Letters For Emily

by Camron Wright

  “You want me to strip naked?” I quizzed.

  “There’s that strange echo, again,” she added, as the giggles subsided.

  “Deal,” I answered coldly.

  She whipped the cards onto the table. I showed three kings, a six, and a ten. Respectable. I tried to read her eyes. They were beautiful, but showed no hint of the hand she held.

  “I’ll take two.” I tried to sound distraught. She dealt two cards to the table and watched as I picked them up. I wantedto jump up and down with joy. I’d drawn two threes for a full house. I’d be hard to beat. She stared at me while announcing, “And I’ll take two.” She dealt herself two cards and placed them on the table in front of her. She hadn’t even looked at them, when she asked, “What do you have, Harry?”

  “Aren’t you going to look at what you drew?”

  “Nope, what do you have?”

  I threw my hand down for everyone to see. As I did, the men cheered.

  “Full house. Nice hand,” she responded, “But—” She seemed so calm, so confident. Slowly she dropped her cards onto the table one by one. A queen, another queen, and then the third. The first emotion she showed was a grin as she studied the look on my face. I’m sure she saw sheer terror. A full house would still beat three queens, but her two drawn cards lay menacingly on the table. She pulled up the corner of the first card, all emotion now gone. With a flick of her wrist, she flipped over a seven. Sighs of relief flowed from the men around me. One card left. I knew we hadn’t seen the other queen. If she had it, she’d beat me with four-of-a-kind and I’d be the laughing stock of the school for months. If it were any other card, I’d have pulled off the biggest coup of my life. Calmly, she reached out and pulled the card toward her, all the while looking directly into my eyes. She lifted the corner slightly, and glanced down so nobody else could sneak a look. Her expression never changed as she examined her card and then looked back into my eyes. I couldn’t look away. It was as if she were pondering which way to go, as if she could somehow will that card to be anything she desired. After what felt like minutes, she stood up and with one single motion, she pushed that card back into the middle of the deck, which lay in the center of the table.

  “Looks like Harry here beat me!” she announced to the crowd. The holler from the men’s side erupted as the women sighed and started to filter away. Kathryn didn’t flinch but kept her eyes locked on mine. I reached out to take her hand, and we walked together to the middle of the floor. As the band played and couples began to dance once more, I collected my winnings with what was the most romantic oneminute kiss of my entire life.

  We were inseparable afterwards and married seven months later. To this day, Emily, I still don’t know what card she drew.

  I do, however, have one confession I need to make. It’s something that has haunted me my entire life. I told you I’d won the first game fair and square, the game in the men’s hall that Wednesday. I’d be a liar if I didn’t confess the game was rigged. I paid my entire winnings that night, short of the date with Kathryn, to Jason Hanson, who slipped me his cards for that final hand.

  I was wrong, Emily. Even for Kathryn, I should not have cheated. I was young and foolish and I thought it was the only way to win her without ruining my friendship with Bud. I went about it the wrong way. I did finally confess to Bud, a few years later. He made me pay him three hundred and sixty bucks with interest, plus take him and his wife out to dinner. We laughed about it for hours. It was still wrong.

  The question then, granddaughter, is what lesson does this teach? I would hope you’d forget the cheating part and simply remember how much I loved your grandmother. My life changed forever the day she came into it.

  You’ll know, Emily, when you meet the right person as well. And when you know, grab on with both arms and never let go. Oh, you’ll have troubles, Kathryn and I did, butwe never stopped loving each other. We waited seven months to get married because of her mother—she wanted us to be sure. In our case it wouldn’t have mattered, but it’s good advice. Do the same for me, Emily. It seems prudent.

  I’ll be watching you.

  Love,

  Grandpa Harry

  Emily scampered into the kitchen still in her pajamas and caught Laura crying. It was a scene she was getting accustomed to seeing. Laura motioned her over.

  “Come here, babe, I want to read you a story about how your grandpa and grandma met.”

  Emily listened intently as Laura read the letter aloud.

  “That’s way cool, Mom.”

  Laura couldn’t help but smile. “Should we call your dad and tell him the secret?”

  “Sure. I’ll dial.” Emily picked up the phone and dialed Bob’s number.

  The letter was a gem. Laura had known nothing about Emily’s grandmother Kathryn. She wasn’t sure Bob knew much about her either, as he’d been just a child when she died.

  “Daddy, it’s me.”

  “Good morning, honey, how are you?”

  “Fine. Mommy has a secret to tell you—just a second.” She passed the phone to Laura.

  “Hi.”

  “Well?” he questioned.

  “They were real people, Bob. She was vibrant and funny and impetuous—and they were so in love.”

  “What?”

  “Do you have any idea how your mom and dad met?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “I do and it’s amazing. We got so used to him as an old man, we forgot he was once like us. Do you want to hear the story? And your mother was incredible!”

  “Okay, I’m interested. Tell me.”

  “It’s the fourth poem. Read it slowly. Then draw a circle around their names. Connect the circles with a straight line and you’ll see the password.”

  “Oh, come on, Laura, just tell me.”

  “I want you to see it on your own. Read me the phrase and I’ll fax you his letter. I’d read it to you but it’s several pages long. Believe me, it’s beautiful.”

  She waited patiently while he retrieved the book and looked up the poem. “Love at first sight,” he replied.“He tells her to believe in it. Hey, that’s kind of tricky the way he did that.”

  “Close enough. It’s an amazing story, Bob. Here it comes.”

  “Wait,” he interrupted, “before you hang up, is there any way to copy the files and send them to me on a disk? That way we won’t have to keep calling at all hours?” The truth was Laura was beginning to enjoy the calls. “Oh, I talked to Michelle as well. She wants to know if you can send her the last book and a copy of the files as well. She about freaked when I told her what we found. She’s pretty good at puzzles—I figure the more help, the better.”

  “No problem. I already have Michelle’s book packed. I’ll copy the files and run to the mail center right now.”

  “Laura? Thanks.”

  As the fax machine sucked the printed pages through, she opened up the phone book and scanned the names for the number of Dr. Steve Iverly.

  SHE SAT ON HOLD FOR ALMOST FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE he picked up. She’d insisted to the receptionist that it was a medical emergency.

  “Good morning. This is Dr. Iverly. Sorry to make you wait.”

  “Hi, this is Laura Whitney. Remember me?”

  “Now that’s a foolish question. Certainly, Laura. Is there a problem?”

  She was embarrassed. “It’s not actually an emergency. It was the only way I knew I could get through. Of course if it were an emergency, I’d be dead by now.”

  She could not see the doctor smile. “Whatever it takes, I guess. So, Laura, how can I help?”

  “I know you said you weren’t a specialist, but I really don’t know who else to call. Can I just ask you a couple more questions?”

  “About—let’s see—it was Harry, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll help if I can.”

  “I found a prescription for norepinephrine. Can you tell me what it’s generally prescribed for?”

  “It helps to stabil
ize a chemical imbalance—specifically, it controls chemical production in the brain.”

  “Does that mean it’s a depression medication?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “What would happen if someone were taking this and then their prescription ran out or they forgot to take it? Would it be noticeable?”

  “Sure, especially if it were successful in treating the condition.”

  “That’s just what Dr. Jensen said.”

  “Dr. Jensen? So, I’m your second opinion?”

  “No, you were my first, remember? He was the second opinion. Now you’re—well, you’re the second opinion on the second opinion.” He laughed. “Listen,” Laura continued, “I hope you don’t think I’m crazy, but I think you were right in your guess about Harry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think there was more going on than just Alzheimer’s. There were times—a few minutes, even hours, each day— when he was coherent. Other times he seemed distant, confused, angry—like a different person. I’ve been reading about the disease and from what I read, if AD had taken his life he would have been close to helpless. He wasn’t.”

  “Okay, then what do you think he had?”

  “You were the one who first suggested mental illness. It just fits. Harry had all the symptoms of depression, quite a few of which could have been mistaken for signs of AD. And he wason a prescription of norepinephrine. Don’t get me wrong; I think Harry probably was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s— there were certainly signs of it. But more than that, I think he was suffering from depression. And I think he probably had it for most of his life. Does my theory make sense?”

  “When do you start medical school?”

  “So, you think it’s valid?”

  “From everything you’ve told me, I think you could very well have nailed it on the head.”

  She wanted to reach through the phone and kiss him. “Can I ask you one last thing?”

  “Talk all day.” He couldn’t see her blush.

  “Harry’s wife died at a very early age. Would that have caused the depression?”

  “I wish you’d call an expert in the mental health field.”

  “Right now, you are my expert.”

  “I wouldn’t say it caused it as there’s a hereditary component involved, but it certainly could have triggered it.”

  “So, you’re saying if Harry had some form of depression, perhaps his father or mother had it as well?”

  “Or someone else perched up in the family tree. In fact, it’s not only possible, statistically it’s probable. Remember, mental illness affects more than twenty million adults. It’s the most common brain disease in the country.”

  “Twenty million?”

  “That’s what studies show. Some people live with it, have a normal life; others get bad enough they need professional help, even medication. Sadly enough, some end up living on the street. Whether moderate or severe, depression is nothing to be ashamed of or scared about.”

  “I want you to know, Doctor . . .”

  “Please, call me Steve.”

  “Steve, I want you to know that I deeply appreciate your help. You’re a very kind person, and that’s rare these days.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, but it isn’t necessary and it’s not rare. Just look around.”

  Laura paused, contemplating his words. “You’re right. I don’t mean to be negative. It’s not rare at all, is it?”

  “No, not at all.” He hesitated before continuing. “Laura, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  “No, what?”

  “If Emily is your daughter, should I presume that you’re married?”

  She was flattered at his inquiry but didn’t hesitate in her response. “I am.”

  “Figured so. The cute ones always are.”

  “Thanks, Steve.”

  “You’re welcome, anytime. Take care.”

  She arrived late to the sales meeting at the office. Because he knew she was having problems with her marriage, Grant Midgley didn’t ask for an excuse. The office was swamped. She was given her share of callbacks generated at the model home over the weekend, and except for a meeting she had with a client at noon, she spent the day on the phone. By the time she finished returning her last call, she was sure the phone had been attached to her ear. It was just about time to head home if she was to get there before Emily arrived. While she gathered up her things, the phone rang again. It was Bob.

  “You know how I always liked riddles? This thing is addictive.”

  “I just have a second. I have to get home before Emily.”

  “Sorry. I’ll be quick. I don’t know if these are supposed tobe read in any order, but take a look at poem sixteen. It says, find a jewel and win the prize.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “Well, two lines down it says ‘I am proud I am on display for all to see.’ ”

  She didn’t have the book with her, but jotted down the words as Bob recited them. “Keep going.”

  “Did you write the words down?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, underline thed inproud and then thed in the worddisplay .”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you see it yet?”

  “Bob, if I don’t hurry, I’ll miss Emily’s bus.”

  “Sorry. Now underline all the letters in between and read me the name of the jewel we need to win the prize.”

  She smiled. “Diamond.”

  “Try it and call me when you get home. Also, number twelve—I know you’re in a hurry so I won’t torture you. The password’s ‘Angel.’ ” Her laptop was in her briefcase. She’d try them when she got home. “Did you send the disk?” he continued.

  “I sent it overnight. You should get it today. Call me if you don’t.”

  “Okay. One more quick item. I just talked to Greg. You know, my sister sure married a creep.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Greg thinks we should contest the will. Says it’s not right for Emily to get the house, while they just get a few thousand dollars.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing yet. I told him I’d get back to him. I mean I cancertainly see his point, but at the same time, it was Harry’s money. Isn’t it his right to give it to whomever he pleases? My attorney says the will is probably valid. It depends on when it was written and when the symptoms of Alzheimer’s started to set in—you know, if he was of ‘sound mind ’ or not. What do you think I should tell Greg?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t mean to cut you short, but Emily will be locked out if I don’t run now. Can I call you later to discuss this?”

  “Sure, sorry. Bye.”

  She wasn’t sure if Bob hung up mad or not. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

  Traffic was light. She arrived home with six minutes to spare. While she waited for Emily, she turned on the computer and opened the sixteenth letter. It looked like Bob was right. “Clever, Harry. Very clever.” She leaned back in the chair, made herself comfortable and began to read.

  Dearest Emily,

  People will tell you that if you leave wasps alone, they will leave you alone. Poppycock! Those people have never spent much time in a garden. I have been stung countless times when I was just minding my own business. Did it keep me from enjoying my garden? Only once. It dawns on me, Emily, that a wasp sting teaches an important lesson in life. Let me explain.

  One day while working in my garden, a wasp landed on my shoulder. When I tried to brush him aside, I flicked him onto my neck where he promptly stung me. I’d been stung before, but this was one sting too many. Angry, I went to the shed and I grabbed a can of spray and a fly swatter. I covered my face with cheesecloth and put on a hat to cover mybald head. I pulled on a thick, long-sleeved shirt and snatched a pair of gloves. I was headed to the garden for a war. My mission was to eliminate any wasp that buzzed within fifty yards of my garden.

  Two hours later, the potatoes were still full of weed
s that hadn’t been hoed, the water hadn’t been turned on, and I hadn’t fertilized the carrots. It didn’t matter, I was going to kill all the wasps God ever created; and I had done a great job. I had killed dozens of them. The problem was that they never seemed to go away. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, waving and swatting and spraying and jumping around. It took me half a day to realize how crazy I was being. There would always be more wasps than I could kill, and I was miserable.

  Life is the same. There will be times when you are minding your own business, hurting no one. Then someone will come along and sting you. You have two choices. One is to get angry and waste days of your life swatting at anyone who looks threatening; if you do, you’ll find when you’re through, you’ve accomplished nothing. The better path is to protect yourself the best you can, and then enjoy your garden. When you get stung, it will hurt; you may cry and wonder what you have done to deserve such treatment. Let it end there. Take a deep breath, place a dab of wet mud on the sting, wipe your tears, and put a smile back on your face. Turn back to your garden and enjoy the beauty before you. I hope this makes sense. Now, go tend to your garden and enjoy it immensely.

  Love,

  Grandpa Harry

  Laura printed a copy and then clicked on number twelve. She typed in “Angel” and watched the file open. She wasabout to start reading when Emily scurried through the door.

  “Hi, honey.”

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Do you have papers to show me today?”

  “Yeah. Are there any more letters from Grandpa?”

  “Yes, actually two more today.”

  “Can we read them?”

  “Sure, I was just about to start one. Let’s read it together; then you can show me your stuff.”

  Laura printed the letter and then plopped down next to Emily on the couch.

  Dearest Emily,

  You need to be aware as you grow into an adult that you are an angel. These words are not meant as a trivial compliment of affection from a grandfather to his granddaughter. I mean literally, you are an “angel.” Let me explain.