Letter

Dear Rafe,
Won't you please come back? I can't imagine why you'd want to be in Italy - I hear it's terribly boring and full of fire ants and men who shout at street signs. You can find those things here. And I know you don't speak Italian. You can barely speak English, and you've lived here all your life. You are entirely too rash. You didn't even say goodbye! Mother hasn't been this upset since you stole our boat and killed that poor man studying algae.

Good news, though. Monty's cat threw up and it was just as you thought - he had swallowed my cigarette case. It's tarnished now, and most of the emeralds are gone. I can't help but wonder if this was retribution for laughing at Monty's mustaches. I couldn't help it! They're ridiculous, like pea pods.

Flavian is still in Haiti and I don't think he's coming back. What an unforgivable pack of bores you are.

Thine,
Esther