Saving Elijah

left.
    "No one cares," the ghost said." That's why none of your other friends have come."
    "They just can't take it, they don't want to intrude." "Poor, deluded Dinah. Haven't I already shown you it's you?" But Becky came, handed me the music tape I expected her to give me, some notes and letters she'd picked up at the house that I shuffled through as if they were playing cards. I couldn't read them, but one letter caught my eye when I saw the return address. As soon as Becky left, I opened the letter.

    Julie Bronstein Lasker
142 Bolinger Road
Slatesville, New York

    Mrs. Dinah Rosenberg Galligan
    c/o Connecticut Star

    Dear Dinah,

    Last week my mom ran into Lillian Chumley at a movie theater in Ft. Lauderdale. Remember Lillian? She used to work at your mother's first shop in Great Neck. Remember, she replaced Bea Stern, the one you got fired? My mother knew Lillian too, from a bridge game they both played in before my parents moved to Florida. You know how people always pass on bad news. So I heard that your son is very ill.
    Dinah, I know we haven't seen each other in over twenty years, more than half our lives. I was nineteen and hurt over a boy—what can I say? But I just wanted to let you know now that my heart aches for you and I haven't been able to stop thinking about this since I heard, even though I don't know anything about what happened to your son. All Lillian knew was that he's five and it's very serious. She didn't even know his name.
    I've thought about you all these years, not just now. Once I realized how unimportant what happened between us turned out to be in my own life, and how important it was in yours, I thought about calling you but always put it off. I was afraid it would be awkward and you'd be angry that I let it end what would have been a lifelong friendship between us. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I sort of admire you for being so certain about anything back then.
    In my own way I've kept in touch. And the last few years, my brother, who lives in Connecticut, too, sent me your columns from the Connecticut Star. It doesn't surprise me that you became a writer. I loved the columns, Dinah, they were just as I remember you: funny and cynical and incisive, sometimes even wise.
    I didn't want to call your mother, which is why I sent this letter through the newspaper offices. They wouldn't give me your address but said they'd forward it. I'm not exactly sure what I want to say except that I hope your son gets well very soon. I am praying for you, and for him. And, too, I hope that you have many caring, giving people all around you, and that Sammy is everything you wanted him to be, even through this. I hope your other child (or children) are some comfort. I know you have at least one other child, a girl, because of the column "Sock Monsters and other Female Problems," where you mentioned her. I hope especially that you have at least a few extraordinary friends, women (or men) of depth and honesty who are worthy of you, who are capable of real compassion, and who aren't failing you.
    I hope all this for you, Dinah. My son Robert had to have a heart operation when he was an infant. Those few weeks when I thought I might lose him were unspeakable. Please forgive me for not being there for you when you may need me. I think about calling all the time now.
    I lost my dad a few years ago. I grieved deeply, and I miss him very much, but I know that losing one of my children ... well, I can only imagine how you're suffering. My children's names are Robert, Melissa, and Lauren. They are the light of my life. I've missed you and I want to know about everything: your work, your marriage, your friends, your children, what you think, what you've learned, and most especially, how you are coping.
    It makes me sad, Dinah, that you have a son and you're in danger of losing him already, and that I don't even know his name.

    With all my love,
Julie

    Elijah, I whispered into Elijah's ear, my lips to his fragile skin. His name is Elijah, Julie.
    "Who's that from, Dinah?" Charlotte had shown up with Dad after Becky left. Now they were back after getting a cup of coffee downstairs.
    "Julie." I folded up the letter. "Her mother ran into Lillian Chumley, who told her about Elijah. Bad news travels fast."
    "Dinah, you've got to try to be as optimistic as you can."
    "Why?"
    "I'm sure she was just trying to be supportive, Dinah. You two were practically glued together as kids. I always liked her."
    No, she