Page 43 of Then Came the Fall
Joanie gratefully grabbed her fanny pack and hustled out of the office, the wood floor buckling and creaking with each step she took. “I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”
The door slammed behind her. I adjusted the fan so it blasted the recirculated hot air in our direction.
“There’s no way those Slurpees make it back here still frozen,” Matt said.
“Nope. Not a chance.” I placed a letter in Cabin Four’s box.
“I’m glad she’s gone, though,” he continued. “I found something, but I was going to wait to give it to you.”
I looked up at him. “What’d you find?”
He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. It had been folded in half. “You got mail,” he said.
“From my mom?” I asked. “That’s a federal offense, you know, tampering with someone else’s mail.” I laughed.
He smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “Not your mom. Your dad.” He handed me the letter.
“My dad?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know how you’d feel about it, and I didn’t want you to get upset with Joanie here.”
“Oh,” I replied. He was right. I didn’t know how to feel, exactly. “Thanks,” I replied, inspecting the handwriting on the envelope.
“Do you want me to give you a minute alone to read it? I can go wait outside at the picnic table if you want.”
“No.” I shook my head. “That’s okay.”
“Are you going to open it?”
“I guess,” I said absent-mindedly. “This is the first time he’s ever written me a letter at camp.”
“Really? Ever? No way.”
I nodded.
“Wow,” Matt mused. “I mean, I guess that’s not so weird though, right? Most dads aren’t really writers.” He was grasping at straws, trying to make me feel better.
I let his words linger in the air as I carefully placed my thumb underneath the seal and scraped across the top of the business-sized letter. I took out the yellow, lined paper within and unfolded it.
Matt waited quietly as I took in the written words.
“Can I read it to you?” I finally asked.
“If you want to, sure.”
I cleared my throat. “Dear Taylor,” I began. “How are you? I bet you’re probably a little surprised to be hearing from me. Mom’s better with the camp notes.
“Actually, this letter to you is an assignment from my therapist. I’m supposed to reach out to someone I’ve hurt and apologize. It’s supposed to help with closure and forgiveness. So, I thought I’d use the opportunity to write a letter to you.
“I want you to know that I’m sorry for not being the best dad. I know there have been times that I’ve let you and Mom down. It’s never on purpose, but I know you haven’t always had an easy go of things, and a lot of that is my fault. I want to blame it on my upbringing, on my own father, but in therapy we talk about taking responsibility for our actions, which is kind of the point of this exercise.
“Also, I want you to know that I’m trying to get better. I’ve been seeing my doctor twice a week for over a month, which might not sound like a big deal, but believe me, it is. Aunt Lucy organized it for me. I’m trying to talk out the problems between me and your mom. Most importantly, I feel like I’m making progress. It’s been a good summer so far!
“How is the summer going for you? Are you still dancing even though you’re a counselor in training? I hope you have time for that. I know how much you like it.
“I’m not sure if they give you postage or how it works, so I’m enclosing an envelope for you with a stamp on it. If you’d like to write back, I’d be happy to hear from you! Love, Dad.”
Tears flooded my eyes, the outward manifestation of an upsurge of repressed emotions.
