Amanda in the Summer by Brenda Whiteside Page B

Amanda is delighted with trying to stand in the sand and falling gleefully. She claps with excitement when she watches the waves hit the beach. We both miss and love you. See you soon.
    With love,
    Amanda
    P.S. Please bring the makings for Manhattans. I am done with nursing and dying for a good stiff drink. Mother will consider me a boozehound if I drive into town for alcohol. You can get away with bringing it in, and she’ll still adore you. Don’t we all, you wild and wicked spinster!

June 1, 1956
    Dear Tilly,
    Where to begin? Even if we had a phone at this old beach house (Mother still stands firm on that), I’m not sure I could speak my feelings as well as I can write them. If you so much as said a word, I would crumble. Why? Because my dearest, Tilly, as your friend, I feel what you feel and would hear it in the simplest of words you might utter. You must feel the same or you wouldn’t have broken this news to me in a letter. Now it’s clear why you have not dropped by the apartment for the last month. I should be upset with you for shutting us out.
    You should be here with us. The beach breezes, salty ocean and unrelenting sun would renew you and heal your womb. Oh, I can hear you say, “I’m just fine, Amanda the third,” like you do whenever you want to hide your true feelings. But I know better. We love you and do not judge. Surely you’re not concerned with the latter.
    Why did you want to keep your condition a secret anyway? Maybe you think because I’m a mother, I wouldn’t understand your predicament. Surely, Tilly, you know I sometimes envy your free and easy lifestyle. You are the opposite of everything I’ve become. You strive for the nonconformist ideals. Oh, I do overstate that because you don’t have to strive—you just are. I read quite a lengthy article in our weekly town paper, Beachside Gazette, about the Beat Generation and their recent discovery of our pristine existence so close to the city. Oh yes, a few self-proclaimed poets throwing Ginsberg’s name around has this seaside town scared. I do think the old fogies that have been coming here forever are afraid of being overrun. I had to laugh. Recent discovery? My bohemian friend has been “Beat” and coming here for years.
    I live vicariously through you, my friend. And more importantly, I love you.
    Okay, I do digress. Back to the matter at hand—or no longer at hand I should say. I still have a network of friends in the medical community and could have helped you find a trusted and competent doctor. I’m just glad you managed that on your own, and although you’re sorry word got round to me, I’m not. Would you have even told me if I hadn’t stumbled on your name at the hospital? So, stop being so ridiculous and come visit us, to relax and recoup.
    I do have to warn you, Robert is quite upset. He isn’t saying much. In fact, he won’t speak to me at all about you. I can only imagine he’s actually worried and not angry that you did not confide in us from the beginning. He would have helped you, you know. He’s one of your biggest fans, dear Tilly. I am again in awe of my darling husband for the deep feelings he abides. You two have something special that started before I ever entered the picture. He cares deeply for you.
    Don’t let the summer get away without lying on this lovely beach. When the hospital offered their occasional staffers a chance for the summer off, I couldn’t refuse. I’ll not set foot in the hot city until September, so you must get here. Although, I can guess that Robert will have to make several trips back and will wait upon you. I think he’ll want to check on you. You know how men are, my man anyway.
    Write soon. Much love,
    Amanda

July 5, 1956
    Dear Tilly,
    You missed an amazing fourth. Amanda kept asking where Auntie Tilly was.
    You’re not going to visit this summer are you?
    I do understand your involvement with your circle of friends, so intrinsic to your budding writing career, keeps