Hello there; it's me again back from Milborough. As I write this, it's been a year since what Wilf Sobinski called "The Settlepocalypse"; it's strange because it feels every day of ten years. That, of course, is because of the stress we've all been through over the last twelve months. Not only did we have to deal with my nonsense and inability to see Anthony for what he was, we had to deal with Grandpa Jim's final year and, most of all, two insane parents and the damage they did to everyone else's lives.
Let's get the worst out of the way first, then; as you know, Mom and Dad are both in serious trouble with the police. Their arrest on the ninth of last month is what I like to call an end with horror that stopped the horror without end that we had to endure; you see, Mom had kidnapped Paul Mayes's classmate Ashok Patel because she thought he was Lawrence Poirier. When Mike's pal Constable Brad showed up with a warrant, she went berserk with rage and tried to claw her way to freedom. This would have been bad enough had Anthony not innocently corrected Dad's misapprehension that Claire was a lawyer Gordon Mayes had hired to get his hands out of the Mayes's pockets. Upon discovery that Mom had hidden Claire's existence from him out of shame, the dumb bastard punched her in the face, hollered death tghreats at everyone in sight and accused Mom of lying to him to make a fool of him. The look of shock on Anthony's face told me that he was trying to figure out what was going on in the Patterson house all this time. His pointing at Dad and calling him the debenture he should have allowed for all along meant that he started to clue in to that. I just wish Dad hadn't more or less told Mike about his real origins to his face; I was hoping to ease him into figurting out why our early lives sucked so much.
That's a story for later, though; what I want to talk about now is the lesser stressor. As April has told you, she wants to let Mike explain what the legal ramifications of the Terror of the Tiny Train House are and I'm joining her there; what I will tell you is that their merciful absence made Grandpa's memorial service a lot easier to bear. I never quite knew that he was that big a fan of the Big Chill but then, well, I didn't go out of my way to know. What I do now is that Mom wouldn't have been especially impressed by April singing 'headache music' at a solemn occasion.
To continue on with the trend of better news as I go, I'd like to think that April wasn't too punch-drunk to appreciate (or, for that matter, assimilate) the advice I gave her about University; she has been through entirely too much this year and any sort of advice or proffered wisdom stands every chance of bouncing off the trauma.
As for me and Anthony, we're still trying to make a go of things despite our issues; it may be a hard thing to say but his seeing Dad for what he really was did him a world of good; instead of trying to be a new John, he seems to want to be the best Anthony he can be. I just hope that we can work through things; I've had enough drama to last thirty years.
In any event, I'll have to wrap things up for now; after all, I can't rely on Françoise to sit for James while I go and do whatever; we all know where that leads so I'll have to get back to you next month with further developments.