The News In The Envelope

                The envelope was on the kitchen table in plain sight. I eyed it wearily from my position in the entrance hall. I quickly assessed the noise level in the house and postulated what path my wife was likely to take in greeting me. I skidded over to the manila envelope that was likely to be my Achilles heal and tried to conceal it in my briefcase as my wife entered the kitchen.
         
              “Hello darling,” I said in my most cheerful and hopefully innocent voice. I had my briefcase up against my chest, subconsciously protecting myself like it was leather Roman armor. The envelope’s sneaky left corner was sticking out between the case and my cotton suit jacket, mocking me and shredding my determination.

         “What are you doing?” my wife asked as she circled the kitchen table and planted herself before me. I looked down at my case miming confusion.

         “Just holding my briefcase together Georgia, it broke earlier today before a meeting.”

         “Really?” she said not convinced, used to my evasiveness. “Let me have that!” She snatched up the envelope and slashed it open with her mauve fingernails of steel. I tried not to wince openly when she skimmed the contents with lightning quickness.

         “From what I can see you have lost all our investment money on yogurt stocks!” She screeched, thankfully only semi-irate.

         “But Georgia,” I held out my arms to explain and dropped my briefcase on my foot. Hopping around on the left one I rubbed my right and continued, “How was I to know there would be a new disease found to live in yogurt?” She just stood there and looked at me disapprovingly.

         “Well it looks as if your briefcase is really broken now.” A hint of pleasure tinted her words. Looking down I moaned.

                                                    * * *

         The envelope was on the kitchen table in plain view. I walked over and picked it up, grabbing a coaster in the process. I swore under my breath and place the brown leather disc back on the table above the right place mat. I was reading the letter when my father came down the stairs and into the kitchen.

         “Hey Hillary,” he said stopping in the doorway, “I didn’t know you were here.”

         “Yeah,” I offer. By this time Colby the dog is in the kitchen too. He follows you around like you’ve grown a tail and doesn’t stop sniffing you until you shoo him out into the hallway. Too bad, he was a nice distraction. Now I have to deal with Dad.

         “So have you been keeping busy?” He asks me as I rummage in the cupboard.

         “Yup,” I say pulling my volume up so that he can hear me. “I’ve got lots to do.”

         I make myself some soup and quietly go about my business like a nun in the rectory. Dad keeps trying to fish questions out of me. He seems a little uncomfortable even though he’s sprawled out in the kitchen chair. When my soup is finally done I hesitate to sit with him, right now the big wooden table is a desert between father and daughter. Miles between us, and no caravan service.

         “So I’ll see ya next time?” He asks hopefully when I’m out the door and in the car like a bat out of hell.

         “Love ya!” I call before I drive off.

                                                      * * *

         The envelope was on the kitchen table in plain view. I skip over and lovingly pick it up. It is red and pink, just the right colors for Valentine’s Day. Mom must have left it here when she was moving the cards. Smiling in a dreamy sort of way I prance upstairs to where my brother and mom are making cards for kids in class.
         “Did you find it?” Mom asks in her singsong voice.

         “Yup, isn’t it pretty?” I look at it in admiration.

         “Sure is.” Mom picks up a card and hands it to me, “Do you think this one should be for Lauren?”

         “Mom, mom, mom.” My brother Tyler pulls on moms shirtsleeve trying to get her attention. Problem is my mom’s as focused as a magnifying glass.

         “Hold on a sec hun, I’m helping your sister.”

         “But mom, my fingers are gluey. I can’t cut with gluey fingers.” Tyler pleads.

         “Ok, go to the bathroom,” She says to him and then looks at me, “I’ll be right back. I have to help your brother with his gluey fingers.”

         It doesn’t bother me too much that they’re gone. I look through all the cards that came in the package and try to find just the right one to put in my special envelope. Then a bright idea hits me.

         “Mom,” I call in the direction of the bathroom, “Can I send a Valentine to you?” She sticks her head out.

         “What honey?”

         “Can I give you a Valentine?” I shift around more to face her.

         “Sure honey, but don’t you want to send them to your friends at school?”

         “Well,” I look down at my hands and the blue fabric on the saggy old couch, “but I love you most mom.” My mom smiles and just nods.
 
                                                    * * *

         The envelope was on the kitchen table in plain view. Nevgin had sent Tilam in to check on the porridge and make sure the floor was swept. In her haste coming in the door from the freezing wind she must not have seen the letter there. She hesitated to open it even though the symbols for her name were clearly marked on its front. She merely stood behind a chair with her hands on the back and looked at it. A gust to her left signaled her father tramping into the kitchen.

         “What’s the matter Tilam? You look like a fish frozen in lake Yarbis.” He chuckled at the image. Tilam snapped out of her mild trance and looked up at her ox of a father.

         “I’ve got a letter.” She almost stammered while picking it up.

         “Well that’s alright.” He confirmed mostly to himself, “Go along and open it, see what it says.” He went to the fireplace to sip the porridge and warm his feet. After a few moments Tilam looked up with a smile straight from the sun.

         “It is from Amestra. She has written to tell me that while traveling to Poerlas she met some traveling musicians and convinced them to come to the Temple.” Joy emanated from Tilam and her father clapped his hands.

         “Oh this is a fine day. Bless the Gods!” He came over to Tilam and gave her a big hug, then stood back.

         “Yes, can you imagine all the foreign music they must know?” She looked down at the letter again, “I only wish Amestra was here to see how happy this makes me.”

         “Do not worry,” Her dad consoled, “I am sure she knew when she sent the letter.”