After a minute, I was able to pull myself together and finish the letter.
Again, happy birthday, Fel. I wish I could give you a better gift than these words, but I take comfort in the fact that Mom will spoil you rotten. I heart you more than Starburst and salsa.
xoxo,
Rose
“Heart you more than Cool Ranch and blueberry shakes,” I whispered out of habit.
A tear rolled off the tip of my nose before I realized I was crying. Not monster, body-racking sobs, but a silent stream of tears. When another drop fell, hitting the page and making the blue ink bloom beneath it, I wiped my eyes before any more of Rose’s words could be ruined. She might not have thought so, but her letter was more than a gift. It was hope. The kind of hope I’d searched for when I’d stared up at her paper hearts, praying she’d come home.
But along with hope, a fire ignited inside me. Why hadn’t I seen these letters before now? If Rose missed me, if she wanted to be part of my life the way her letter suggested, then why did she stay away? And why hadn’t she contacted me in some other way?
I plucked the bundle of letters out of the guitar case and shuffled through them. Each one was from her, the oldest dating back to a month after she left. There must have been more than fifty pieces of mail. Some were fat envelopes, while others were colorful postcards, but they were all addressed to me. It didn’t take me long to notice every one had been sent from someplace different: Mexico, Jamaica, Brazil, even one from Italy! It was as if Rose was constantly on the move, unable to settle down.
Suddenly, I felt as if I’d been awake for weeks. There was something exhaustingly sad about finding these letters, and I felt like the universe was intentionally poking the bruises of my heart. Leaving the bundle and the guitar case of the floor, I went back to my room for my phone and called Asha. My call went to voice mail, so I lefther a message.
“Hey, it’s me. I know you said you had plans, but you need to get over here. It’s an emergency. Bring Boomer.”
***
By the time Asha and Boomer arrived at my house, I’d read ten more of Rose’s letters. Each one was already open, and they were identical to the first: chatty and full of warmth, but without the answers I was searching for. The more I read, the less everything made sense. Because while I discovered who Nicoli was (Rose’s boyfriend from Italy) and why she was rambling on about Rapunzel (she worked as a character on Disney cruises), I was still no closer to understanding the important details, like her reason for leaving or why she wouldn’t come home.
“Felicity, you here?” Boomer called from the front hall. “It’s me and Asha!”
My voice cracked as I shouted back, “I-I’m in here!”
I glanced at my watch. Only half an hour had passed since my SOS, which was surprising. Boomer lived on the other side of town. There was no way he could pick up Asha and drive to my house in thirty minutes, even if she’d called him right after listening to my voice mail.
With a creak, the door swung open, and light from the hallway spilled into the room.
“How’d you guys get here so fast?” I asked without bothering to look up. It was hard taking my eyes off Rose’s letters. Part of me was afraid that if I did, they would disappear like she had.
“I was at Asha’s,” was all Boomer said.
That was enough to startle me. Asha and Boomer were good friends, but their relationship was the result of their connection to me. It didn’t hurt my feelings that I wasn’t included in whatever they were doing today, especially considering I had my own plans, but I was confused. The two never hung out alone, and trying to picture it was so…strange. I turned to Asha for further explanation, but she jammed her thumbs into the belt loops of her shorts and looked at the carpet, the walls, anywhere but me.
Before I could ask exactly what was going on, Boomer cocked his head and squinted at me. “Why is your face so blotchy?”
Asha’s gaze snapped to me. “Felicity, were you crying? What’s wrong?” The sight of my tearstained cheeks must have been alarming. She knew how much I disliked crying. My mom cried enough for both of us, so I figured at least one of us needed to be strong.
The answer to her first question was obvious, so I only bothered with the second. “Look what I found,” I said, gesturing to the letters fanned out on the floor around me.
“Let me guess,” Boomer said, peering over Asha’s shoulder at the mess I’d made. “Your mom is writing an erotic novel and reading the manuscript traumatized—Ow! Son of a…”
“Could younotright now?” Asha snapped.
He grumbled a few choice words under his breath, rubbing his stomach where she’d jabbed him with her elbow, but Asha ignored him and crouched down at my side. I didn’t say anything as she picked up the nearest letter to examine. Her gaze slid over the first few words, but then cut down to the end to see who had sent it.
“Holy crap!” she gasped. “It’s from Rose.”
“What? Give it here.” Boomer snatched the page from her hands.
“They’re all from her,” I said. “Apparently she’s been writing to me since she left.”
Asha frowned. “And you’ve never seen these before now?”
I shook my head, and the lump in my throat bobbed as I swallowed back my lingering shock.
