Chapter 12 - The Letter from Amanda
The letter came in a white envelope with a prison stamp.
Dad saw it first. He put it on top of the fridge, which was the highest place in the kitchen and therefore the official place for things children were not supposed to touch.
But I saw it anyway.
Lily saw it too.
She stood on a chair when no one was looking and reached for it. I caught her before she fell.
"You can't," I whispered.
"It's for me."
"We have to ask Dad."
She looked at the envelope. Her name was written in blue ink. Amanda's handwriting. I knew it because I had seen it on birthday cards before everything went wrong.
Lily's lip trembled.
"She wrote to me."
"I know."
"Does that mean she still loves me?"
I didn't know how to answer that. So I said the only true thing.
"I think people can love wrong."
Lily climbed down and sat on the floor.
"That's not a real answer."
"I know."
Dad found us there. He saw the envelope in Lily's hands and went very still.
"Lily."
She held it tighter.
"Did you read it?"
"No."
"Good."
"I want to."
Dad sat on the floor with us. Sarah came in and sat too. Nobody told Lily she couldn't feel what she felt.
"You can read it," Dad said slowly. "But not alone. And if you want to stop, we stop."
Lily looked at me.
I nodded.
Dad opened the envelope carefully. The letter was short.
Dear Lily,
I am sorry. I know that word is small for what I did. I wanted to be your mom more than I wanted to be good. That was wrong. I hurt Ethan. I scared you. I helped Vivian even when I knew better.
I do not know if you will ever forgive me. I am not asking you to. I am asking you to be safe and let people love you right.
I love you. I love you in a way that was broken. I am trying to fix it.
Mom
Lily read it twice. Then she folded it and put it back in the envelope.
"Can I keep it?"
"Yes," Dad said.
"Can I not answer?"
"Yes."
She nodded.
That night, she asked Sarah to tuck her in. Sarah did. She sang a song my mom used to sing to me. Lily fell asleep holding the envelope, but in the morning she put it in the memory box Dad had made for her.
The box was for things she wanted to remember and things she wanted to forget later. She closed the lid and did not open it again for a long time.
A month later, a second letter came.
Lily saw it on the fridge and did not reach for it.
"Do you want to read it?" Dad asked.
"No."
"Okay."
He put it in the box without opening it.
Lily went outside to play.
I followed her.
"Are you okay?"
She shrugged.
"Sometimes I miss her."
"I know."
"But I don't want to see her."
"That's okay."
She picked a dandelion and blew the seeds into the wind.
"Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"You're still my brother."
I smiled.
"I know."
"No, I mean it."
May you like
"I mean it too."
We stayed outside until Sarah called us for dinner.
