My eyes filled with tears when this woman—her name is Portia Kane, do you remember her?—described in great detail all of the many beautiful things you did in the classroom and how much these lessons had shaped not only her life but the lives of many.
Hubris is a sin, but my heart swelled up two extra sizes.
The letter ended with her fumbling for the right way to convey the fact that she felt called to assist you in some way—to “resurrect” you and help you find your way back into the classroom where you could continue the good work God had sent you here to do. (Mostly my words, not hers—but her sentiment. She just lacked the vocabulary to express herself properly.) Portia said she admired my conviction—becoming a nun—and that even though her current plan to rescue her former high school teacher seemed delusional, she felt as though she must take this “leap of faith” (her exact words) and return the many kindnesses that you had given her so many years ago.
I rang the bell the sisters had given me to call whenever I need help, and when Sister Esther came, I asked her to bring the Crab.
“But she is praying,” Sister Esther said.
“God is in this room at the moment, not in her palace! Bring her quickly!”
The Crab appeared some fifteen minutes later with a sour look on her face.
“What could be so pressing that you’d interrupt my prayer time?” she said.
I held Portia Kane’s letter up. “Read this and be amazed.”
The Crab squinted her beady little eyes at me, but eventually she took Portia Kane’s letter into her claws, sat down, and began to read.
“This is from the drunk woman on the plane,” Mother Superior said without looking up at me.
Then a smile bloomed on the Crab’s face—a wondrous grin, like an upside-down rainbow. I had never seen her so happy. And when she finished the letter, she covered her mouth with her hand and giggled like a schoolgirl.
“There’s a phone number here,” Mother Superior said.
I nodded.
“Well, why aren’t you calling it?”
“I wanted to share this with you, because even though you are an old annoying Crab, you are part of this. You sent me to the doctor and then to Florida. So you might as well be in for the rest of the ride!”
“Shall I dial?” the Crab said, holding up her expensive “smartphone” that’s covered in some sort of fancy red plastic, which no doubt cost her brother a lot of money.
I held my tongue and nodded.
When Portia Kane answered the phone—she was clearly sober—I heard goodness in her voice right away, like a ray of light through a stained-glass window.
I identified myself, told her I had received and read her letter, invited her to visit the convent, and promised to tell her the most amazing story she had ever heard.
For some reason, she warned me that she was not a religious woman, as if I hadn’t gathered that already.
Ha!
“And yet you talk of destiny?” I said. “Well, how’s this for destiny—the woman you just so happened to sit down next to on the plane is the mother of the very man you wish to save now, your beloved high school English teacher, Nathan Vernon.”
It took her a few seconds to process the information. Then she said, “You’re Mr. Vernon’s mother? But how? You’re a nun! And you have different last names.”
“He has the last name of his father, a man I was smart enough not to marry. Come visit me, and I will tell you everything—answer all of your questions—but come quickly, because I am dying and will soon be forever gone.”
She arrived at the convent a little less than three hours later, sat by my bedside—I drew strength from her!—and we talked until late in the night.
Her love for you rivals my own.
She simply glows when she recalls the details of your class and the time you spent with her during her adolescent crisis. She said you once let her stay a night in your apartment because she was hysterical and afraid she was pregnant with the child of a weak boy she was trying to save with sex. Portia said there were no other friends or relatives to help her. She slept on the couch in your living room, after you talked her off a ledge.
Based on what she told me, you may have very well saved her life.
Again, I have reason to be proud of you.
Portia will be tracking you down and visiting soon, but has agreed to sit with this old dying woman a few more times before searching for my lost son.
Selfishly, I have asked Portia to visit with me in these last days—to tell me more stories about my son the teacher and the good deeds he did in the classroom.
Jesus Christ has sent Portia Kane to me, and I am confident He will send her to you when I no longer need her.
I have no idea if you are still in Vermont or if she will be able to locate you in the future, but I have made peace with the fact that I will not communicate with you again in this life. I see now that everything is as it should be, and I was wrong to doubt.
Portia is a funny woman—always cursing in front of me and then apologizing right afterward. There is something in her eye that suggests that perhaps she really has been called to do this thing she says she feels she must.
And so I will allow her to regale me with stories of my son the teacher until I die, because it is a great comfort, especially now when it has become apparent that you will not be responding.
I am thankful for this strange gift my husband has provided.
Love and blessings,
Your mother
CHAPTER 20
March 6, 2012
To My Sweet and Good Son, Nathan,
I’m dictating my final words to you through the old Crab, Mother Superior, which is why this letter is written in her chicken scratch and not my refined hand, if she hasn’t bothered to type up her scribbling for you, like I asked her to do. (The Crab is giving me dirty looks now.)