The Other Side of Blue by Valerie O. Patterson Read Free Book Online

reaches out to Mother. “The postman just came. I signed for a letter.”
    Signing for a letter is not always good, not even here, where every aspect of life is more formal than at home. After Dad died, Mother complained about all the letters she had to sign for. How she had to get dozens of copies of the death certificate. I still have a copy in my room, hidden inside
The History of Language.
The original document was written in Dutch, with a certified English translation attached. I read and reread the English version so many times I memorized it.
    It said so little to be so important.
    Mother takes the envelope. “They let you sign for it?”
    â€œ
Sí,
” Martia says. Martia is local, trusted. I’m sure the postman knows her better than anyone else who stays in
Blauwe Huis,
probably even better than the owner.
    A smaller envelope is tucked inside the larger one, like a wedding invitation. It is stamped with a seal, protecting the contents, like one of the medieval parchments written in old Italian that Dad would sometimes translate for a history scholar.
    Mother’s fingers slide under the flap and break the seal. She opens it, peeks in, almost as if she’s seeing if it will bite. She tugs out a page.
    â€œWhat is it?” I ask.
    â€œI can’t read it.” Mother turns the paper over, as if she expects a translation on the back. “It’s all in Dutch.”
    â€œMartia can translate,” I say.
    Martia shrugs. “
Sí.
”
    Mother doesn’t hand the paper over. Instead, she beckons Martia to come read over her shoulder.
    Martia mouths the words silently before she starts speaking. “It is from the lawyer here. Just closing out the files, passing along a copy of the commissioner’s final report on Mr. Walters’s death, that the incident was wholly accidental.”
    Mother shifts in her chair. “Well, this is ridiculous. They concluded all of this last year. Why would the lawyer send out another letter?”
    Kammi looks at me. Maybe she thinks I can answer the riddle.
    Martia says, “This is what the lawyer says, just closing the file. Formal.” She shrugs, as if to apologize for the bureaucracy that sends a letter a year after the fact.
    â€œWhy does he have to stir things up again?” Mother takes another swig of her blue drink. “I paid his fees.”
    â€œHe’s not even right,” I say.
    â€œWhat?” Mother asks.
    â€œIt wasn’t wholly an accident. Was it?”
    Mother blanches. She let down her guard and asked a question she didn’t want the answer to. “Cyan, please stop. We’ve been over this before.”
    Yes, we’ve been over it before. Mother says what happened was an accident. The articles published in the local paper after it happened said it was an “incident.” An incident is not the same as an accident. An accident is a mistake. I don’t know if what happened was a mistake. No matter what the commissioner’s report says.
    Martia steps between Mother and me. “Miss Kammi, please come in, we will have dinner now. You, too, Cyan.” Martia touches Kammi on the shoulder and Kammi follows.
    â€œI’m not really hungry,” she says. She slides her straw bag onto her arm and slips into the house. “The gelato...”
    Martia follows her like a mother hen. I don’t move.
    Mother snaps her head in my direction. “What are you doing? Are you trying to make things hard? After everything that’s happened, why can’t you just be nice?” Mother keeps talking, not waiting for—not wanting—an answer from me.
    â€œYou know all about it, do you?” Mother’s voice turns as icy as the drink she’s guzzling. “We’ll talk about this later.” With trembling hands she struggles to force the paper back into the envelope. After a moment, she closes it as if it contains some evil spell.
    Mother stalks inside