Philadelphia was a large city and boasted lots of things to do, museums, theatre, ballet, the orchestra, and of course, baseball. I was too restless to enjoy any of it. Cora Whitfield had not responded to my letter by calling me, as I had requested. Her silence was producing an angst that was ripping my stomach apart. I was eating little and had gone through nearly two bottles of Tums in the week since I’d dropped that envelope into the mail slot.
My cell phone was lying on the end table. I stared at it willing it to ring. “Damn it, Cora,” I whispered. “Just talk to me please.”
All of my business here was done. I’d finished the lawyer’s questionnaire and emailed the law firm the ideas for my will days ago. Dylan had written back that the papers were ready for my signature. I desperately wanted to go home, to sleep in my own bed, to appreciate the cooler weather and colors of fall in New England. The heat had subsided a bit in Philadelphia but had now turned to a misty warm, mosquito loving drizzle. For days now I’d donned a rain coat and explored the nearby attractions in the afternoon, the parkway museums, shopping and historical sites. By evening I was back in, feet up, watching TV or talking on the phone. Room service had become an expensive routine.
I was really beginning to feel out of place, without purpose, just here. It had only been a week but already I was itching to get back to my life. I was lonely. In the weeks after I had buried Nick, I had isolated myself against the world. I’d just wanted to be alone to lick my wounds in a familiar environment. Now, oddly enough, I craved company.
Samantha had not returned any of my numerous calls. She was a real estate agent, sometimes busy, sometimes not so much. She had told me she was going away on vacation. I’d been so deep into my own pain at the time, it didn’t register when or where. And I really needed her now.
We’d been inseparable since kindergarten. She was the tall gangly one with the long blonde hair and blue eyes. The pretty girl with ribbons in her hair that grew into the beautiful cheerleader that every guy wanted to date in high school. I watched in awe as she changed, matured, became what I wanted to be. Beautiful, elegant, sophisticated. She could manipulate anyone into anything with a tilt of her head and a smile.
I, on the other hand, was shy and gawky with unruly reddish hair that I couldn’t control. I was teased relentlessly in grade school, nicknamed Ronald McDonald or Orphan, after Little Orphan Annie. Of course, I learned later that my hair was enviable to some, but the damage had already been done. Samantha and I remained friends though my ego sometimes suffered for it. As long as she was by my side, I went unnoticed. I had come to a decision long ago to accept it and that’s exactly what I did. I can’t say I was ever sorry.
I tossed some clothes towards my black suitcase in frustration when the phone began to ring. Not the phone I had expected. It was a very conventional high pitched trill; the hotel phone on the end table was clanging. The desk clerk in the lobby informed me that I had received a piece of mail.
My heart raced, climbing in beats as the elevator stopped at each floor on the way to the lobby. Finally back in my room, envelope in hand, I put it on the bedspread and just stared at it. I was afraid to open it. My hands were trembling and damp.
The envelope was gray in color and thick in texture, expensive to the touch. The address was written in a fine ink. It almost looked like calligraphy, each letter curved and neat. Exactly the same size as the next. I finally ripped it open; one thick cream colored sheet slipped out onto the bed. I read it several times and then threw it to the side. Nick’s mother had written me two lines. Two. Her son was dead and she had only brought herself to pen two lines in response.
She was inviting me to tea on the 18th at 4pm. That was tomorrow. I assumed I would be able to talk to her on the phone first, so I could suss things out a bit before the meeting. She gave no contact information so I couldn’t call and suggest a restaurant or a neutral spot. As it was, I had no choice but to go back to that house again. Alone this time.