Dear Maddie

Dear Maddie,

Nothing much has happened since my last letter. I woke at seven. Breakfast at eight in the dining room with George and Mary. Bridge until ten. They’ve taught me this new game, Rummikub, played with these numbered tiles. It’s hard for George to see the numbers with his cataracts, but Mary lets him win anyway.

I like to take a walk before lunch, when the sun isn’t so hot. There are pleasant gardens out back. You’ll see them when you visit. I’m not so good with plants. Mary has twelve pots in her room. George says he can’t stand the smell of her gardenias, but he puts up with it.

For lunch today, I had a croissant sandwich. It reminded me of that time we went to France together. I can’t remember what year that was. 2008? Anyway, the croissants here aren’t very good. Sort of gummy compared to those French ones. We’ll have to go again sometime. Let’s plan a trip.

I napped in the afternoon, then visited with Susan Salter. She likes to listen to the old record player they have in the library when she feels down. She’s a big Elvis fan. His voice always puts her to sleep. Today, she was dozing in her favorite chair, but some terrible noise was playing instead of Elvis. I turned it off, and we still had a nice visit, though she seemed tired. Susan is the one with the son addicted to drugs, Lucas. I’ll introduce you when you come. She’s a dear friend.

Supper was liver again. I remembered how you and Ted would gag every time I put it on your plates when you were little. I seem to have lost my taste for it, too, so I had meatloaf instead.

I can’t wait for your visit. I marked it in my calendar, and I’m counting down the days.

All my love,

Mom

Dear Maddie,

George and Mary’s family came to visit today. Three children, seven grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. One of their great-grandchildren is a sweet girl named Olivia, just five months old. During lunch while she was on Mary’s lap, she threw a plate of spaghetti on the floor. Her parents were mortified, but we laughed. When do we get to see babies anymore? I remember in my younger years I used to get upset when I saw children misbehave. Today, I watched those kids run up and down the halls and laughed.

Susan seemed irritated at them. She was in the library again, with Elvis on the record player. During our afternoon visit, she brought her knitting, but said she couldn’t concentrate with all the noise. I thought it was strange since she dozed off listening to that awful record yesterday. She’s making a scarf for her son, Lucas.

It’s been raining a lot lately. Is it raining where you are? By the time this letter reaches you, maybe it will stop.

Because of the rain, I haven’t gone on my walks. I’ve been feeling cold lately. My doctor’s appointment is tomorrow. I hope I won’t have any bad news.

Just a few more days!

Love always,

Mom

Dear Maddie,

I heard a song yesterday that made me sad. I don’t usually listen to this kind of music, but Susan was listening to it. I scribbled down some of the words, but I can’t make out my writing today. Something about how the years catch up to you, and every day you’re closer to death. I’ve been feeling like that lately. It’s been so long since I’ve seen any children, and everyone around me is so old. When I look in the mirror, I wonder when I got so old. Where did the years go? Raising you and Ted... Was I a good mom?

I can’t wait to see you. Not long now!

Love,

Mom

Dear Maddie,

It’s snowing today. What a surprise! All the gardens are bare and white with it. Sometimes I feel the chill seep all the way into my old bones.

George isn’t well. He’s been getting worse, and Mary is with him all the time. My days have been very long without their company. I’ve tried to see if Susan wants to play games, but she isn’t interested.

Her son, Lucas, visited last week, and she hasn’t been herself since. What a sorry sight he was. He tracked mud all through the carpets and stained every surface he touched. It must have taken a whole day for the orderlies to scrub his stench out of the sofa!

She keeps thinking she sees him around, even though he hasn’t been back. We haven’t sat in the library since Lucas was there. She just stays in her room. I tried to visit, but she won’t see anyone. I hope she isn’t getting sick, too. That’s the reality, when you get old. All your friends just pass away.

I’ve been feeling very down. I want to see you.

Please write soon,

Mom

Dear Maddie,

I reread the copy of my last letter. What was I thinking? Snow? It’s May! I must have been lost in thought. I have a painting of a snowy field in my room, right above the desk where I write these letters. Maybe I was staring at that while I was writing. I hope you don’t think I’m losing my mind. I can still do everything myself.

They served pork chops last night, and I couldn’t help but think of Ted when he was a boy, pouring applesauce all over his and mixing it with his mashed potatoes. He loved applesauce!

I miss walking outside. It’s been colder than usual lately, though not cold enough to snow. I haven’t been sleeping well. People keep walking up and down the hallway in the night, and it keeps me up. And the lousy birds outside the window scratch all night long! Is it too much to ask for a peaceful night’s sleep?

Don’t ever grow old, my girl. I know how much you hated getting up every five minutes to use the bathroom when you were pregnant with Jackson. It’s even worse when you get older!

Please remember to bring Jackson’s sweater when you come. It’s cold here.

Can’t wait!

Mom

Dear Maddie,

Susan passed away last night.

They found her in the library in her favorite chair. They say she passed quietly, fallen asleep. No one knows how she got out of her room in the middle of the night. She was still in her nightdress.

Something is wrong. I know it is, but no one believes me. There was nothing in the record player. If Susan had gone into the library herself, she would’ve put on some Sinatra to listen to. He could always put her to sleep. But last night, nothing. And I swear there was mud in the carpet. They say it was natural. It was not natural. Why does no one believe me?

Could you come sooner, please? I think there’s a lunatic on the loose, and I don’t want to be next.

Please,

Mom

Dear Maddie,

George died. First Susan, my friend, and now George. What if Mary is next? What if I am next?

The orderlies don’t believe me. I went into the kitchen and found their telephone and phoned the police. But even they don’t believe me. It was that son of hers, Lucas. I’ll bet he’s the one who’s been walking up and down the halls at night, scratching at my window. I haven’t slept in weeks.

When are you coming, my dear? Don't let them stop you.

Love, love, love

Dear Maddie,

This is my last letter. They’re stopping me from telling the truth. Lucas murdered his mother in the night. Snuck in the window and smothered her to death so he can blow her life insurance on drugs. Everyone thinks I’m crazy. Mary won’t talk to me anymore. They barely let me leave my room. I haven’t eaten or slept in so long. They’re sneaking medications into my food to drug me up so I won’t talk about it anymore. Everyone’s sick of hearing about it, but Susan was my friend! I miss her. I miss having someone to talk to who understood me.

I feel so alone. Oh, my dear, you must be coming soon. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I can’t remember when you said you’d come. I lost the letters I wrote to you. Did you reply? I can’t seem to find them. They’re probably hiding those from me, too. Cutting me off from the world.

I pray this letter will find you, Maddie. Please, get me out of here. I know you don’t want me to live with you and Ted, but I can’t stay here anymore. I’ll be dead in a matter of days. Please come, Madeline. Please please please please please—

Madeline Winters folds the paper carefully, tucking it into the waistband of her nylon skirt. She settles both hands on the wheelchair handles and pushes gently.

“You’ll make sure it gets to her?” the old woman croaks, aged voice tinged with suspicion.

“I’ll make sure,” Madeline replies with cool reassurance.

Settling Alice at her usual table, facing the television, Maddie fetches her tray and presents her with her pureed soup and applesauce. It’s been three years since Alice could eat anything not pureed. Alice’s nose first wrinkles at the food, then she sighs.

“My son loved applesauce,” she muses.

When her glassy eyes lock on the television, her blue-veined hand lifts food to her mouth like a well-trained machine. Maddie knows that’s the signal to leave her alone.

“You sure we should keep that on for her?” Maddie whispers to Mary, poking her chin at the TV, now playing reruns of some old cop show. “You should see the one she wrote today.”

“You know how she gets without it,” Mary says, rolling her eyes. “Nothing we can do.”

Maddie sighs. Once Mary has her resident settled, they spring around the room, refilling water and juice, helping spoon food, butter bread, wipe mouths.

“She keeps writing about Susan,” Maddie says, during a brief respite in the kitchen.

A cup of red punch pauses on its way to Mary’s lips. “Really?”

“It’s weird. It’s the only thing she writes about that... makes sense.”

Mary scoffs. “You don’t think someone actually killed her.”

“The stuff about her son, the mud, and the music playing... That’s all true.”

Mary slams down her plastic cup, spilling juice onto the vinyl counter. “Mads, she’s eighty-nine years old. Susan was eighty-six and diabetic. Her heart gave out. That’s all. And Alice wrote that she died in the library, in a chair. In any game of Clue I’ve ever played, you need to get all the facts right to make a case.”

“Okay,” Maddie concedes, “so she died in bed. But she was Alice’s roommate. Alice would have heard her music playing quietly at night. She always listened to it when she couldn’t sleep. And that night, no music. And that stuff about hearing scratching? And people in the halls? It stank in there, too, don’t forget. She said Lucas stank.”

Mary cringes, voice pleading now. “Someone had just died, Maddie. That’s creepy, yes, not conclusive.”

“Susan was acting weird ever since her son visited.”

Mary lets out a frustrated breath and snatches up a cloth and spray bottle. “You’re sounding as crazy as she is. But hey, you know her best.”

Maddie peers through the door glass at Alice, slowly spooning applesauce into her mouth. Though her prickly nature rubs most people the wrong way, Alice has endeared herself to Maddie. And one thing in the letters was true. Alice is alone. A widow of twenty years, Alice’s only son dumped her here and never came back. She doesn't talk about it, even to Maddie. Those letters are the only windows into her haunted, dementia-addled mind.

Sometimes, Alice will be fine for weeks, then relapse into paranoia. Maddie always knows things are getting bad when she requests writing paper. She can see her getting upset now. Eyes unglued from the TV and now scanning the room in desperation. Growing agitated as others try to come to her. Waving them off. Searching faces.

Maddie pushes out into the dining room again. Alice’s glassy eyes lock onto her, and at once her bony shoulders relax. A smile twitches the shriveled lips.

“Oh, Maddie,” Alice breathes, reaching out to grasp her hand. “I thought you’d never come. Did you get my letter?”

END