Alice Munros Best

just thought it was a nice way to end a letter and you don’t really know me well enough. Merry Christmas anyway.
    Your friend, Ken Boudreau.
    The letter went home to Johanna. The one to Sabitha had ended up being typed as well because why would one be typed and not the other? They had been sparing with the steam this time and opened the envelope very carefully so there would be no telltale Scotch tape.
    “Why couldn’t we type a new envelope? Wouldn’t he do that if he typed the letter?” said Sabitha, thinking she was being clever.
    “Because a new
envelope
wouldn’t have a
postmark
on it. Dumb-dumb.”
    “What if she answers it?”
    “We’ll read it.”
    “Yah, what if she answers it and sends it direct to
him?”
    Edith didn’t like to show she had not thought of that.
    “She won’t. She’s sly. Anyway, you write him back right away to give her the idea she can slip it in with yours.”
    “I hate writing stupid letters.”
    “Go on. It won’t kill you. Don’t you want to see what she says?”
    Dear Friend,
    You ask me do I know you well enough to be your friend and my answer is that I think I do. I have only had one Friend in my life, Mrs. Willets who I loved and she was so good to me but she is dead. She was a lot older than me and the trouble with Older Friends is they die and leave you. She was so old she would call me sometimes by another person’s name. I did not mind it though.
    I will tell you a strange thing. That picture that you got the photographer at the Fair to take, of you and Sabitha and her friend Edith and me, I had it enlarged and framed and set in the living room. It is not a very good picture and he certainly charged you enough for what it is, but it is better than nothing. So the day before yesterday I was dusting around it and I imagined I could hear you say Hello to me. Hello, you said, and I looked at your face as well as you can see it in the picture and I thought, Well, I must be losing my mind. Or else it is a sign of a letter coming. I am just fooling, I don’t really believe in anything like that. But yesterday there was a letter. So you see it is not asking too much of me to be your friend. I can always find a way to keep busy but a true Friend is something else again.
    Your Friend, Johanna Parry.
    Of course, that could not be replaced in the envelope. Sabitha’s father would spot something fishy in the references to a letter he had never written. Johanna’s words had to be torn into tiny pieces and flushed down the toilet at Edith’s house.
    WHEN THE LETTER came telling about the hotel it was months and months later. It was summer. And it was just by luck that Sabitha had picked that letter up, since she had been away for three weeks, staying at the cottage on Lake Simcoe that belonged to her Aunt Roxanne and her Uncle Clark.
    Almost the first thing Sabitha said, coming into Edith’s house, was, “Ugga-ugga. This place stinks.”
    “Ugga-ugga” was an expression she had picked up from her cousins.
    Edith sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything.”
    “It’s like your dad’s shop, only not so bad. They must bring it home on their clothes and stuff.”
    Edith attended to the steaming and opening. On her way from the Post Office, Sabitha had bought two chocolate eclairs at the bakeshop. She was lying on the couch eating hers.
    “Just one letter. For you,” said Edith. “Pore old Johanna. Of course he never actually
got
hers.”
    “Read it to me,” said Sabitha resignedly. “I’ve got sticky guck all over my hands.”
    Edith read it with businesslike speed, hardly pausing for the periods.
    Well, Sabitha, my fortunes have taken a different turn, as you can see I am not in Brandon anymore but in a place called Gdynia. And not in the employ of my former bosses. I have had an exceptionally hard winter with my chest troubles and they, that is my bosses, thought I should be out on the road even if I was in danger of developing pneumonia so this developed into quite an argument so we all decided to say farewell. But luck is a strange thing and just about that time I came into possession of a Hotel. It is too complicated to explain the ins and outs but if your grandfather wants to know about it just tell him a man who owed me money which he could not pay let me have this hotel instead. So here I am moved from one room in a boardinghouse to a twelve-bedroom building and from not even owning the bed I slept in to owning several. It’s a wonderful thing