Wyatt & Wynn

My dearest Wyatt, 

Ever since Freddy died, I’ve been in the attic twice a day (please don’t grumble at me, I’m very bored without your dear brother…). It’s rather hot, but it passes the time and he’s left a veritable treasure trove of boxes. Most of it is junk the grands will paw through after I’ve croaked over my morning oatmeal. I know it sounds crazy, but being up there with his old things makes me feel like he’s not far off. 

I did find something I think you would be interested in. A few boxes labeled with your parents’ old address: 815 Gifford St. I had Andrew — the neighbor boy — bring them down and I plan on rummaging through them while watching Downton Abbey reruns. I’ll let you know if I find anything of note. 

It’s probably a pile of crap. 

Please get out of the hospital. It does not suit you and it’s encroaching on your visit to see me. 

I’m very selfish in this way. 

I love you dearly. Write soon. 

Yours,
B. Wynn