Dear Rita,
I went to town today to do my shopping at the open-air market and there were these men sitting around playing chess. They were having a wonderful discussion and I lingered over the cabbages and strawberries to listen. The gist of their conversations was this: “This is everybody’s war, now.” And I agree with them—it’s never been so true.
I got your letter and was thrilled to see that in actuality we were listening to the radio at the same time! It’s the little things that thrill me, that’s what Levi always says. A certain slant of light, a delicate white trim on a previously red rose, a dear (as of yet unmet) friend listening to the same words at the same time.
I feel less alone. But really, I’ve felt less alone since all those moons ago when we began this lovely correspondence.
Day by day news drips in...too quickly. It must have been bad during those invasions, because the secretary of war has been efficient with those telegrams. So far, so good, here at our house. And the only issue is that we haven’t had a letter from Robert. I’d feel better if we had a letter.
Truth is, we weren’t even due for one, he writes so infrequently, so I wouldn’t even be worried if those damn church bells weren’t tolling every hour on the hour.
I’ve been thinking about all of you so much. With each ringing of that damn bell. I think of Sal and Toby. Roylene and Irene. Charlie and Mrs. K.... Of course, Robert is the first on my mind, but the rest of our collective brood wriggle their way in. How I wish I could meet everyone in your world. What do you think about a possible reunion of sorts? Can you use the term reunion when we have yet to meet? Well...that’s what I want to do, that’s what I want to look forward to at the end of this damn war. A meeting. All members of both our clans. Here, by the sea. Can we plan that? Let me know. Sal will be with us in spirit—I just know it.
All is wonderful here, Rita...as good as it can be. The garden is thriving. Robbie is better. He laughed. And there was no coughing afterward. I am so blessed.
Claire (my mother-in-law), came by the house the other day and I decided to practice a little of what I like to call “Rita’s Good Sense.”
I smoked my contraband cigarette and leaned against my porch while I quietly listened to her huff about all those “Artists” who didn’t have any “Moral Compass.”
You would have been so proud. I yessed her to death and, before I knew it, she was gone. Silence is a powerful tool. I need to practice it more. Much more. The funny part was that I (for the first time, God help me) watched her play with the children. She does love them, Rita. That’s all that really matters, right?
How are you? Any word from Toby?
All my love,
Glory