Dearest Zach,
The days don’t seem as meaningful as when I am in Tiburon. New York is almost a whole different world, the bright lights and never ending honking of horns. The days are shorter and the weather is colder, but luckily I am assimilating into the life style pretty well. The city always seems to be in a state of anarchy, which I can never figure out and I will admit that I find it bizarre how the people can go their whole lives without ever leaving the bustling streets of the city. I would do anything for a peaceful week with you in Tiburon, telling stories on the front porch and eating your delicious honey.
You cannot even begin to apprehend how hard I have looked to try to find a honey that could even compare to your lip-smacking, mouth-watering honey that can turn anything into a delicious treat. The next time I visit Tiburon I will make sure to stock up on enough honey to last me for a full year.
I have fabulous news for you! So after writing my first two novels a publisher from L.A. wants me to write a memoir! She says that with such a calamitous childhood the book is sure to be a success. Oh Zach I can never repay you for what you did for me. If not for you telling me to imagine that I had a future in writing, I would have never been free from the shackles of confidence that kept me from succeeding. I owe everything to you and truthfully I lionize you for all that you did for me.
Four years have elapsed since I began writing my memoir and with the optimistic feedback from my publisher the release date seems imminent. When I was asked who I wanted to dedicate this book to the answer was obvious- you. I’ll make sure to send you an autographed copy before it is even released so you can be the first to read it.
I wasn’t able to handle the sweltering heat of L.A. for too long before I had to return to New York. My publisher says that the “tropical climate” is like paradise- but on the inside I know she can’t take it either. I was on a talk show while was there, fun-right? Well not exactly, the lady interrogated me for a full hour, bombarding me with questions. We got into a bit of a dissension when the lady- who I later found out came from a racist family in Alabama- asked me how I possibly could have dealt with having to live with a family of African Americans, growing up.
They seemed to love my story of the time when the group of KKK members saw us go into the movie theaters and on a whim conspired a plan to kidnap you. You will never believe how nervous I was for those 7 stressful hours when the police were searching for you. They probably would have never found you had they not checked Alex Moore’s house so meticulously and found the secret passageway heading to the cellar. I sometimes try to imagine what my life would have been like without you, but I just shield myself from the horrible thoughts. I could not stop laughing when I heard that when Alex Moore was arraigned he tried to plead not guilty, saying that he thought you were homeless and he was offering you a place to stay the night.
Hopefully I can pass through Tiburon while I’m on my book tour in Charleston. Until then I give you my best wishes.
With all my love,
Lily
P.S. I hope Rosaleen is doing well, give her a hug for me.
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