54

MCLEAN

SHE HAD LEFT ONLY a few things at Randy’s town house. Some articles of clothing, a few books, and some CDs—Chopin, mostly, which Randy certainly didn’t want and in which she found she had little remaining interest. Randy was waiting downstairs while she packed in the guest room. He had the television on, and she could make out the sounds of the midday news. She knew what the top story was—she’d been listening to it all morning: Penny Patterson had taken a nearly fatal overdose of sleeping pills. She’d been found in her Pennsylvania home by a friend very late the night before. She had called the friend earlier in the evening, sounding despondent. She was crying, the friend reported, and was saying, over and over again, “Zed has a scar. Zed has a scar.” No one had any doubt that the scar to which she referred had been given to him long ago by a frightened and furious knife-wielding ten-year-old girl. Claire’s sense of vindication couldn’t erase the sympathy she felt for Penny Patterson.

Back in February, Claire had borrowed one of Randy’s sweatshirts. As she walked into his bedroom to put it away, she could hear him in the kitchen downstairs making a racket with the pots and pans, Cary was due to arrive later that afternoon. He and Randy were going to make cookies, Randy had told her, to celebrate spring. She was glad Cary was coming. It would make things much easier on Randy to have his son with him today.

She opened the middle drawer of his dresser where he kept his sweatshirts and spotted a folded sheet of paper tucked between the shirts and the side of the drawer. She pulled the paper from its niche. It was covered with tiny handwriting, in green ink, and the signature at the bottom of the page made her gasp. Your sister, Margot.

She sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, and flattening the page on her lap, began to read.

Dear Randy,

You always hated this picture frame. When you gave me the photograph, you said it should have a nicer frame, and you’d comment on it every time you visited me. But you never brought a new frame. So I figure they will give you this picture, and the frame will bother you enough to change it, and when you open up the old frame, this letter will fall out. I hope you find it sooner instead of later.

Well, I bet you are surprised to know that I actually heard the things you said when you visited me. You probably thought I wasn’t listening, but that is one thing I am good at, Randy. Listening. And I heard every word you ever said to me. And so did Charles. Charles is always with me, and he speaks to me often. I know you probably think that’s crazy, but I don’t care. Charles is here. I don’t see him, but I hear him. He still talks in his child’s voice. He’s always saying how good it is where he is now, how peaceful. There is music all the time. I know he wants me to come there, but he is not very pushy. I think the time is right, though, so here is this letter. I can’t leave it out for someone else to give you, because it’s important that only you get to see it. Only you and I know what really happened that night. Charles and I have forgiven you. Maybe I should have said that to you out loud sometime. Maybe that would have helped you. I almost did that one time you cried when you visited me. Remember? But somehow I could never get the words out. I only wish I’d lived long enough to see you forgive yourself, Randy. I don’t think you’ll ever be happy until you do.

Charles’s death did the same thing to you that it did to me. It made us both scared of loving somebody, right? I’m in here, where I don’t have to worry about it much. But you’ve had chances and you’ve blown them. Those girlfriends you used to tell me about. The ones you broke up with when you thought you were getting too close to them. That was a long time ago—bet you’re surprised I remember!! And LuAnne. You think she left you cause of your heart, but I know what you’re like. You probably never let yourself really love her, did you? Never got really close enough to make her feel loved. You’re so afraid of taking a chance with somebody, Randy. I hope you don’t hold back that way with your little boy. Cary, right? You showed me a picture of him once, but I didn’t look at it, remember? I was afraid he might look like Charles.

I have some advice for you, Randy. First of all, get out of your house. I know you’re hiding in there like you’ve always done when you get depressed. So LuAnne is gone. Look at it as a lesson. Get out and meet some people. Get out of your shell. You’re probably saying, “Look who’s talking.” Well, I’m in a pretty thick shell, that’s true, but it’s what I want. It’s not what you want, though. I know that about you. You’re a caring person or you wouldn’t still be hurting so much about Charles after all these years. You like people and you have lots to give them, but you’re just scared to do it because they might fall off a bridge or leave you. Right? And they might!! No guarantees. But it’ll be worth it. I’m not talking about finding a lover, necessarily. Just one person or even a bunch of people you can love and get close to. Get involved with them. Listen to them. Make a difference in someone’s life and it’ll make a difference in yours. Please, Randy. I can’t bear to think about you being miserable for the rest of your life.

As for me, don’t you dare get depressed over what I’m going to do. I’ll be happier by the time you read this letter. Happier than I’ve ever been.

I love you, you know. I’m sorry I never said it to you. I guess you are not the only one afraid to take that risk. See what we’ve missed out on?

Well, tomorrow night I will fly from the bridge in Harpers Ferry. I’ve dreamt of doing that for years. It is supposed to snow like it did that night. Won’t that be beautiful? And Charles will be waiting for me. The music will be waiting.

Your sister, Margot.

Claire sat numbly on the edge of the bed, the letter flat on her knees. Even when she heard Randy begin to climb the stairs, she made no move to return the sheet of paper to its hiding place.

Randy stood in the doorway. His eyes lit on her face first, then dropped to the letter before returning to her face again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was putting away your sweatshirt and the letter was there, and when I saw it was from Margot, I had to—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I thought of telling you about it many times. I’m not sure why I didn’t.” He moved toward the bed and sat down next to her. “Well, Claire,” he asked with a sigh, “did I make a difference in your life?”

“You did what she told you to do.” Claire bit her lip. “You took a risk and now I—”

“And there were no guarantees,” he interrupted her. “I knew that going in. I told you, I have no regrets.”

She pressed her hands together above the letter. “I hope your experience with me doesn’t send you back to your shell again.”

He shook his head with a grin. “You were my dress rehearsal, Claire,” he said. “Now I’m ready for opening night.”

Claire smiled, then looked down at the wrinkled paper. “When did you find this?” she asked.

“Between the time you gave me the picture and the time I called to ask you to meet me for lunch. I felt ready then to hear what Margot had said to you on the bridge, but I also remembered you mentioning your sister. I knew you were upset about her and needed to talk, but it never would have occurred to me to encourage you until I read Margot’s letter.”

Claire shook her head. How different the last few months would have been if Randy hadn’t discovered this letter. How different for both of them.

She ran her fingertips over the fine green handwriting. “Is there any more news on Penny Patterson?” she asked.

“It sounds like she’s going to be all right.”

Claire felt the dark cloud lift from her shoulders. “That’s a relief.”

“I doubt very much she’ll be standing by her man after this, though,” Randy said.

“I certainly hope not.”

“I’m glad you’re standing by yours, though.” Randy gave her shoulders a squeeze.

“You are?” she asked, although she wasn’t surprised to hear him say that.

Randy nodded. “You know, don’t you, that Jon is probably the least handicapped of the lot of us?”

She nodded, smiling.

A buzzer suddenly went off in the kitchen.

“First batch of cookies.” Randy stood up. “I couldn’t wait for Cary.”

She watched him leave the room and listened as he walked down the stairs. She opened the drawer again and rested the sweatshirt on top of the others. Then she folded Margot’s letter in fourths and tucked it back where she’d found it. She would leave it there, in case Randy ever needed to remind himself of his sister’s advice. She doubted he would have to, though. He had embraced her counsel well enough the first time.