"Dear Silas. S-I-L-A-S, that's my son. Dear Silas. Happy birthday. Happy eighteenth birthday. Um... Don't write 'um.' I think you're an amazing son. I'm so proud to be your Mom. 'Be your Mom' ... sounds like bullshit. Doesn't it? Um. Dear Silas. If you never see me again, I've probably been murdered. Enjoy the dried apricots and butter cookies," she laughs to herself, and Carol at Terrifically Gift Baskets interrupts to remind Nancy that butter cookies are extra with the Sterling Celebration. "Yeah. Uh, could you stop talking? For a second? Please? Be quiet. And listen. Just listen." Carol says she's listening, and you can hear it in her voice. Amends. Confession. Somebody has to be there, to hear it, so that we remember that we are not the table. Our responsibility to Silas, to Shane, to Andy and to Celia; to Doug and to Agent Till and to Esteban; to Judah. Our responsibility to Carol at Terrifically Gift Baskets, who's listening. Five miles to the border.
"Dear Silas. Uh. Thanks for raising yourself these past eighteen years. You've done a great job." She nods quietly to herself; this is admission of guilt and confession of sins. She nods to herself, hearing the words come out. Without Andy she'd never have known, how good this feels. How terrible and wonderful it feels.
After long silence: "Ms. Botwin. Are you okay, Ms. Botwin?" Nancy shakes her head and doesn't speak to Carol. She says no, but silently. It is written on her breath; it's written on her body and the way she says yes and no to the darkness of the borderlands; how they're both applicable at once. She gasps quietly.