ginny
November 3
Dearest Ev,
Something’s wrong with Brett.
He never calls, and when he does, I cringe. Cringe, Evy—me, his own mother! I feel ashamed to say it, but sometimes when he calls, I see his number come up on the thing that shows the numbers of whoever’s calling and I don’t answer. Don’t ever tell him! We’re doing our best to keep it from Layla, to avoid seeming to meddle too much, but he’s changed from my tough, lovable rascal into I don’t know what. He sounded like that guy on public television who sells the books about discovering The You Inside. I can’t remember, but you know what I’m talking about.
This afternoon, he dropped by after practice and walked past me into the kitchen without saying hello. He sat down, refused coffee and soda and Lorna Doones, and stared out the window for about six minutes. Maybe it wasn’t six whole minutes, but it seemed like a good long time. Then he said, “Tell me something,” and I said, “Okay,” as if I have anything to tell. “Tell me,” he says, “how you define happiness.”
And then I was in for it. Because I was always so bad with abstract concepts. I can use the word in a sentence, but he wants philosophy, and you know that was never really my thing. But I do what he really wants—which is for me to ask him how he defines happiness. And then I’m really in for it. Twenty or thirty minutes of doom and gloom, all poured out with a rueful smile. “The promise of a dream that’s inevitably crushed,” or some such nonsense. The phone rang, but I couldn’t answer it. He looked at it like it was objecting to his interpretation and he didn’t care for the interruption so it could just shut up. And it did. I hope it wasn’t you.
I couldn’t even go to the bathroom. I kept looking for an opening, but he seemed so intent, and so out of sorts at the same time. So I listened and listened. I love him with all my soul, and it pains me so to see him like this—but I really had to go!
Of course it’s an awful situation, and I get teary if I even let myself think about it. So I won’t. I truly believe in my heart of hearts that much as I love him, he was at least partly the cause of this mess. But I feel he’ll be okay again someday, someday soon. Of course I hope they’ll stop behaving like stubborn children long enough to see that what they have is worth fixing. I never stop hoping.
Oh, I’m using this address for you because, when we were kids, I used to hear Dad ask Mom where you had gotten to, and Mom would always say “Heaven knows!” Now Bill has taken it up. I thought you’d get a kick out of that.
Love you always,
Gin (no tonic!)