Sweet Water by Christina Baker Kline Read Free Book Online

letter from me after all these years. To be honest, a month ago I never would have guessed I’d be doing this either.”
    I sat back in the chair, gnawing the top of my Bic pen. Then I crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it on the floor.
    “Dear Grandmother …”
    I’d been trying to write the letter for an hour. At first I had planned to call, but every time I dialed her number I put the phone down before it started to ring. I didn’t know what to say; I didn’t know how to say it. I looked up at the clock. Seven-thirty. I was supposed to be at Drew’s for dinner at eight.
    “I hope that you are doing well! It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. You may have already heard from Crystal at the courthouse that I’ve decided to come to Sweetwater to live in the house on the Ridge Road property. I hope that’s all right with you.”
    I read it over, groaning to myself. I drew a line across the page. The problem was tone. I wanted to sound upbeat, positive, friendly, but the letters kept turning into apologies. What was I apologizing for, for God’s sake? It was my land. Why did I feel like such an interloper?
    “Dear Grandmother, After much deliberation I’ve decided that instead of selling the land I would like to come to Sweetwater to live on it for a while.”
    I crossed out “for a while.”
    “I plan to quit my job and try to make a go of it as a sculptor.”
    Reading this sentence over, I laughed aloud. Then I marked through it.
    “I will arrive in Sweetwater on August 2. I’m sure you are as surprised about this as I was. Please don’t feel that you have to go out of your way to do anything special. I look forward to meeting you, and Aunt Elaine and Uncle Horace and everybody else. Yours sincerely, your granddaughter Cassandra.”
    I copied the letter over, shoved it in an envelope, and sealed it before I had a chance to think about it again. I stuck a stamp on it and took it down to the mailbox on the corner of Seventh Avenue. Once it was out of my hands I felt a great relief, like I used to feel when I’d finished exams at college. It didn’t matter how I’d done; it was over, I could relax for a while.
    Continuing down the street, I stopped at a liquor store to buy a bottle of wine, and then turned down Garfield to Sixth. It was a Friday night, and the streets were busy. A radio blared several flights up; I could hear a baby crying somewhere. The air was humid, hazy. Streetlights began to flicker on.
    At Drew’s building I pressed the button for 3C.
    “Yes?”
    “It’s me.”
    “What’s the average airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?” he asked, his voice static.
    “African or European?”
    He buzzed me in.
    “You’re late,” he said accusingly, looking down at me from the third-floor landing as I came up the stairs.
    I trudged up the final steps and handed him the wine. “Chardonnay. Will that appease you?”
    “Remains to be seen,” he said, peering into the bag.
    I walked past him into the apartment, which smelled of garlic and basil. “Mmmm. Drew, you are the best.”
    “Where have you been?” He followed me in and shut the door. “I was begining to get concerned.”
    I shook my head. “Sorry. Nowhere, really. At home. Writing a letter.” I was a little embarrassed. “To my grandmother.”
    He took down two wineglasses and got out a corkscrew. “You’re late because you were writing Lulu?”
    “Not Lulu. The Absent Other.” These were names Drew came up with in college for my grandmothers. Lulu’s name was really Naomi.
    “Oh, her,” he said. “Did you ask for the money to be delivered in acalfskin suitcase lined with velvet, in crisp hundred-dollar bills like in the movies?”
    “Not exactly.” He uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses, handing me one. “In fact, I’m not so sure I’m going to sell that land.” I took a deep breath. “I mean, I’m definitely not going to sell it. I’m going to keep it.”
    “Keep it? What does