Cam's Letter
Cam sat on her couch; feet tucked under her; wrapped in her favorite silk robe, chiding herself.
"I've written dozens of budget proposals, crime reports, employee reviews, without a hitch! Why should a letter to a valued friend be so difficult?"
Depressing the 'delete' key to erase the last three lines she'd composed on her Macbook, she chewed the end of a pencil. Chuckling to herself over her Dragnet detective-era habit, she smiled fondly as Wendell's cigarette-holding thinking technique came to mind. "I'd never smoke! I do this when I need to consider what my dad would do…"
She had been at this endeavor, composing a letter to Jack Hodgins all morning, after mulling what to say most of Friday evening. She heartily agreed with Dr. Brennan that the friendly support of a personal note might benefit Hodgins, but creating one was more difficult than she'd imagined. But then again, girls from the Bronx don't 'spill their guts' easily…
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"Dear Dr. Hodgins, (Yes, I know after all these years of friendship, I should use given names, but this is what I always call you in my head…)"
"I know this letter might shock you, but I have some things to tell you that I can't say out loud over coffee or next to the mass spec in your office. You may not believe this, but we're a lot alike, you and I…your sometimes grumpy manner, snapping a rubber band on your wrist when we first met; my tendency toward sarcasm when emotions and situations become too personal."
"Your self-effacing nature hides one of the most generous spirits I know. When that snake Pelant threatened the Islamic school thousands of miles away with a bomb, you never hesitated to save those girls, sacrificing your fortune in an instant. Unlike the very immature Clinton Gilmour who gave no thought to his 'pregnancy pact' offspring's futures, you instinctively protected children you'd never even know."
"You've put your personal resources at the disposal of our team more than once, and silently fund the Jeffersonian through your Cantilever Group. When I took this job, Dr. Goodman warned me that your intense desire for anonymity underlies your prickly exterior. Yes, he knew about your fortune after the gala you skipped, but never broadcast it. He respected you deeply, as do I."
"As a very private person, I understand your feelings, which is why writing this letter is all the more awkward. But I've watched you struggle and suffer since the Gallo bombing injured you and Aubrey, and I find myself impelled to express my empathy and admiration. Not sympathy, mind you. I deeply regret that you were hurt so badly; your life has been complicated forever by those two teenage thugs. It was bad enough that they desecrated a police officer's body; much less exposing dedicated innocents to serious danger and bodily harm."
"I know that enormous frustration and pain have left you enraged at the monumental unfairness of this situation. We have each suffered trauma applying science to crime; my inhalation of the toxins inside Carolyn Epps' skull; your Christmas exposure to that valley fever fungus, even though you did spike the eggnog yourself. We both recovered despite ignoring the lab's protective protocols. The staggering difference now is the permanence inflicted upon you."
"I'm not writing this to spark a discussion between us. I have gone back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to even give you this note. Emotions are messy and embarrassing to people like us. We share readily with those closest to us, ones held dear, but less so with associates, friends, and colleagues. Nonetheless, I hope you'll draw strength from knowing you have the unspoken support and firm affection of those around you. Despite my admonitions regarding experiments, I admire your boundless curiosity, superior intelligence, and amazing mental agility."
"You are blessed with a most wonderful helpmate and wife; Angela's giving spirit and creative insights know no bounds. I value both your friendships more than I can express. If ever I can help in any way, know that you need only to ask."
"Sincerely,
Camille Saroyan"
She uncoiled her legs to rise, and realized her left foot was now asleep. Great. Flipping the printer on, she added several sheets of her ivory vellum stationery, and hit 'print.' After her coffee mug was refilled with cinnamon hazelnut brew, she scanned, signed, and folded the letter; stuffed and addressed the matching envelope, located a stamp, and slid it into her purse. Once she was dressed in slacks, sweater and her favorite YSL espadrilles, she would post it on her way to meet Felicia for lunch.