Postcards

22 Jul
The last postcard Clara got from Jenny came in the spring of 1955. It was a picture of Jenny and her new husband, Billy, standing on a beach in front of a fancy building. Maybe a hotel. They were both wearing white bathing suits. Jenny’s hair was long and wavy, held back from her face with a scarf. At the bottom of the picture, under the printed words “Season’s Greetings and best wishes for 1955,” Jenny had signed both of their names.

Clara had received a postcard from Jenny every month—sometimes every week. They came from places with names like Pegram, Ponchatoula, and Plano. For three weeks, every card came from Maine: Presque Isle, Dover-Foxcroft, Ogunquit. And then, in the summer of 1954, four in a row from California: Santa Rosa, Santa Maria, Santa Ana, Santa Carla.

In the three and a half years that Jenny was gone, Clara received forty-six postcards. And in those three and half years, Clara moved from the farm on Chubb Hollow Road to the house at Grace Point. Eleven miles.

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