Alas, dear Hazel, I could never answer such questions except in person, and you are there, while I am here.
That noted, I must confess that the unexpected receipt of your correspondence via Ms. Vliegenthart has delighted me:
What a wondrous thing to know that I made something useful to you—
even if that book seems so distant from me that I feel it was written by a different man altogether.
(The author of that novel was so thin, so frail, so comparatively optimistic!)
Should you find yourself in Amsterdam, however, please do pay a visit at your leisure.
I am usually home. I would even allow you a peek at my grocery lists.
Yours most sincerely, Peter Van Houten c/o Lidewij Vliegenthart
“WHAT?!” I shouted aloud. “WHAT IS THIS LIFE?”
Mom ran in. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I assured her.
Still nervous, Mom knelt down to check on Philip to ensure he was condensing oxygen appropriately.
I imagined sitting at a sun-drenched café with Peter Van Houten as he leaned across the table on his elbows,
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