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My mother’s broken heart has
kept her bedridden. Father tries so hard to be strong, but in the quiet of the
night I hear him crying. I do not know how we will go on.
    I know how much your friendship meant to Hans. He talked
about you constantly, telling us all about his American friend Danny in Chicago , America . He
has a cigar box where he kept all your letters. When they continued to come
after he died, I knew I must find the courage one day to write you.
    More than anything, I live each day with the regret that I
never told Hans how much he meant to me. It seemed my quest in life to annoy
him as much as I could, but deep down I adored him and loved him more than
words can say. Now he shall never know.
    I know Hans hoped to someday meet you, and now that shall
never happen. I’m so sorry you must now mourn the loss of your friend, as we have
mourned these many weeks.
    Anya
     
    Danny’s hands trembled as he stared at the page. A drop
splashed on the words, causing the ink to run. He hadn’t even realized he was
crying. He brushed away the tear, not wanting the words to smear, but at the
same time wishing he could blot out the horrible message they told.
    He heard himself moan as he set the letter aside. He dropped
his head in his hands and gave in to the ache in his chest. “Tell me it’s not
true. Please tell me Hans didn’t die . . .” He squeezed his
eyes, wiping away his tears when a thought hit him. Maybe it’s just a joke.
Hans always talked about how mischievous his little sister was. Could this be
some sick retaliation for another of their fights? But almost as soon as
the notion drifted through his mind, it disappeared. No one is that cruel.
Not even a bratty kid sister.
    He knew the despair in Anya’s letter was genuine. He could
feel it in his gut. Hans had drowned in the frigid waters beneath the ice he’d
always loved to skate on. The friend he’d hoped to one day meet was now gone
forever.
    Sophie began to whimper quietly, her mournful eyes locked on
Danny’s. He drew in a ragged breath and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t
understand. How could something so bad happen to someone so good?” Still
whimpering, she nuzzled up to his face and began licking the tears from his
cheek.
    They sat like that for several minutes as Danny tried to
make sense of it all. He tried to picture Anya and her
parents . . . how they must have suffered with a grief so much
worse than what rocked him now half a world away.
    He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there when another thought
came to him. He knew what he had to do. He set Sophie aside and got up, making
his way over to his desk. He opened the drawer and reached inside to lift out
the old cigar box. He slowly opened the lid and placed his hand on the stack of
letters. His eyes tracked to the mirror above his desk where he’d tucked the
picture of Hans and his family in the frame. The pain in his chest ached again,
but he pushed through it, reaching into another drawer for a clean sheet of
paper. With his pen poised above the first line, he froze. How could he
possibly express what he was feeling in his heart?
     
    Dear Anya,
    I have just received your letter and cannot begin to tell
you how sorry I am to read of Hans’ death. Even seeing the words on the paper,
I find it impossible to believe he’s gone. We never had the chance to meet face
to face, but I can honestly say, over the past year and a half we’ve been
writing, he’s become my best friend. I don’t even know what to do with
that—losing someone so special to me. Even still, it’s nothing compared to the
grief you and your parents have shared these past weeks.
    But I want you to know how often he wrote of you and how
fond he was of his “little Anya.” He loved giving you a hard time, but deep
down he was crazy about you. Don’t ever think differently.
    I can’t even find the words to say how sorry I am for you
and your parents. I promise to keep all of you in my prayers.