Reston, Virginia

With her father gone, Emma had spent the entire afternoon reading the letters from Indy to Liney. He wrote to her almost every day of September, filling her in about his life at Quantico, the cases he was working, his friends Razzy and J.B. Some of them rambled, others were brief but sweet. Actually, she thought it was sweet that he couldn’t go a day without talking to her even if it was in a letter.

At first Emma didn’t understand why they didn’t just call each other, that was, until she found out they didn’t have cell phones back then. Long-distance calls were expensive. What an ancient civilization.

September 26, 1982

 

Dear Liney,

 

I’m in Chicago for a few days. It’s killing me that I’m here and you’re in Ohio for your art conference thing. I can’t believe we’ll miss each other, but it’s probably best. I’m here on a case, you know. Classified. So I can’t tell you about it. I’m not even letting my folks know I’m here. Though I’ll let you in on a secret. I plan to drive down to their house Sunday morning while they’re all at church. I want to leave them a little something. Maybe get them off my back.

 

Oh, and Liney, just a heads-up. It’s not in the news yet, but stay away from Extra Strength Tylenol capsules. Don’t ask me why or how I know, just don’t take any at all, okay? I’m serious. Don’t tell anybody that I warned you but it’s gonna be huge. I shouldn’t even be telling you.

 

Love,

 

Indy

 

 

Emma flipped through the previous letters. Wow, she thought. This was the first time he’d signed a letter, “Love, Indy.” She wondered what the difference was. He didn’t even make a big deal out of it, just signed it. Maybe he was just missing her badly.

Emma went on to the next letter but she stopped when she saw the date, December 24, 1982. She flipped through the remaining envelopes. Had she sorted them incorrectly? There were only three left. There had to be some missing. Her mom wasn’t the most organized person in the world. How else could she explain Indy telling her he loved her and then not writing for three months?

She opened the December 24 envelope and discovered only a Christmas card. No letter. Inside, the card was signed, “Merry Christmas, Indy.” No note. No postscript. Not even a “Love, Indy.”