The Letter

The wind blew hard. Trees shifted one way, merely keeping from toppling over. The area seemed barren with snow. Not a soul was in sight as Spencer looked around her neighborhood, pivoting on her right foot. She shrugged and took out the mail from inside the mailbox. There was a whole stack of papers that hadn't been taken in since they came back from their vacation in Florida. The Keys were a nice get-away from their below-zero-city if Wisconsin.

 

The warmth against Spencer’s sun kissed skin made her eyes droop down her pupils. She took advantage of every second on the vacation. There was a pure-blue beach, a sandy shore and many sea-animals to look at contently. Her eyes would soon begin to hurt from the blazing sun, so she closed her eyes and laid her head back on the beach chair that she set up for herself.

 

Her foster parents were somewhere getting food (no surprise there; they loved food of all nationalities). She was adopted. She never knew her biological parents and her foster parents didn’t seem to want her to know them. They never really liked to talk to Spencer much about her adoption or anything that had to do with her real parents. Spencer let the subject go long ago after she tried pushing them into finding her real parents at the age of fourteen.

 

Spencer walked slowly back into the small, white house. There didn’t seem to be any mail that was addressed to her. She quit looking through the mail and set it down on a table that was up against the wall of the stairs.

 

“The mail is here!” she shouted as she took off her scarf. After tossing it onto the same table, she walked into the kitchen to see if the dinner was close to ready. The spaghetti boiled and the timer counted down from :58 seconds. She went ahead and turned off the stove.

 

Then her phone rang.

 

Spencer set the pot on the stove. Her cell phone was tucked tight in the back pocket of her jeans. The contact ID read: Ray Hemings.

 

“Hello?” she answered in the most enthusiastic voice. Regret built up after realizing how preppy she sounded.

 

“You seem happy to hear me,” Ray chuckled from behind the line.

 

“Well, you know me, I couldn’t help but miss you over the long break. And we still have another week.”

 

“Don’t worry. It won’t be that long.”

 

Tapping on the marble counter impatiently she replied, “Yeah. Maybe we should do something. Like seeing a movie?”

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

Her heart sank and she sighed. Wasn’t he going to ask her out? He hadn’t done it the three months they’d gone out. It was always Spencer who made the plans and Ray always being the one to check his schedule to see if he could even make it. Spencer was used to it though; it wasn’t like her boyfriends in the past were any different. Her schedule for months ahead was well organized. Today was December 29^th and she could tell any one person what she was doing on March 3^rd or even April the first or any other day before that.

 

“So?” Spencer pushed her luck just a little more.

 

“Well, I have to go. See you next Monday. Love you.”

 

“Yeah, alright, love you too. Bye.”

 

She pressed the red End button and shook her head in disappointment.

 

Once the table was set, her parents sitting down and her own butt down on one of the chairs, they all said grace and dug into the food. Forks scraped the bottom of the bowls and aluminum foil from the pan rattled as each of the Moore’s got a piece of garlic bread. After two minutes Ms. Moore finally spoke, “How was your first day back at home? Does your bed feel better than the one on the ship?”

 

Spencer nodded, “It was good. Much more peacefully. But I thought the ship’s bed was much more comfortable.”

 

Mr. Moore grunted, “I could have said otherwise.”

 

“Oh, stop the fussing. Our bed isn’t that bad. Although, a new comforter might be nice.”

 

He nodded and continued slurping the noodles down. There was silence the rest of the night.

 

 

The next morning, Spencer got up surprisingly early. Instead of taking a shower, first thing, she decided to head down and get breakfast in her pajamas. As she was walking slowly down the stairs she heard Ms. Moore say, “Robin, come here! I said come here!”

 

Footsteps and a grunt followed soon after that. Ms. Moore never hissed such a whisper before. She was the small, round, quiet, sweet type. But her whisper seemed scared and urgent.

 

“What is it?” Mr. Moore asked. His tone was indifferent.

 

“Keep it down. We don’t want to wake Spence.” Spencer felt her stomach turn. She sat down at the top of the stairs and continued to listen to her foster parents (who seemed to be talking over the table against the stair wall).

 

There was a sound of paper ripping running through her ears. More rustles of paper, and Ms. Moore said, “It’s from them.”

 

She said ‘them’ as if they were diseases just ready to come and take over the household.

 

“Well, what’s it say? Can’t expect to get a reaction out of me if I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”

 

“They probably want her back now. Don’t you get it?”

 

“She’s two years off of being able to live on her own. I don’t think they’d do this so late, now would you read the damned letter?”

 

“I’ve already read it. Look, that’s all it says.” There was silence as Mr. Moore read the letter. By this time, Spencer’s heart felt like it was trying to win some sort of race. She felt that if she breathed any faster or heavier that her parents would hear.

 

“Are they nuts? Isn’t that illegal in this country?” Mr. Moore asked with a huff.

 

Illegal? What are they talking about?

 

“Well, no, but with permission…?”

 

“I don’t think so. Definitely not. Its completely illegal.”

 

Mr. Moore walked back into the living room with his newspaper and Spencer got up and headed downstairs with a bright smile on her face. “Good morning, my lovely parents.”

 

Of course, it was an act, but they hadn’t known that. She couldn’t help but wonder what the letter was about and what they were talking about. As she walked towards the kitchen archway she glanced at the desk. But there wasn’t any letters there.

 

She looked at Mrs. Moore who seemed saddened.

 

“What’s wrong, mom?”

 

She stirred the eggs inside a frying pan and turned to Spencer with a smile on her face, “What do you mean what’s wrong? What would make you think something is wrong?”

 

Spencer shrugged, “You just had a solemn look on your face.”

 

Mrs. Moore continued cooking without another word. Then Spencer spotted it. A white envelope just barely sticking out of the front pocket of Mrs. Moore’s aqua robe.

 

She sighed. There was no chance she’d be able to find out that illegal thing with that stuck in her pocket all day. So she skipped breakfast and headed back up to her room. Quickly grabbing a pencil and a notebook, she began to make a list of things her parents could have been talking about:

 

1. Them could be my biological parents

2. Illegal meaning Drugs

3. Rape

4. Adultry

5. Murder

 

Spencer sighed. Like any of those were likely. The most likely would be number one. And even that was a long shot.

Reviews

[Dupree]

This seems like an interesting start. I like what I've read so far. It is a good introduction. Leaves you interested and wanting to know what's going on. I have to say I am to see you are one of few who do very well with both grammar and spelling correctly.