Page 43 of Sterling Stone

“Yeah,” I whisper, my throat suddenly thick.

Then I slip the postcard into my back pocket like I’m not affected by it and search blindly through the remainder of the mail like I give two shits about the electric bill.

After what I surmise is a reasonable time to pretend to check out the mail, I turn for my office off the kitchen. Once inside, I prop the postcard against the base of a lamp, torturing myself while silently pleased that Taxi is still pursuing her dreams.

Living adventures. The kind of her own making.

15

October

[Stone]

Took a little detour. The leaves are changing. I love this time of year. Autumn always feels like entering a new season of life. Sounds a bit over philosophical, doesn’t it? Then again, I’m in my forties. Times are a changin’.

I landed another teaching opportunity with a group of kids near Detroit. Their excitement for art fuels me.

How about you? Performed any Superman heroics lately? Hope all is well and safe in Sterling Falls.

Trudy told me you raked up her leaves.

Thank you.

—Delilah

The postcard is more iconic, like she grabbed it at a visitor center or a truck stop. The image of autumn leaves in flaming orange, brilliant yellow, and rustic brown fills the space.

A detour, she said. She’s evidently on a road trip in Michigan.

As I stare at the image, I’m curious why she has sent me a second postcard. The questions are endless. Is she only thinking of me because I’ve done something for her aunt? Or is she thinking of me? Does she, dare I wonder, miss me somehow?

I snort as I lean back in my office chair, the furniture on rollers squeaking as it strains under my weight. I should replace this old thing. I should change a lot of things, but one thing I wouldn’t change is the memory of her.

I don’t have a way to respond to her short letters. Perhaps that’s the point.

Maybe sending me these postcards keeps up the anonymity.

Samson and Delilah shared a night, not Stone and Taxi.

16

December

[Stone]

Happy Holidays.

I hope you don’t mind me sending you these little snippets of where I’ve been, what I’m doing. You once said you hadn’t been anywhere, and you want to see all the places for yourself. Maybe one day soon you can.

The holidays never feel the same without snow. I miss the mountains of West Virginia.

Strange, right?

—Taxi

While the paper is a sturdy cardstock, the image looks hand drawn and includes a cactus with snow dripping from the sharp needles of the waxy plant. Quite a juxtaposition, but then again, she’s in Arizona with Trudy and Simon. And I know this only because I offered to watch Trudy’s home while she’s gone.

I stare at the image for another second. This one has no color. Just pencil art, shaded here and there, like it’s a template for a mural.