Nobody's Angel

37

Heart Bar

Monday

Dear Mother,

Well, things are still in kind of a wreck around here. I have not been feeling entirely right about my behavior and I think that Dale was correct in saying that that rests upon my shoulders. Still, with us, all was not as it should have been. And I can’t help but think that Mary paid the biggest part of the price. I’m not saying anybody killed her. But couldn’t we have done a better job? I mean, it was quite hard to find anybody to talk to around here. It still is. Grandpa is about as chatty and agreeable as ever.

I don’t know what Mary had. I had Marion Easterly but she was invisible. Afterwards I had soccer and my tank. But these things don’t add up always. I met Mary’s close friend of the Cheyenne persuasion and I couldn’t help but thinking he had done rather more for her than her family.

He met her in a whorehouse where she had a job.

Also, I don’t think Dad’s airplane stunts, including the whopper in the end, were that funny.

I’ve been thinking about throwing in with more oil-type people, one in particular, as this high lonesome plays out right after its use in calendar photos, funnies and radio serials. I’ve met a nice girl.

I’ve found a lovely flat for the Granddad. There’s a sign-language study center next door and a monorail to the emergency room. His movie hopes run higher than ever. I’ve persuaded him of the need of a regular physical, as well as a long hard look at the daily stool. I think he’s listening up pretty fair.

Well, this is no more than an apologetic valentine to you and Dale. Tell Andrew that I feel very strongly that he will never find an arrowhead.

Think of us!

Love,

Captain Fitzpatrick