Page 6 of Left of Forever

Well, now I feel like a prick. “Oh. Uh… thanks. Appreciate it.” I turn toward the kid and find her sporting something smug.

“My first name is Lennon, by the way,” she says. “And don’t wait on my cousin before you write the lady back. Just tell her you’re working on her answers.”

I snort, but I’m curious. “Why would I waste her time? I’ll just wait until I have the info to share.” And I don’t intend towriteher back, either way. I’ll get her the answer she needs, though. And then I’ll text her or call her and let her know. Maybe we can have an awkward laugh over her letter ending up in my hands.

“So itisa lady, then?” Kirby asks.

“I—yeah, so?”

“Oh, I love this!” she squeals. “I mean, I knew it had to be for a variety of reasons. The way you were holding it, mainly. The yearning stares. That slightly desperate way you were asking everyone for answers. There’s something so intimate about words on paper, inked by someone’s hand, isn’t there? And I assume you’re straight just by your generally emotionally constipated vibe?”

“What? Yeah, but—”

“Knew it!” She belts a laugh. “God, I’m good. Oh, please,please,pleasestart a pen pal situation! I had a Canadian boyfriend-slash-pen-pal when I was younger. It was the best.” She pouts at the windshield. “Come to think of it, maybe that’s why none of my real-life relationships have panned out. They fail to reach the level of intimacy some thirteen-year-old Quebecois and I achieved despite never meeting.”

After several perplexed beats, I let out a strangled sigh. “Whatever. I’m not writing her back without an answer.” I turn on the truck and start the drive.

Kirby tsks me and shakes her head in the corner of my eye. “Forgive me, sir. But when’s the last time you were waiting on an important text?” she says.

I frown. I cannot remember a single time, actually.

She sees the answer in my expression and adds, “That’s what I thought. Even waiting on a text back makes a microwave minute seem short. If this woman went out of her way to write a letter, she’s already been waiting for a reply forminimumtwo days. And just like good text etiquette, you should at least respond and let that person know you’re busy or you’ll get back to them ASAP, et cetera. It takes the edge off.”

I change my mind about her reminding me of Silas. Lennon now reminds me of Sage. The overly observant and gregarious younger sister.

“So you’re telling me it’s the polite thing to do? Writing back?” And not just an excuse for me to communicate with her, under false pretenses.

She nods jovially. “Yep. I’m saying it’s the polite thing to do.”

Well, then. I have to consider that, right?

The longer I consider it on the drive, though, the more I know I can’t do it. I’ll just have to text her when I get back to my room.

I trudge over to the elevator at the hotel, too tired to hit upthe vending machine or the restaurant with the rest of the crew, then drag myself into my room. I take out the letter when I sit at the desk, turning on the light so I can read it again… then jolt when my phone promptly rings. Another pulse of anxiety hits me when I see that it’s Sage. I answer quickly before my brain starts catastrophizing.

“Sage?” Not sure why I sound guilty to my own ears.

“Ellis, hi,” she says cheerfully.

I feel my shoulders ease. “Everything all right?” I ask nonetheless.

She lets out a small laugh. “Yes. Yeah. More than all right, actually. Fisher and Indy are back.”

The joy is so sudden and alien that I turn to scowl at myself in the mirror across from me. I tamp it back down with wariness. “For… another visit?” I ask.

“Forgood, Ell,” she says in a laugh, and I let out a sigh. A force of habit; the parental-branded questions that flit through my head next.Where are they going to live? Where is he going to work? Are you staying protective of that too-generous heart of yours?I know they’re both adults, but I’m not so sure that him moving in with Sage too quickly would be wise.

What do I know, though? I’m no success story. I decide not to ruin the moment with the third degree.

“I’m glad, Sage. Happy for you,” I tell her instead.

“Thank you, Ell,” she softly replies. “Umm, so… that’s also why I wanted to call and ask if you might, like, just give me a heads-up call before you come by? I know Bud’s due for new shoes soon, and I know you don’t normally have to call—of course you don’t—you know I love having you swing by anytime, but…”

I rarely call before I come over to take care of my and Wren’shorse, but it’s not like I expect her to entertain me when I go over there. Sage took Bud in after the divorce so he could be on neutral ground for Wren and me, but he’s still our responsibility. It takes a minute for my brain to make sense of the request.

I groan when it eventually does. “Jesus, Sage. You worried I’ll catch you…withyour boyfriend?”

“We were separated for more than two months. Let me live. I’m only thinking of you.”