"No. Your father. I can't remember when I spoke to him last. It seems to me he was just a little boy."
"My father? I thought he went on a vacation."
"I don't know where he was when he called."
"What did he say? Did he say anything about my mother?"
"He asked how you were doing. I thought he sounded sad," she said. "Very sad. I can tell when someone is sad. It's like hearing a familiar song. I asked him if he wanted you to call him and he said no. He said he would call again."
"And he didn't say anything about my mother? You didn't ask?"
"I was so surprised at hearing his voice that I didn't think to ask. I'm sorry, dear. I didn't even ask about Emma. He promised he would call again soon. Oh," she said as I started to turn away. "He said to tell you he sent your letter to Ian."
"He did?"
"That's what he said."
"Then maybe Ian will write me here. We'll have to look at the mail every day."
"I don't get any mail," she said, "Lester gets anything important and takes it to the bank or sends it to Emma's lawyer. The rest, he says, is just junk mail."
"I'd better tell him not to make a mistake and throw away a letter from Ian."
"He won't if your name's on the envelope."
"I'll tell him anyway." I said, excited and not wanting to take any chances. I turned and ran back out of the house. Daddy had called about me and he had fulfilled his promise about my letter. It was as if an overcast sky had started to part and let in some blue hope.
Alanis's granddad was feeding the chickens. He was mumbling under his breath, either to himself or to the chickens, and didn't hear me when I called to him.
"Mr. Marshall," I
called again.
"Yes?" When he turned to me. I thought he looked so much older an almost in minutes.
"My father called. I might get a letter from my brother any day now. His name is Ian March, so any envelope with that name on it is for me."
"Well, well now, that's nice. I'll be sure to get it to you," he said.
He didn't smile like he almost always did when he spoke to me.
"I'm sorry Mae Betty left," I told him, and his eyes widened a bit.
"Yeah," he said, and then he added something very strange. "Maybe we'll be better off."
I didn't know what to say. How could Alanis be better off without her mother? I certainly wasn't. And why was he better off without his own daughter? I turned and ran back to the house, practically charging up the stairway to Grandmother Emma's room. There were two more of Ian's letters to read. I seized the bag and sat on the floor.
.
Dear Jordan,
I am now wrapped around my waist so tightly I can't sit up. I am writing to you lying on my back so my writing might look funny.
It all happens to me at night. It happens very. slowly, so slowly that I can't feel it happening and can't stop it.
The nurse and Dr. Walker pretend they don't see it. They spend most of their time trying to convince me I am imagining it. They plead with me to move my legs and now to sit up. I just smile at them. I know this is a charade they must go through in case some health inspector arrives or in case the highly doubtful thing occurs and Father comes to visit or inquires about me. Of course, they have to be sure Grandmother Emma hears only good things, too. She will. My lawyer, Jack Cassidy, pretends to be very concerned and stands in the doorway' looking in at me and nodding his head and shaking his head as Dr. Walker fills his ears with one lie after another.
I don't want you to worry because no matter what they do to me, I will still be able to speak with Mother. I don't have to move my mouth to speak with her, remember. It all done with my brain and with hers, so even if they put me into a coma finally, it won't matter.