Confessions of a Curious Bookseller(6)
From: Gregory Harris
Sent: Wed, Nov 14, 2018 at 8:31 PM
To: Fawn Windsor
Subject: Yoo-hoo!
Dear Fawn,
I had some time between meetings, so I’m taking the opportunity to say a quick hello. Right now, I’m at a café on the Liffey drinking a cappuccino and watching passersby, and I can’t help but think of you and how much you’d enjoy this. At this very moment, in fact, I’m witnessing a young man propose to his girlfriend. She seems completely flabbergasted. Oh, this is good.
Anyway, I’m very busy. Just flipped a multiunit residential building not far from where I’m sitting. Hoping the capital gains are worth it. This one came in over budget.
Oh dear. I think she said no. This is quite uncomfortable. Dublin is a hell of a town.
Tell me how your life is going lately. Talk soon.
Gregory
From: Fawn Windsor
Sent: Wed, Nov 14, 2018 at 10:00 PM
To: Gregory Harris
Re: Yoo-hoo!
Dearest Gregory,
I had a whisper of a notion that you might be emailing me, and I was right! I’m so glad you did, as I have much to recount from my recent trip to Croatia. Have you been? No doubt in your line of work, travel is forced upon you. I was able to leave my father’s estate for an entire month (imagine the freedom!) and entrust the horses to Pierre. I put my finger on a globe in the study and spun it, only to land on Croatia!
I got my affairs in order and left, worried the place may burn to the ground under the watch of my house staff, but I couldn’t deny myself a little freedom. I won’t be young forever—I’m already going rather grey, even though I dye. And sometimes when I see myself in the mirror, I realize with horror that my feet have a natural splay to them, almost like that of Daffy Duck. I can only imagine how ridiculous I appear when I walk. I am always trying to correct this, but my efforts are like swimming upstream—I am getting nowhere. Do you know, despite all that, a stranger came up to me the other day and told me that I look like an older Keira Knightley? Needless to say, I was flattered. Had he seen me walking or standing he might have rescinded, but luckily I was sitting at the time and no one was the wiser. Do you know who Keira Knightley is? I recommend looking her up and imagining her a little older, with splayed feet, and it may be as good as any photograph that I could send you.
Croatia, contrary to popular belief, is no longer going through any major conflict and is therefore a best-kept secret for discerning travelers like myself. While most are traversing the beaches of Monte Carlo and skiing the Alps, those in the know are drinking fabulous Croatian wine and walking through its amazing parks. The waterfalls, Gregory! I’ve never been able to drink an entire bottle of wine and then wake up the next day for a hike around waterfalls. One simply doesn’t get hungover on Croatian wine! Incidentally, the same gentleman who commented that I looked like Ms. Knightley ended up being a love interest while I was on my travels. However, it did not work out. He is a charming, handsome man from the South of France and owns acres of seaside real estate; however, he cannot properly eat soup to save his life. By the time we were finished with our meal, his white Versace shirt was covered in tomato bisque. And how childish he was! He had the strangest obsession with trains. Anyway, I ditched him in Split (no pun intended!). I think I broke his tomato-covered heart, but alas, it was for the best.
Here I am rambling on. I just wanted to say hello and let you know how things are going on my end. A failed proposal! How terribly awkward! I am so happy to hear your real estate business is getting on well. Dublin must be lovely this time of year. It’s been so long since I’ve traversed those city streets or drunk a pint of real Guinness!
Incidentally, one of my cousins (a duke in southern England) has passed away and left me with a mountain of Mark Twain books. An odd gift but I believe a lucrative one if I play my cards right. I would very much like to sell them and see what I can get. Some are very old indeed. Funny for a Brit to love Mark Twain so much, but my cousin was eccentric. I hear he paid for everything in rolls of shillings, despite his millions.
Much love,
Fawn Windsor
November 14
Dear Fawn,
Enclosed please find your birthday gift. Sorry there isn’t much this year. How are the store and Philly in general these days? I haven’t been to Philly since last year when I went for the Macy’s Christmas light show with Florence and the kids.
I wanted to let you know that your father was moved into hospice care two days ago. Most of the time these days he doesn’t even know who I am. I do wish you would visit when you can find the time. It would mean so much to him, even though he might not recognize you. He often calls Florence by your name, and lately we’ve decided to stop correcting him.
Sorry to include this morose news with your birthday card, but such is life. Personally, I’d rather know what’s going on than have people sugarcoat everything for me, only to find out how terrible things really are when it’s far too late.
Anyway, happy birthday, my firstborn child. Yours was an extraordinarily difficult birth, but you were absolutely worth it. I hope you have fun birthday plans.
Much love,
Mother
November 15, 2018
I didn’t sleep well last night. The pressure to see my father is overwhelming. It would be one thing if the guilt was only coming from my mother and sister, but there is some self-generated guilt as well that’s making this particularly challenging. Not that I owe him anything. I sacrificed my childhood and teenage years for his pitiful store. And for what? So people would have somewhere to buy cigarettes and Pepsi? So that they wouldn’t have to drive or walk another five blocks to the Wawa? And he wants to see me. Does he want to see me? Or is this something Mother is doing—a last-ditch attempt to get the scattered family back together again one last time? Not so that Florence and I can see our father but so that we can see our jailer. So that he can feel less guilty because our presence alone indicates forgiveness or at the very least an attempt at it. And my mother can sit back and see us all together and feel absolved of her complacency in our lost childhood.