Eleanor looked down, saw her own handwriting on the outer page, and sat heavily.
For a while, no one said anything. She opened the top letter and read in silence. Then another. Then another. Michael and June busied themselves at the kitchen counter making coffee they did not really want, giving her privacy without leaving her alone. At one point Eleanor pressed two fingers against her mouth. At another, she let out a startled laugh so young-sounding that Michael turned instinctively, as if his childhood might suddenly be standing in the room.
“He kept these?” she asked eventually, eyes still on the paper.
“All of them, apparently,” Michael said.
Eleanor pulled one page free from the stack. “I wrote this in Fort Bragg when you had scarlet fever,” she said to no one in particular. “I remember being furious he couldn’t come home.” She read another line and shook her head. “I was also telling him to buy a specific brand of diaper rash cream on base because yours worked better. My God. Romance.”
June gave a small laugh. “Marriage,” she said.
The word could have broken the afternoon. Instead it hung there with surprising steadiness.