After the dishes were cleared, Tom and Duncan conferred about which items to include in the time capsule, while Phoebe, a newly minted five-year-old, worked on her contribution, a crayon-coloredpicture of a family of kittens. At Phoebe’s direction, Diana labeled each one, the names written in thick lines of purple:Mama, Daddy, Duncan, me.
When Phoebe started yawning, Duncan and Tom agreed to finish assembling the time capsule while Diana handled bedtime. As she and Phoebe said good night, Tom ruffled Phoebe’s hair, kissing both her and Bear Bear, his other arm curled around Diana’s waist. He held her there for a long moment, before leaning away and opening a beer, the crack and fizz of the can finishing off her memory like an exclamation point.
Diana puts the drawing to the side. “What else do we have?”
“Here’s some of my math homework.” Duncan shows her a worksheet with a smiley face on top. “I made some dumb mistakes when I was younger.”
“Everybody makes mistakes,” Diana says absently. She scans the front page ofThe Boston Globefrom 2012; stories about the presidential race and winter snow dominate the headlines, not too different from today.
She and the children pass items back and forth: a photo of the four of them apple-picking, along with Duncan’s school portrait, a snap of Phoebe in her preschool classroom, and the ticket stubs from Duncan’s first Celtics game.
“Here’s the interview I did with Dad.” Duncan holds up a paper stained with burnt-orange spots.Tacos,Diana remembers.We had tacos for dinner that night.
“Read it,” urges Phoebe.
“Go ahead, Duncan,” Diana says, the ominous feeling rising inside her again.
“Name: Tom Morgan. Age: 47,” Duncan begins. “Address: 90 Newton Road, Alcott, Massachusetts. Occupation: attorney. Hobbies: playing basketball with Duncan. Hope for the future: My son will pick up his Legos.”
Duncan pauses and bites his lip. Diana tries not to cry.
“Daddy was funny,” Phoebe says.
“He definitely was,” Diana agrees, swallowing hard. “He was also right about your brother’s inability to pick up his Legos.”
“Seriously, this is not an issue anymore,” Duncan says.
“Your room is the messiest,” Phoebe says, giggling.
“Mine is messy? Have you ever cleaned your closet? I’m pretty sure something’slivingin there.”
Diana interjects before a fight ensues. “Is that it for the interview, Duncan?”
“Two more questions. Favorite vacation: Cape Cod with my family. Favorite season: winter.” Duncan smiles. “Dad liked winter because we’d all go sledding down the hill by Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”
“I don’t remember that,” Phoebe says.
“You don’t remember sledding with your dad?” Diana says. A memory sneaks through the fragile barricade she’s constructed against the past. She sees Phoebe nestled between Tom’s legs as the two of them fly down the hill, their plastic sled picking up speed as it bounces against the packed snow, Tom laughing, Phoebe shrieking with delight.
“I miss Daddy,” Phoebe whispers.
“Do you want us to stop?” Diana says, hoping Phoebe will say yes.
“Nah, you’re okay, right, Pheebs?” Duncan says. “You want more of the time capsule, don’t you?”
Phoebe nods as she tightly squeezes Bear Bear.
Duncan thrusts a white, letter-size envelope across the table. “This is for you, Mom.”
Diana’s name is written on the front in Tom’s handwriting. “It’s from your dad.”
“Maybe it’s a love letter, Mama.”
“Please open it,” Duncan whispers.
Duncan’s “please” jolts through Diana. She inserts her finger into the corner of the envelope and rips. From the jagged opening, she withdraws a sheet of paper filled with Tom’s handwriting, all right angles and clean lines. Smoothing the page out on the table, she begins to silently read.
Dear Diana, If you’ve found this letter, I’m gone. I shouldn’t say “if,” as it’s clear there’s no miraculous recovery for me waiting around the corner. I am so sorry for leaving you and the kids.
