The thought made his chest tighten and he curled his fingers over the railing, like he was clinging on.
Dinner parties had never been his thing. He hated smiling stiffly, eating fancy food and the one-upmanship of snobbery as conversation turned to who had seen the most obscure theater production. He supposed Liza’s family gathering would be different than that. “I have met them already, at your house,” he reminded her.
“So, is that a yes?”
Mitchell thought how it was easier to agree to her invitation, rather than excuse himself. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll come along.”
“Great.”
Her face was still and he felt the need to reassure her again. “We’ll keep trying to find Yvette, okay? We won’t give up.”
“Thank you.”
Footsteps approached them and Poppy arrived, waving a piece of paper. “I drew the new white bridge, Dad.”
He looked at it. “That’s wonderful. Very detailed.”
“Are we going home yet? I can show you my new dress.”
“Yes. I’m ready to go. Liza and I were just, um, talking.”
“Ah, yes, I saw that.” Poppy smiled knowingly.
15
MOSAIC
That evening, after Mitchell and Poppy had eaten, he tugged his coffee table to the side of the sitting room and shook out all the letters from the plastic shopping bag onto the floor. Poppy insisted on lining them up to make a large mosaic square of colorful correspondence. He welcomed the opportunity to focus on something else while Liza spoke to her family. And he could spend time with Poppy, too.
A few envelopes were addressed to Mitchell by name, some to the Hero on the Bridge, and others to Upchester News. Several were blank, but were of a nature (pink paper, stickers, doodles of padlocks) to suggest they weren’t official.
“Cool,” Poppy said and she walked around them in a circle.
Mitchell scratched his head as he looked down at them. The thoughts, ideas and secrets of strangers were all laid out on his stripped floorboards.
Poppy stooped down and picked up a zebra-striped orange envelope from the middle of the square. “Can I read this one, Dad?”
“Let me take a look first, just in case.” He took it from her and slid out a peach sheet of paper.
Dear Man on the Bridge,
What a good person you are! I was close by when I heard the fracas of the woman falling into the water. I was rushing home to take delivery of a parcel—a new hairdryer for my wife’s birthday! I was so impressed by your kind deed and wish I’d performed such a demonstrative act of love in my past. You see, my lovely wife wasn’t my first choice because I was secretly in love with someone else. I tried to tell my wife, before we married, but my words shriveled up.
My wife and I have now been married for over twenty-five years and, although we’ve enjoyed many happy times together, I know she isn’t the love of my life. I still see and admire the other lady from afar and hung a padlock on the bridge for her. It made me feel like a schoolboy carving initials into a tree and I feel better for sharing my story with you. Congratulations on taking a leap of faith for your own lady friend. All the very best to you both!
Best wishes,
Mr. Smith
PS: My wife loved her new hairdryer!
Mitchell frowned, unable to tell if this was a story with a happy ending or if he’d just read something extremely sad. How awful it must be to keep such a secret, a longing, to yourself. And for the wife, whose husband was in love with someone else. The letter was definitely not suitable for Poppy’s project.
The next one came in a pale blue envelope with Merci printed on the flap. Mitchell opened it up and read the letter.
Dear Sir,
My name is Henri and I am a French exchange student, aged almost seventeen. I am present in your beautiful city to examine your magnificent buildings and to practice my English.
My teacher, Monsieur Ingres, brought our class to look at your bridges and I was very surprised to find so many padlocks hanging from them. I live in Paris and one of our bridges collapsed under the weight of locks. When they were removed, they came to forty-five tons in weight. It is likely there are thousands of keys in the river, which is dangerous to both fish and animals.
I understand why people would like to fasten their locks, but not why they would want to damage fine bridges or hurt living things.
Your friend from Paris,
Henri
Mitchell admired the boy’s ethics and he handed the letter to Poppy. “This one would be good for your project,” he said. “It has an environmental message and the writer is from France.”
She took it from him. “So, people’s stories can be part of history?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “I admit you’re right and I was wrong.”
“Ha,” she said triumphantly. “Do you know I kept some of yours, too?” Poppy said.
“Mine?” Mitchell frowned.
“The letters you sent to me and Mum.”
Mitchell felt as if he’d stridden onto an escalator and missed his step. He’d sorted through all Poppy’s things when she moved into the apartment, and he didn’t recall seeing any letters. The only letter he’d kept from Anita was the one in the sealed lilac envelope.
“Do you want to see them?”
Before he could reply, Poppy sped off to her room. She returned and held out an old dictionary to him. “Open it,” she said.
Mitchell did so and saw the pages inside had been hollowed out, a gift box dictionary rather than a real one. Inside it, a few letters were tied together with a thin red ribbon. Poppy took one out and handed it to him.
His words took up barely a quarter of the paper.
Dear Anita and Poppy,
Everything is very busy at work. I may have to stay over in the city again this weekend, so will let you know. I promise you the new bridge will be very exciting and I think you’ll like it.
Love, Dad x
He read it again and a chill ran over him at its sparseness. There was no emotion, no asking how they were, and what they’d been up to. It was all about him and his work.
“Do you want to read another?” Poppy said.
Mitchell shook his head. He tried to inject lightness into his voice. “No, it’s fine. I don’t have much to say in this one, do I?”
“Nope, not really.”
“Why did you keep them?”
She shrugged and took the letter from his hands to place it back inside the dictionary. “Mum said letters are important. They’re like a diary and nice thoughts you can keep.”