For a moment, she just stands there, hugging the dress. There are dust motes floating in the light from the window, and the house is quiet all around her, and she closes her eyes. Then she sits down on her bed to read the note.
Dear Mae,
I’m sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye. I know you’re probably angry with me. But you know how when you’re sick or scared, people always tell you to think of something happy? Well, I was thinking of you. Out there on your big adventure.
I hope you loved it. I hope you saw a lot. And I hope you fell for the cute boy on the train. You have one of the brightest hearts I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. Now go out there and let it shine.
Be good. Be brave. Be yourself.
I love you,
Nana
P.S. Don’t let your pop eat too much bacon. And make sure your dad gets those silly tweed jackets taken out a little. He can’t button them, and we all know he’s never going to lose those last few pounds. And make sure they both come visit you in California. They could use an adventure too. (Who couldn’t?)
P.P.S. Wouldn’t it be just like me to write this note and thennotdie after all? If I forget about it and you find this when you’re home for Thanksgiving and it turns out I’m still kicking, please disregard all of the above and redeem this note for a hug instead.
Mae is still crying when she walks over to the desk to get her camera. And when she turns it on and sets it carefully on a stack of books. She’s still crying when she sits down on the edge of the bed, the black dress—which she’ll need to wear to the funeral in a few short hours—scrunched in her lap like a blanket. It’s only when she begins to speak that the tears finally stop. Her eyes are probably red and her voice is a little shaky, but she doesn’t care. It’s not about how she looks. It’s about the words.
“Once upon a time,” she says, looking straight into the camera, “my grandmother fell in love on a train.” She hesitates, taking a sharp breath. “Fifty years later, so did I.”
Hugo is sitting atthe bar of a Mexican restaurant, polishing off a basket of tortilla chips, when he gets the email.
He sent the letter off the night before. It had taken him all day to write, which should probably be embarrassing. But it isn’t. In fact, he’s never been prouder of anything. He left it all on the table, and that was the only thing he could do.
Afterward, he thought about sending it to Mae, but he didn’t. What he told himself was that she had more important things on her mind. Which is why he shouldn’t bother her. And why she hadn’t been in touch. But the truth was that the past week felt to him like a dream, and Hugo still wasn’t sure he’d woken up yet.
His worry was that maybe she had.
Instead, he sent it only to Alfie, with a note that said,If this doesn’t work, I’m with you guys. But I had to try one more time.
Now, as he sees the name Nigel Griffith-Jones pop up on his phone, he fumbles it, knocking his glass over in the process so that the fizzy drink goes spilling all over the bar.
“Sorry,” he says to the bartender, who shakes his head as he reaches for a rag. “I’m so…”
But he doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s too busy reading the email, his eyes skipping over the words.
Dear Mr.Wilkinson,
Thank you for your follow-up letter. While we were looking forward to having all six of you with us for the start of our autumn term—have in fact been looking forward to it for quite some time now—we appreciate the case that you’ve made. We recognize that university might not be the right path for everyone and that—as you pointed out in your letter—you are, of course, six different people and not a single unit.
As such, we’d like to offer a compromise. We’re willing to defer the scholarship as long as you’re willing to join us for a few days to take part in the publicity we’ve arranged for the start of term. The idea would be for you to talk about your upcoming gap year and how you’ll be joining us next autumn instead. We feel certain the late Mr.Kelly would approve, so if that sounds acceptable, then we’ll see you next month. And we’ll be excited to hear more about your travels when you join us the following year!
Sincerely,
Nigel Griffith-Jones
Chair of Council University of Surrey
Hugo throws his arms up and lets out a whoop, knocking over the basket of chips. The bartender groans.
“Sorry,” Hugo says again, jumping off his stool to start sweeping them up. But he’s barely paying attention. His mind is going in a million different directions. He should tell his brothers and sisters. He should start narrowing down where he’ll go. He should tell his parents. He should book a flight. He should tell Mae.
More than anything, he wants to tell Mae.
A little boy has wandered over from a nearby table, and he stares at Hugo as he picks up the chips. Hugo looks up at him with a grin, practically bursting.
“Guess what?” he says. “I’m going to travel the world.”
