Part Two, Chapter Three:

The man slowly crept up the pull-down ladder into his attic. Sneezing from the thick layer of dust that covered the entire room, he attempted to brush the offending particles off of his jeans. He rolled up his sleeves and walked over to the numerous boxes that cluttered the room. Opening the nearest one, he began to sift through the papers, pictures, and various memories that lay hidden away in the cardboard box.

Today was his daughter's birthday. And since he had become closer to her, he wanted to make sure that his gift was more personal and thoughtful than the ones he had given her in the past. Thus he found himself searching through his neatly organized, archived and filed-away memories of a time when his house was alive and full of love and laughter. He wanted to give his beloved daughter her mother's pearl necklace, which he had purchased for his wife for their first anniversary.

When his wife had died, he had taken every picture of her, all of her clothing and jewelry, everything, and put it in the attic.

Out of sight, out of mind, he thought, as he recalled his life.

Moving to the next box, the man lifted the flaps, and saw a pile of yellowed and fragile letters written in a child's handwriting. Gingerly, he lifted the stack, and leaning against the wall, began to look at them.

Dear Daddy,

Mrs. Poofy-head said to write a letter to you. So I got Kelly to help me spell stuff right. I like Kelly. She's the best baby-sitter. I like her more than Mrs. Poofy-head. She's mean.

When are you coming home Daddy? Kelly says you're on a business trip and that you got sick. Can't you come home? I can take care of you. I'm good at that. I can make you chicken soup and bring you tissues and wipe your face just like Mommy did. I don't want you to leave me too. I'll take care of you. I'm a good nurse. I can put my doctor dress-up stuff on, and I can make you all better.

I miss Mommy. Why did she have to die? Mrs. Poofy-head says she's with Jesus and God. Why can't she be with me? I need her. I need her more than stupid God. When you come home, can you bring Mommy back? You're my Daddy. You can do everything. Like the time you picked me up when I broked my leg, and carried me down to the car so we could get it fixed by the doctor. Daddy does everything. Mommy says that you're her superhero and that you're better than Superman and Batman together. So bring Mommy back when you come home.

Kelly says I have to go to bed now. Come home soon Daddy.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Love your Sydney

The man sniffled, noticing the tears that were streaking down his face. His beautiful baby girl had written him so many letters when he was in solitary confinement; so many letters that he never got. They wouldn't allow him to have the letters, but Arvin, his best friend, had managed to take the letters home with him, and saved them for him. When he read them the first time, he broke down, sobbing for his daughter, sobbing for his wife, sobbing at the realization that his wife was a lie. He wiped at his eyes, and looked down at the next letter in the stack.

Hi Daddy,

Why did you have to go away, Daddy? Who were those men who took you? I don't like them. They shouldn't take my Daddy away from me. I don't like it without you or Mommy here with me.

I ran away yesterday. Don't worry Daddy, I just went to Mommy's grave. If God gives her back to me and you like I prayed, then I thought she'd come there first. I brought my blankie and my teddy and some food and some pictures and some clothes and my piggy bank. I was going to stay there. Then stupid Mrs. Poofy-head sent the policemen to find me. And they took me to Mily's house. I left Mommy a picture there. I drew you and me and Mommy at our house and we were happy, and we were holding hands. I thought Mommy would like to have a picture.

Please come home Daddy. I know you're sad, but I told Mommy I'd take care of you. I can do that. I'm a big girl. I can bring you the paper and make you food and can keep you company. I don't want you to be sad all the time Daddy. I miss Mommy. I told God he has to give her back. I need her. You need her too. We need her more than stinky old God does. She's my Mommy. Not his. You're her sweetiepie. I want my Mommy. I know she's in heaven with God and she's an angel. But Daddy, God doesn't need her. We need you. I told God that she has to come back to her Sweetie. If he doesn't let her come, he's mean and I hate him. I hate him. He took my Mommy. She's not his Mommy, she's my Mommy. And I want my Mommy.

I'm at Aunt Mily's house today, and she's helping me write this. I tell her what to write and she does it. Uncle Ar is angry that you're away. I heard him yelling at the phone. He said His wife is dead and then he said a bad word that Mommy told me not to say so I won't, but he said that you should be allowed to come home now. I like Aunt Mily and Uncle Ar but I like my Mommy and Daddy better. Come back soon Daddy.

I love you Daddy.

Love,

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sydney

That's enough of that, the man thought, his throat constricting and tears dripping, making wet drops on the letter. He put the letters back in the box, and moved on to another one. In the top of this box, lay a slim black case which he knew held the pearls.

Taking the box, he left the attic; a graveyard of old memories.