Okay, one last detail to pass along, although this isn’t about what happened, but about what I think is going to happen, if that makes sense. It doesn’t really, which is why I’m throwing it in here. I don’t even know what it means. Yet.
Anyway, while Cliff and I were sitting there getting all superhero duo-ey, the mail arrived. There is no mail on Sunday in Dimly, which should have triggered something in my brain.
“Jess, a letter,” Dad called down from the top of the stairs.
I ran over and he threw it down to me. “Thanks, Dad. Go, Gents!” I said. He smiled, then closed the door before RigaTony could squeeze by.
The envelope was taped together, like it had been opened and resealed about ten times. I turned it over. There was no address or stamp. Just my name written in pencil on a sticker. That sticker was on top of what looked like a dozen other stickers.
“What’s that?” Cliff asked.
“Looks like a message about recycling,” I said, opening the envelope. Well, it more broke into pieces as I started to tear it open. The letter itself was written on a scrap of what felt like newspaper, in a tiny, tiny script. And it was brief.
Jessica Flem
YOU’RE INVITED!
If you’re reading this you survived your mission.
Congratulations!
To celebrate a year of (mostly) successful projects, come to our midsummer potluck picnic for those still alive.
Let us know if you’ll bring salad, sandwiches or dessert. (And also cheese.)
Looking forward to seeing whoever is left.
Bernard Cheeper,
Department C Projects Coordination
PS You can bring one guest.
There was an address in Montreal.
I looked at Cliff. Of course, you’re coming too, I thought.
Cliff smiled. And I smiled too.
And then I blew my nose.
