ginny

November 18

Dearest Ev,

I wish you lived closer so you could have joined us at the corn maze, or as Layla calls it, the maize maze. Isn’t she clever? She brought a friend, a girl named Heather, and we had such a nice time.

I had the worst nightmare last night and I can’t tell Bill because I fear it would frighten him, so you’re the only person I can talk to about it. Last night I dreamed that Bill died. It was the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had. He went to bed before me but only by about fifteen minutes. I was washing up and doing the ten thousand things we do before bed—why is it so much easier for men, Ev? I swear we got the short end of the stick on so many levels.

Anyway, I finished up my before-sleep routine and crawled into bed next to Bill. I leaned over to kiss him and he didn’t respond. I thought for sure he was teasing me, because for all the times he falls asleep watching TV, he never falls asleep before we kiss good night. So I climbed over him and bit his nose—not hard, just teasing him back, since I thought he was trying to pull a fast one. Then as my eyes adjusted to the light in the room, I thought I noticed that his eyes were slightly open. So I shook him. And he didn’t wake up. I jumped over him and turned on the light, and, Evelyn, it was the most frightening thing I’d ever seen. Bill’s skin was all purple or brown or blue—dark and dreadful. And I screamed. I screamed so loud in my dream that thankfully I woke myself up.

I tell you, for all the times I’ve been angry and said I could just kill him, I take them back. Of course we say silly things like that when we get angry, and you and I both know that Bill—for a time—made me very, very angry, but the thought of my Bill not alive on this earth is unbearable. Enough to make it crystal clear to me that I want to be the first to go. I don’t mean tomorrow, mind you, so don’t hop on a plane and euthanize me, ha, ha.

Won’t you come for Thanksgiving? I know the kids would love to see you, and it’s only a few days away. I know it’s last-minute, but how wonderful it would be for us all to be together.

And between you and me, I think Brett and Layla are trying to have a baby! I don’t know for sure, but last I heard they were talking about it, and I couldn’t be more pleased and proud. Am I really old enough to be a grandmother? Careful how you answer, Ev—you are still the older sister! Remember how when we were young and I was jealous that you were older? I used to always tell you that someday I would be older than you and you would just laugh and laugh. Oh, to be that innocent.

Do consider spending the holiday with us. I miss you so very much.

Your always-will-be-younger sister,
Ginny