Vendetta

Chapter Four: The Letter

Mrs. Bailey's words had kindled something I had become all too accustomed to during the last year and a half of my life: Dad-related guilt.

Back in the welcome privacy of my bedroom, I sat cross-legged on my perpetually unmade bed. Clutching the latest prison-issue envelope in one hand, I carefully removed the letter from inside it and dipped back into my father's life, which, for now at least, was confined to the pages he sent me every couple of weeks.

Dear Sophie,

Sorry I haven't written in a while. I like to wait until I have something to say, even if it's not as interesting as life back in Cedar Hill. I would hate for you to think I'm becoming more boring than I was before I left. In truth, I am trying to make the most of my time here. I want to give you something to be proud of again.

You'll be happy to know that I finished in just two days, which means I am finally getting faster at reading. I will have the knowledge of an English professor by the time I come back, and maybe I'll even write a book of my own.

I hope your summer is going well. Try not to worry too much about not getting out in the sun — you will have the last laugh when all your friends are aging prematurely and you still have the skin of a teenager.

How is everything at the diner? I hope Uncle Jack is looking after you. I know he is really trying his best, so go easy on him. If you ask him, I'm sure he will give you some time off so you can get away with Millie — go on an adventure.

On the subject of your uncle, I was thinking that you should suggest some reading material for him, too. It would be a good way for him to . Maybe something with colorful pictures and big block letters? Just kidding. Don't tell him I said that! I do worry about him, which might sound ironic given the circumstances, but I am relying on you to keep an eye on him and his blood pressure. We are not getting any younger, unfortunately.

How is your mom? Has she remembered to get the dishwasher repaired or have you had to go through with your sink-filling plan? I hope she has stopped over-working herself, but I know how unlikely that is. Please let her know I am thinking about her if she asks, which I hope she does. I haven't heard from her in a while, but I know she is still processing everything. It is difficult for her, as I expect it is for you.

It has been so long since I've seen you. I would really love for you to visit when you get some time off. What about after your birthday, when everything has settled down again? Jack will give you a ride if you ask him. I do miss your teenage sarcasm, despite what you may think.

That's all for now. I look forward to your next letter and, as always, I am thinking of you and counting the days.

Love,

Dad

I slipped the letter back inside the envelope and placed it on the nightstand. I tried to shake the melancholia out of my head. Even after all my father's letters, I still felt sad reading them, but I knew, too, that not to have them at all would be a thousand times more painful.

With a heavy heart, I propped my notepad against my knees and began my reply, censoring the negative parts of my life and highlighting the positives as I wrote. Even if the world was falling down around me, I would not tell my father, because he, above all the people in my life, needed good tidings in whatever form he could get them. And no matter how angry and frustrated I was, I would give him what he needed to survive.

Hi, Dad,

As I write this I am balancing my notepad on two skinned knees and writing with a sore hand. If you're wondering why, it's because on my way home from work last night I face-planted into the pavement.