“What?” Janelle says, obviously confused about this.

“Paris, she wants you to read Charlotte’s.”

“But why?”

“I’m not sure. And she wants Charlotte to read yours.”

“So that means I have to read Lewis’s and vice versa. But I wonder why?”

I sink back against the couch and drop my head. What could she say to us in a letter that she couldn’t say or hasn’t already said to us before? “Do you know when she wrote them, Miss Loretta?”

“No I don’t. But I already gave your father his.”

“She wrote one to him, too?” Janelle says.

“Yes, she did.”

“Does he have to wait until Thanksgiving?”

“Yes. And Vy hoped he’d spend this one with you all.”

“What if we snuck and read them?” Janelle asks.

“Are you fucking crazy?” I say. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Loretta. I mean, are you crazy? Is that how you think we should honor Mama’s wishes, by disrespecting them?”

“I’m sorry. I just asked. November’s a long way off.”

“Who should keep the letters?” I ask.

“You, because, and I’m quoting her, ‘as the oldest, you’re going to have to be the mama now.’ Vy also suggested—or, I should say, insisted—that you children make every effort to spend at least one holiday together each year, because she was really worried that you all are missing out on being a family.”

“But we are a family. We just live in different cities,” Janelle says.

“You know, Vy told me that when she was a youngster they had family reunions every year, and since most folks didn’t move away from home like they do now, everybody usually came. She said her cousins were just like sisters and brothers. That’s how close they were. But nowadays, she said, too many families are like strangers. And I agree. I have two sisters I haven’t seen in going on eighteen years. Vy just doesn’t want you all to wait until you’re all old and your kids are grown before they get to know each other. Do it now, while they’re young. And she wants you all to try to spend some time doing things together, too.”

“But we try to, Miss Loretta, it’s just so hard with everybody’s schedules,” I say.

“Try harder,” she says. “Vy said kinfolk should know kinfolk. Friends come and go, but family is forever. She said you don’t have to like your kinfolk, but accept them—faults and all—because they’re your flesh and blood.”

“That’s true,” I say.

“Your mother was smart and wise, you know. I wrote down so many things she said, because they were just so helpful to me.”

“She’s right,” Janelle says. “Shanice doesn’t know Tiffany or Monique at all, and they’re about the same age. They should have something to talk about, but they don’t.”

“I know,” I say, agreeing. I realize Dingus doesn’t really know my brother’s son—or his aunts and uncles, for that matter. I never actually thought about this except as a passing thought. It’s one of those things you hope to do one day, right up there with going to church every Sunday, reading the paper every day, or a book a week, or exercise, and thank-you notes.