Dear Joey,
I’m writing to say that we miss you here in White Pine, and have since you left so suddenly. I hope you won’t mind me writing. I hope you won’t think I’m crossing the line. Sometimes I start to feel like a stepfather only partially accepted into this uncommon band of yours. Not, of course, that your father and I are in love! Wouldn’t that be something? No, but you must understand what I mean. We’ve become such close friends, your father and I, and I can’t imagine what that must be like for you. I do worry that you see me as an intruder or, at the very least, look upon me with some suspicion. I understand and I’d do the same. So I’m writing to say that I come in peace and that you needn’t worry. My friendship with your dad has been a great blessing. The fact is that men our age (and I’m being generous to myself here given that I’ve got your pop by nearly ten years) don’t often make new friends, or know much about friendship at all. It’s lucky then that us two lonely old guys found each other when we did. I hope that it’s some comfort to you to know that we look after each other. I’ve wanted to say that for a while now, and I missed my chance to do it in person. Or maybe I just chickened out. Well, whatever the case may be, I wanted to tell you that I’m here in peace and that I’ve come to care about your dad a whole lot.
The other thing is that I know you’ve been calling and that it must be very difficult not to have him pick up, or call you back. I want to tell you that I’ve encouraged him to do it. And I’ve encouraged him to visit you both there in Seattle. The problem is that he knows about your adventure, what happened before you left. He and Seymour had a few beers together up at Lester’s and as far as I can tell Seymour told the whole thing. So knowing what he does, he’s been struggling. That’s what he tells me. He just can’t stomach it. He says it has to do with being a Quaker, but I think just as much it has to do with your Mom and all that. I hope I’m not speaking out of turn. Maybe I’m wrong and maybe this isn’t my place. What do I know? But really I think he’s just frightened, Joe. He’s afraid of all sorts of things. If you look at it from his side, you’ll see. What with his wife where she is, his daughter too, and you and Tess, of course. Everyone gone, and everyone in danger. That’s how he sees it, anyway.
I guess that’s all I’ve got. I wanted you to know that I’m working on him. I’m trying to get him to pick up the phone, or better yet just drive up to see you. More than anything at all, I want you to keep in mind how much he loves you. I don’t know if you can imagine it until you have a son of your own, but I hope you’ll try, and I hope you’ll believe me.
Yours sincerely,
Hank Fletcher