill up the air above the old landing paths.
“Wings,” Mom had whispered to me. “Beautiful wings.”
“Wings,” I had cried, too, no longer caring if I did cry in front of ‘the wicked one’.
“Wings,” Dad had added, with a voice full of memories.
Even though it had been very hard to say goodbye, I was happy knowing that this was how Miss T would have wanted to leave this earth, on a pair of wings—even if she did hate to fly—to join her beloved Georgie waiting somewhere in heaven.
I dropped the picture on top of the pile of letters we had already read.
Mom looked at me. “Ella, you okay?”
“She would’ve loved to hear the rest of their story.” I looked at the picture again. “Now she can join them on their last journey together.”
Mom looked up from her cup and smiled. “You sure have your dad’s romantic soul and thank God for that.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Now, Ella. Please read the last letters,” she said with a soft voice, and so I started reading the beginning of the end.
Dear Martha and Thomas,
I can’t wait to show you Denmark and all the soldiers in front of the Queen’s castle. You have to try this special treat too. It’s called “floedeboller” (I can’t pronounce it yet. It involves sticking out your tongue, making the outmost awkward sound. I feel so silly every time I try. And I have tried. A lot!). Anyway, the thing that is impossible to say is made of chocolate, cream, marshmallows, and some kind of cracker. Well, it’s really hard to describe, I guess you just have to come and try it for yourself.
Thomas, I can’t wait to show you my office. This is where I make all of my phone calls to you, and where all your amazing drawings are taped to the walls. They pretty much take up half the space now. Oh, there’s so much I want to show you here, so please hurry up. I can’t wait!
Here’s a picture of Copenhagen and the street where I live, and where you will be staying as well. The name of the street is “Store Kongensgade” and means “the big kings’ street” (which is probably a poor translation?). I think it’s where the kings used to pass on their way to the castle, but I’m not quite sure. Did I ever tell you that you can actually see the castle from where I live?
Don’t forget to bring some warm clothes. April can be tricky here. Last year it was actually snowing. The year before that it was over seventy and I was in my shorts. So, one can never tell, it’s kind of like Seattle, yes.
I love you,
Frederick.
I grabbed the next letter and placed it on top of Mom’s feet in her blanket. “Your turn,” I said and reached for a pillow.
She opened her eyes and sat up. “That was short. Way too short,” she said, sounding genuinely offended. “If all the letters are like this, we’ll be done before the teapot even turns cold.” She grabbed the letter from her feet and cleared her throat.
Dear Frederick,
I have just ten seconds ago called and booked the tickets. Hurray, hurray, hurray! Denmark, the Queen, the little Mermaid, “floedeboller” and, Frederick, here we come! We will be arriving on the twentieth of April at eight forty-five PM at Kastrup Airport (is that the major airport?).
Thomas came into my room the other day with his little backpack on. I asked him what he had in there, and he said that it was all the toys he was bringing with him to Denmark.
I smiled and said that it’s going to be a while, but that it’s a good thing that he wants to be ready in good time. I guess he’s just as excited as me.
Oh, Frederick, I can’t believe we’ll be in Denmark three weeks from now. It seems so surreal. Somehow, I never thought I would ever be going to Europe but look at me now! All dressed up and somewhere to go! Mom says she’s already feeling anxious about me and Thomas on an airplane. Apparently, we’re leaving on Hitler’s birthday, which is a very bad sign she says (you know how much she hates to fly). I have assured her that we will return safe and sound, carrying a suitcase of “floedeboller”.
It seems like she worries so much these days, and I don’t know for sure, but I also suspect she’s afraid to drive now. As you know, Dad did most of the driving, so she hasn’t really been driving that much the last forty years. “The roads have changed a great deal, and the way people drive today is crazy,” she said when I volunteered to take the car to Mike’s for a spring checkup. So, I guess driving is out!
I told her that I would be more than happy to help with groceries a couple a times a week, so now we’re going to bring her groceries on Thursdays and Sundays. Maybe I should bring her to Denmark too... just kidding!
Lots of love.
M.
“You know what?’ Mom dropped the letter on the bed and looked up. “This kinda makes me think of Miss T and her Porsche. Remember how she would take it really, really slow and then, right before turning a corner, she would step on it like crazy?” She smiled and reached for the teapot. “More tea?”
I nodded and held out my cup. “It sure brings back some fun memories.” I looked up at the picture of Dylan and the Porsche, nailed to the wall right above my bed, and smiled. The first time Miss T had taken me for a ride, she sat up on two patio furniture pillows in order to see over the dashboard, and all the way to Whole Foods, she cried “oh dear” at every single stop sign, lane shift, or intersection we had crossed.
“You know how much she adored you, right?” Mom handed me a cup of lukewarm tea and looked up at Dylan, too.
“I know.” I nodded. “Thanks.”
“And can you believe we actually have that Porsche sitting out in the garage?” She smiled and grabbed a semi-hot cookie from the plate.
“No, I can’t.”
“Well, we do, and little Mister Baby Pants here,” she said, pointing at my belly, “is going to be the luckiest baby in the entire world.”
“Because he has a Porsche?” I grabbed the last cookie and dipped it in my tea.
“No, because he has you... and me... and Dad... and little Miss Apple Pants the Second.” She smiled and leaned all the way back with her cup balancing on her belly. Maybe it was just the leftover pizza, but somehow her belly looked huge. When she realized I was looking at it, she circled her hand over it and smiled. “I know. It’s huge right now, but it’s too soon, I think. It’s all mushroom, sausage, and gorgonzola pizza, I’m afraid. And cookies on top of that,” she added, with half a cookie in her mouth. “Go on. Read!” she demanded. “We’re just stalling, trying to make the letters last forever, right?”
“Of course, we are,” I agreed, slowly reaching for another letter, stalling just a little bit more.
Dear Frederick,
Denmark has made such an impression on Thomas. It’s all he ever talks about. Last night at Mom’s house, he just went on and on and on about every single detail from the trip. We picked up the pictures on the way there, and I think we looked at them at least five times before dinner and four times after.
Surprisingly, there are actually a few decent ones (you know me; always a few seconds too late to capture the moment). My favorite picture is the one with the two of you in front of the Ferris wheel. Thomas’s favorite picture is, of course, him standing in front of the two guards at Amalienborg, the Queen’s castle.
I can’t believe it has already been over a week since we got back. Mom is so happy to have us back (alive - surviving a plane ride to Europe on Hitler’s birthday).
Now Thomas has decided to make
a little book about his trip to Denmark. Mrs. Kier said they could pick any subject they wanted for their book project, and of course he chose Denmark. I have promised him that he can use all the pictures he needs, and I told him he can call you—anytime—if there’s something he needs to know about Denmark.
Thomas seems to be doing really well. Sometimes he has a hard time concentrating and following directions, but other than that, all is good. Mrs. Kier says he has a “very sound interest in learning new stuff,” but most importantly, he’s very nice to the other kids and has already made a handful of new friends. As Dad always used to say, “Being a good friend is more important than being good at math!”
We’ll call you tomorrow night, but until then, my love, I love you and miss you. Thomas says hi.
Martha.
“Being a good friend is more important than being good at math,” I read out loud again. “See, algebra is overrated!”
She peeked up at me with one eye. “True, but friends won’t get you into college,” she said, very matter of fact.
“True,” I agreed, wondering which was easier: getting better at math or getting better at making friends. It was a close call.
Mom propped herself up on her elbow and looked at me with both eyes this time. “Is it just me, or are all the letters unusually short today?”
I looked down at the letter and nodded. “I know. So much for stalling, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” she agreed, lying down again with her eyes closed.
“I’ll take one more, and then you can read the very last two, okay?”
She opened her eyes and looked up at the skylight. Then slowly she nodded, stalling, I figured. So, I started reading the third to last letter, also taking my time.
Dear Frederick,
Spring is finally here. It came overnight, just like that! We woke up this morning with the sound and smell of spring and sun. The only “bad” thing about the sun shining throughout the house is how it makes the house look downright dirty—especially the windows. Better call that window guy Mom’s friend recommended.
Thomas got up really late (it’s Sunday), and we had tea and muffins by the fireplace in the living room. I had promised Thomas we would see Grease. You might not have heard of it, but it’s quite popular here: It’s a musical, but not one of those old boring movies (your words), where they have to sing every freaking word out loud (your words again).
It’s a modern musical with really good music—starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton John. You have to see it. The songs are fantastic! Of course, I liked it a lot better than Thomas (I guess he’s a little too young, but he said he really wanted to see it, or maybe he just knew how much I wanted to see it?).
Anyway, Thomas is very excited about school tomorrow—the final day of working on their books. He can’t wait for you to see it, and I have promised that we are going straight from school to the post office to send it to you. So, I guess you’ll have it in two weeks or so (you’re in for a surprise, that’s all I can say at this point).
Mom sends her love. She has finally decided to sell the car, but I think she’s kind of waiting for you to come home and help her (I have told her that you are not really a car-man, but I think being a man is enough for her).
She just loves having Thomas around, and she really spoils him rotten. I kind of let her get away with it, at least for now. And I love to see them together. This afternoon, when she was showing Thomas some old pictures around the house, she pointed at Dad in one of the pictures (you know, the close up of me and him at our wedding) and said, “Look, this is your granddad. And look at those eyes! He had the most beautiful blue eyes, just like you. And did you know his name was Thomas, too?”
I was just so overwhelmed that I had to stop (stop peeling eight pounds of potatoes, that is) and catch my breath for a while. This is the first time I’ve heard Mom talk about Dad in that way, in a way that allows us all the good memories. That allows us to share and tell all the good stories about him.
Can you imagine how happy Dad would have been to be around Thomas, and how happy he would have been, knowing that we finally have this little angel in our lives? And he is, I swear to God, Thomas “the second” is a little blue-eyed angel who happened to fall from the big elephant sky, right down into my heart.
I tell you, Frederick, sometimes I get so overwhelmed with happiness and gratefulness that I have to excuse myself for a moment, pretending to go to the bathroom or something, hiding my tears from him.
But I guess I’m not doing such a great job. The other day when we were sitting in the kitchen, Thomas looked up at me, with his bright blue eyes, and asked me why I was so sad all the time when I kept telling him how happy I was.
At first, I was a little baffled, and frankly, I didn’t know what to say, but then the teacher in me took over and I explained to him (almost crying, of course), that I wasn’t sad at all, but sometimes grownup people cry because they are happy. (happy tears). I’m not sure he really understood, so I just left it at that and made him some French toast instead—something a lot more palatable to a five-year-old boy than having a conversation about the ambiguity of happy tears.
Well, I better stop now. I could go on forever...
We miss you and talk about you all the time. Next time you come home, I have promised Thomas we’ll go skiing in the mountains (granted it’s that time of the year, of course). He has never been and I (and my goofy legs) sure can’t teach him.
Love you,
M.
I stared at Mom, still comfortably cuddled up on the sofa bed, and sighed. “And that, my friend, was officially my last reading-out-loud-letter this time around.” I took a deep breath and looked down at Martha’s perfect handwriting. This was it! This was the last time I would be looking at her beautiful a’s and e’s, her smiley stickers and the little heart shaped o’s in the word “love.” I looked at Mom again. She was sitting up now.
“And the second to last M-letter,” I added, carefully placing it on top of the pile. “Shit, Mom, we’re this close.” I grabbed the last two letters and held them up to my heart.
“I know. I know,” she said with a sigh, reaching to me. “Just give me the damn letters.”
I took a deep breath and handed them over. They felt light as feathers. Words were fading out already.
She sat up tall and looked me straight in the eyes. “Ready?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t. I wasn’t ready at all. I wasn’t ready to let go.
It only seemed like yesterday when I had found the mailbox in the shed. The palms of my hands had been so sweaty that the letters had almost stuck to them, and I remember feeling both excited and scared to death that Mom and Dad would suddenly walk in on me. And I remember saying to myself that this would be the only letter, but halfway through I already knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop.
I also remembered the day Mom had caught me with my hands stuck in the cookie jar and the mailbox right in the middle of my room. And I remembered the day Miss T had scared the shit out of us, when she had knocked on a dark window with curlers and rain in her hair, making Mom fall over in her man-sized condom, leaving a trail of Earl Grey flavored carpet behind.
And then there had been all those nights when we had taken turns reading, interrupting, crying, laughing, and breaking all the rules at the same time. And last, but not least, I sure remembered the book night at Miss T’s empty house with the giant cognac glasses and Harvey Keitel jumping on Mom’s lap, and Mom screaming, “Yippee ki-ay motherfucker” at the top of her lungs.
I took a deep breath and looked at the mailbox. I knew it was just a scratchy old mailbox with three stacks of old letters, written, like, a lifetime ago, but still, it had given me the best summer in my entire life. Together with Mom and Miss T, I had loved, lost, cried, laughed, longed, and grieved. And I had made some pretty life-changing choices because of that. No, I wasn’t ready to let go.
Harvey jumped on top of the mailbox and looked inside of it. When she didn�
�t find anything interesting in there, she lay down on the mailbox and wagged her tail a few times.
“Do you think she misses her?”
“I don’t know.” Mom shook her head. “Cats are strange in that way, so independent and with a mind of their own, so unlike dogs. Maybe she hasn’t even noticed that she’s gone.”
I looked at the little blue collar around her neck and couldn’t help smiling. How I wished I could have seen the look on the Petco person’s face the day Miss T had walked into the store and ordered a collar with the name Harvey Keitel engraved on it.
“Maybe all of Dad’s weird Tarantino quotes make her feel at home?”
“I guess,” Mom said, in a detached voice. “Well...” she said, looking down at the letters in her hand. “Ready?” she tried again.
“Yes.” I lied again, and Mom started reading.
Dear M and T,
Believe me when I say that spring is on a long break in Denmark. I can’t remember when I last saw the sun. But as Storm P, an old Danish poet, is famous for saying: “Everyone talks about the weather, but no one seems to do anything about it.” He’s right, you know.
Anyway, I can’t wait to see Thomas’ book. I look in the mail twice a day in case I somehow missed it the first time around. It must be arriving any day now.
I have a few new photos to share with you. The one of me, wearing a red raincoat, is from our little trip to Sweden over the weekend. The little guy, missing half his teeth, is Soeren’s son. The other picture (well, I guess it pretty much speaks for itself) shows all the fish we caught Saturday morning. It was really fun, but how I wished you could have come too.
Next time I come home we should all go fishing together. I miss you so much, and I can’t wait to call later tonight and say hi when Thomas is back from school.
Take care.
Love from Frederick, a.k.a. Dad.
PS. And no, I haven’t seen this Grease movie, but you know how I feel about grown men singing and dancing, especially in tights.”
Lost in Seattle (The Miss Apple Pants series, #2) Page 42