I’m not saying you shouldn’t enjoy being alone; there’s a lot to be said for it. But if you’re choosing to be alone because you’re scared of other people, resist that fear. Trust people with your truth, and bravely tell them you’re not brave at all.
Finally, hold on to the family you’ve suddenly acquired; they’re my real gift to you. And you, dear Nina, are my gift to them.
He signed it,
Love, Dad
Well, damn, thought Nina. I guess I left the window open; there’s rain all over my face.
Twenty-seven
In which Nina delivers a letter.
Lydia lived in Santa Monica, which would normally be enough reason to avoid her all on its own. But now Nina had a mission, so the next day she crossed the 405 for the second time in a week, and made her glacial way down Olympic Boulevard.
Santa Monica is literally a separate city from Los Angeles, albeit one with no perceptible border or an inch of physical separation. It even has its own weather. Cooler, foggier, more, you know, coastal. It has fierce devotees who regard the East side of LA with the same disdain Nina had for the West side, but as they tended to be richer, more opinionated, and deeply into things like crystals and colonic irrigation, Nina didn’t worry about it.
Lydia lived on 16th Street, in a nice residential neighborhood, where presumably she could wreak havoc with her neighbor’s peace and quiet. Nina’s intention was to drop off the letter and walk away as swiftly as possible, but as she approached the front door, it opened and Lydia stood there.
“Are you coming to kill me?”
Nina stopped, halfway up the path. This woman was seriously off her rocker, but she couldn’t help admiring her bold welcoming of possible death.
“Yes, Lydia,” she said. “I am going to kill you using this deadly envelope, and then I am going to feast on your entrails.”
“Paper actually has a great deal of strength, if properly folded.”
“I’m aware of that. There’s something called buckypaper, which has a tensile strength greater than steel.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes at Nina. “How do you know that?”
“I read.” Nina held up the envelope. “This, however, is a regular envelope, which I haven’t treated with poison or booby-trapped in any way. I found it in the car your grandfather left me, and it’s addressed to you.” She shrugged. “I am merely the messenger, so, you know, don’t shoot me.”
A cat had appeared in the doorway, next to Lydia. It decided to irritate its owner by walking down the pathway and greeting the visitor. It was extremely friendly and looked like a leopard.
“Is this a Bengal?” asked Nina, bending to stroke its head.
“Yes,” said Lydia, watching from the door.
The cat had grown tired of being petted and now sat next to Nina’s feet and started washing itself.
“What’s its name?”
“Euclid.”
“The founder of geometry?”
“No, Euclid O’Hara, who works at the pizza joint on Montana.” Lydia snorted. “Yes, the father of geometry.” She turned, suddenly, and went into the house. “Come on, then, come in.”
Nina started walking in.
“Bring the cat,” said Lydia, from somewhere in the house, but the cat was already coming. Cats hate to miss anything.
The hallway of Lydia’s house was dark but opened into a large, sunny room at the back that made Nina stop short. Books lined every wall and stood in stacks on several large tables. Books were open on a desk, books were piled on the floor, and there were even two books open on the arms of a chair that looked potentially as comfortable as hers.
“Wow,” she said and stopped herself from saying, I guess you like books, because it was something people always said when they came to her place, and it irritated her.
Lydia turned to face her, catching her gazing openmouthed at the shelves. “I like books,” said Lydia. “I don’t like people.”
“Me neither.”
Lydia shook her head. “That’s not true. You’ve already become closer to my family than I am, and you just met them. You might be shy, you might be introverted, even, but you like people.”
Nina opened her mouth to object, but closed it. Lydia might be right.
“Now, a true misanthrope,” Lydia continued, “hates and despises people, and I don’t hate them. I simply don’t like them much, in the same way I also don’t enjoy oysters. Unfortunately, they’re harder to avoid than oysters.”
Nina nodded in understanding, gave a small smile, and held out the envelope. Lydia stepped forward to take it.
“Thanks.”
There was a pause, then Nina asked, “Aren’t you going to open it?”
Lydia gazed at her aunt for a long moment, then sat down on the chair with the two open books. Nina sat down on the sofa, and Euclid jumped up next to her.
“Do you have a cat?” Lydia asked.
“Yes,” Nina said. “His name is Phil.”
Lydia said nothing, just raised one eyebrow in the exact way Nina did. So Nina did it back at her, and suddenly Lydia laughed.
“I may have to admit that you’re related to me after all. You like books, you like cats, you clearly enjoy a useless fact, and you raise your eyebrow exactly the same way I do.” She looked at the envelope. “I don’t know why I’m going to open this. There’s almost nothing it can contain that will make any difference to me.”
“Maybe it’s a really good recipe for banana bread.”
Lydia snorted. “Or maybe it’s a bomb.”
“Why would your grandfather leave you a letter bomb?”
Lydia looked at her witheringly. “Why would he leave me a recipe for banana bread?”
Nina shrugged. “Maybe it’s an apology.”
“For being a crappy grandfather? Too little, too late, don’t you think? Unless this envelope contains Hermione’s Time-Turner and a promise that he’ll actually pay attention to me this time around, it’s just paper.”
“But don’t you want to see?”
“No,” said Lydia, but then she opened the envelope and tipped the contents into her lap. She sat silently and looked, then picked up a birthday card.
“I gave this to him when I was ten or so.” She picked up a friendship bracelet of red and yellow threads. “And I gave this to him much later.” Finally, she picked up a folded piece of paper and opened it up.
“ ‘Dear Lydia,’ ” she read, “ ‘If you’re reading this, I’m dead, I’m afraid.’ ”
“Huh,” said Nina. “He said that in my note, too.”
Lydia looked at her over the piece of paper. “Well, it was true in both cases, right?” She continued to read:
You were always the smartest of my grandchildren, and the one that made me most nervous. I worried you saw right through me, saw how shallow I was and judged me for it. Now I think I was wrong, and I am more sorry than I can say that I never got to know you better. You’re a very special person, Lydia, and I hope you can forgive me. I realize you’ll probably say this is too little, too late, and you’ll be right. But it’s the only thing I can do, because no one can turn back time. Except Hermione, of course.