Then I read it back.
And I thought: if he’s happy, what right do I have?
So I tore it into pieces and put it in the trash can under my desk.
And then I kept being his friend. For another year and a half, I kept being his friend.
The Summer of 1986
The last letter came in July.
I knew something was wrong before I opened it, because Jeffrey’s letters always started with a joke. Always. Some dumb observation, some complaint about Gary.
This one started:
Ruth,
Margaret and I are getting married. The ceremony’s in August.
I Read It at the Kitchen Table
The wedding would be small. Margaret’s family was helping them get settled outside Pittsburgh.
And then I got to the bottom.
There was one more paragraph.
He Asked Me Not to Contact Him Again
He wrote that Margaret knew how close the two of us had been. That he wanted to give his marriage a fair start, without anything hanging over it.
