The Correspondent: A Novel by Virginia Evans - 12

Sybil Van Antwerp

17 Farney Rd.

Arnold, MD

21012

February 8, 2013

Dear Sybil,

How wonderful for Fiona! She texted me just this morning to say she’s pregnant. I am happy for you, and the fact that you’ll have a grandchild in London means you’ll have to visit. This is the perfect opportunity for you to finally GO, take her shopping for baby things and maternity tops, you know, see Buckingham Palace and the very tall clock which has a man’s name that escapes me. Put down this letter and call the airline, Sybil!

It’s good you can get the funeral out of the way, and lovely Liz asked you to speak. I’ve always wondered if she resented you at all, how close you were to Guy and all the time you spent with him in those years you were with each other more than you were with your spouses. It’s a nice gesture for her to ask. I feel that it shows there isn’t any bad feeling. And if you’re looking like a chicken, imagine how much worse I am, all the baby oil I bathed in every summer until I was forty. I wish I could come down and take you to Nordstrom and help you find something. You’ll think I’m crazy, but I actually sat here considering it, but I can’t leave Paul with anyone overnight. He’s heavy to get in and out of the bed, and he gets agitated when it’s anyone but me. He liked the one day nurse, Olga (she was born in Moscow and lived there until she was eighteen—she was a very interesting person to talk to), and she was willing to do overnights, but she moved to live near her family in Illinois. His new wheelchair is here and it’s really something. It has a button for everything, it practically fixes you a cappuccino, although it’s extremely heavy.

You asked about Lars. He’s getting quieter all the time, and when he does talk it’s almost always nonsense, and then sometimes he comes out with these magnificent statements and that’s like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day. As a matter of fact, you will get a kick out of this, last week at the breakfast table I refilled his coffee cup and he touched my arm, looked me right in the eyes, and said he was thinking of having coffee when we were on vacation in Bar Harbor in 1964 and I was wearing that yellow dress and big sunglasses, and there was an orange cat slinking around the table, and, Sybil, he was exactly right because when he said it, that morning did come back to me, just like he said, and even the year was right; we’d all five (you had Bruce, didn’t you? I think you were pregnant with Gilbert)—taken the train up. His face was clear, and it was like it was five years ago, the old Lars, so I tried to keep him there, but it only lasted a moment. Between the two of them, I’m exhausted and it feels lonely, even though I’m with one or both of them all the time. I certainly did not see this coming—caring for husband and son as if they were toddlers or less until the end of time.

Listen to me complain. Forgive me.

BIG BEN.

Of course I hear from Daan, but I’m not getting into that now. Paul’s stirring. Please fill me in on Bruce, how his work is going, etc., the children.

I am reading Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner. Did you already read this? Miss you. My best to dear Bruce. And my best to Trudy and Millie—

Love, Rosalie

(Oh! Almost forgot to mention: how is Theodore Lübeck? Would also like an update on your vision if you feel like giving one.)