FIFTY-EIGHT
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
The two most important days of your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.
—Mark Twain
I’m a long-time fan of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. And for that, I will always be grateful to Mark Twain. But I have to say, I think he got this one wrong.
A person could find out why, and do nothing about it.
A person could find out why, and die on a train the next day.
It’s an insatiable question—why. The kind you can ask and ask and ask and ask without ever getting your fill. Like my niece Lulu, with one why leading to the next why that leads to the next that leads to the next.
Take this recent conversation as an example, between her and Chad:
“We can’t forget to pick up bread at the store.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re almost out.”
“Why?”
“Because we eat a lot of bread.”
“Why?”
“Because our family likes toast.”
“Why?”
And around and around and around it goes; where it will stop, nobody knows.
It’s been five days since I ruined the video and Paul made his big confession online. A confession that left me admiring him even more. Somehow he managed to speak the truth with decorum. He wasn’t explicit, and he remained respectful of his late wife.
Vivian Elliott, a woman I don’t know. A woman I will never know.
For the past five days, it’s all anybody’s been able to talk about. The Marriage Doctor’s failed marriage has been such a big deal, everybody seems to have forgotten the fact that I never showed up with the video. It helped that the impromptu tribute—wherein guests were invited up on stage to share whatever memories or hopes they wanted to share—went so well.
Still, I apologized to Mitch.
Several times.
With much contrition.
He said it was okay. He said that Paul told him about the mix-up, which means Reese must have told her father she sent the video to Seth, and her father must have put the pieces together regarding my absence.
I asked Mitch yesterday how Paul is doing, in light of everything.
“All right. Laying low.”
It was a vague answer.
I think Mitch is still pretty shaken over everything.
On Monday, Paul resigned from the marriage campaign.
Mitch and the elders and the fellowship of pastors had an emergency meeting. They’d been prepared to put the whole thing on pause. Do another regroup. When out of nowhere, someone contacted them about an up-and-coming Christian speaker with a passion for marriage. His name is Laurence Brown, and he’s based out of Seattle. Since he’s relatively new to the scene and trying his hardest to make a name for himself, he was affordable, and also eager.
Now, instead of e-mailing Paul with questions or thoughts or suggestions, I e-mail Laurence. He always replies promptly, enthusiastically, and I find myself wondering, Does he have any secrets of his own?
It’s funny how life turns out.
There are so many twists and turns, it’s impossible to guess where one decision will lead.
Claire and I had our big fight.
I didn’t pull her hair, but I did get close. So close, in fact, that Leanne had to jump in between us. She yelled. I don’t know if Leanne has ever yelled. For a second, she reminded me of my Grandma Ally. For a second, I thought, Maybe we’ll find a way to make this relationship work after all.
Anyway, Claire swears she didn’t tell anyone, not even Trent, who confirmed it. So there’s really no reason for me to be angry with my sister. The information about Vivian must have leaked another way.
You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to call Paul with this news. But the truth is, I did tell Claire. I blabbed his secret to my sister without his permission, and then when he told me not to tell a soul, I didn’t bother to tell him that, whoops, I already had.
I miss him.
A lot.
So I’ve been keeping myself busy.
There’s plenty to do.
Claire’s wedding checklist lengthens every day.
Tonight I visited Ina May for some evening tea. We’re going to make it a monthly thing.
Tomorrow I’m having lunch with Anna Montgomery. As it turns out, she’s been looking for a church, and she loved the reception at Redeemer so much that she wants to make it her home. It helps that they have such an excellent children’s program, the reason Jane and Chad have started to attend as well.
Seth is back from Puerto Rico, and now that he understands why I was being so weird about the sudden appearance of Reese on the screen, he’s working on taking her out so I can upload the tribute to YouTube and the memorial website as originally planned.
I went to lunch with Kendall on Sunday. We picked up where we left off, like the weird prolonged stretch of zero contact never happened. It was natural and fun, and we laughed a lot.
On Monday, I slipped away from work for my last appointment with Jeannie True.
I don’t think I need it anymore. I haven’t visited the cemeteries since that day back in early April when Reese showed up at my apartment. I don’t stalk anybody online either. I added one last newspaper clipping to my binder—an article about the tribute—and I put it away, in the storage unit in my basement. I don’t have time to obsess over the dead anymore. Not when my life is so full of the living.
Somehow I am learning to put one foot in front of the other.
Jeannie said she’d hold on to my file, in case something happened and we needed to resume.
Until then, I have you, Maud.
The cheapest therapy around.
Friday, June 30, 2017
Dear Autumn,
I’m really sorry for lying in the letters that I sent you, and in the video you took of me for the tribute. I think I might be the reason why you didn’t show up. I didn’t mean to ruin it. I was just trying to alter my memories, like in that book Freak the Mighty. Anyway, it didn’t work.
But the tribute ended up being really cool. Did you watch it online?
You should have heard Grandma Regina afterward. She was furious with me for saying my mom wasn’t a very good mom, and even more furious with my dad, for never telling her that he and Mom were having problems, and also for telling everyone in that church and online about it. He had to drive her to the airport the next day. I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again anytime soon.
It’s finally summer break. My current events project went really well.
Tate’s been super annoying. He no longer wants to be a police officer. He wants to be a detective. He’s obsessed with Sherlock Holmes. Grandma bought him one of those magnifying glasses. He keeps looking at me through it and calling me his “dear Watson.”
I’ve been writing a lot. I included a new story, in case you wanted to read it. I miss you. Maybe you can come over for dinner again sometime.
Love,
Reese Rosamund Elliott
P.S. Anna Montgomery is paying me to help with her kids on Monday and Wednesday afternoons this summer! It’s called a mother’s helper. She already set it up with my dad and everything. She thinks I’ll be really good at it.