Page 22 of The Summer of Us

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “So much time, so many mistakes, and so much hurt has happened.”

“But you’re here,” I insisted. “You came to me.”

“To tell you off.”

“But you stayed,” I added, my voice low. “You’re still with me.”

She said nothing, her head resting on my shoulder.

“We would have to take it slow,” she said finally. “I have to learn who you are now, Linc, and you have to get to know me. I’m not the same girl you lost ten years ago. I don’t know how you went from the boy you were to the man you are today.”

“I know.” I reached behind me into the box and held out the stacks of envelopes. “You could start by reading these.”

She took them, confused. “What are they?”

“The letters I wrote you. My father obviously had them waylaid. I don’t know why he kept them, unless he planned on using them to hurt me at some point.”

She took them from my hands. “There are a lot.”

“I wrote you every day. Some days, it was the only way I could cope. It felt as if I was talking to you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Are we too damaged for this, Linc?”

“No. We made it through all this shit for a reason.” I cupped the back of her neck. “Let us be the reason, Sunny.”

She bit her lip, the gesture familiar and comforting. “Slow,” she repeated. “It would have to be slow.”

“I’m good with slow.”

She stepped back. “I’m going to leave. I need to think, and I have some reading to do.”

I stood. “I’m ready to get out of here.” I slammed the lid shut on the metal container and slid it back into place. I’d figure out what to do with the contents later. Right now, my head was spinning.

“What are you doing with this place?”

“It’s being emptied, then I’m having it destroyed. I want to keep nothing of his, and I want no reminder of him in this town.”

“And the land?”

“I’ll decide that later.”

Outside, I loaded two boxes into my car. I looked around. “Did you walk here?”

“Yes.”

“Can I drive you down?”

“Okay.”

“And can I see you tomorrow?”

She smiled. “I guess you’re on a roll, Linc.”

I smiled as I slid into the driver’s seat. I pulled away from the house that had been another kind of prison to me.

I didn’t look back.

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