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"No." I pointed to the door. "Don't you dare put any more work on my desk."
"But—"
"Bring it to me next week. Not now."
His face paled, and he looked back and forth. Then he dropped it onto my desk anyway and rushed out of the room.
"Okay, I take back what I said." Kelly smiled. "I think I'll join you at Statham Industries years from now instead of months from now."
"You better be kidding."
"I am." She winked. "I'll call you tonight. Don't forget to update your brother about the changes."
"I won't." I ended the call and stared at the beautiful white flowers in awe.
Maybe Corey is finally apologizing for being an ass?
I pulled the tiny red envelope from the stems and opened it, expecting to see an 'I'm sorry,' but it wasn't there. It was a note from the last person I wanted to forgive.
––––––––
Hayley,
I love you, and I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you.
(Whether you choose to believe it or not)
Can I talk to you now that you're living in San Fran?
Even if it's just for five minutes.
Your mother,
Denise Statham
(Or, as you used to address me in your letters, Inmate #W098287)
––––––––
I STARED AT THE LASTline of her note in utter disbelief. Out of the one hundred and seventy-six letters I'd mailed her when she was sent away, she'd never written back once. And the few times that my first foster family let me visit her in prison, she acted as if she was more interested in hearing about Jonathan and what he was doing than me.
I counted the number of blooms in the flower bouquet and found it quite fitting that it was the number of birthdays she'd missed. And perhaps the random red tulip in the middle stood for the time she left me in our filthy trailer home on Christmas Eve with the promise to come back with "Lots of gifts, Hales! So, we can finally have a real Christmas!" Maybe that flower stood for the fact that she didn't come back to the trailer until long after New Year's Day, empty-handed.
I don't think so, Inmate #W098287. We can't ever talk...
I opened my drawer and took out a pair of scissors, snipping the bloom off each flower and tossing the fake love into the trash.
