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What the hell was Camille up to?
She began to read.
Dear Ms. McKenna—
I read your article on Bruce Dinkle with great interest. This Bruce character seems to be a fool and a coward. And unfortunately, I can relate all too well to your situation.
Even more unfortunately, I can relate to Bruce.
You see, years ago, I fell in love with a girl who was, and is, about a hundred times too good for me. I spent a torturous decade keeping her at a distance when all I wanted was to pull her toward me and ask her to be mine. I tried to lose myself in other relationships, but nobody came close. Nobody will ever come close.
When I finally got the courage to be with her, it was both wonderful and excruciating. Wonderful because it was her, and because nothing I’ve ever done felt as important as making her smile. Excruciating, because I didn’t think it could possibly last. So I ended it.
I thought I was doing the right thing by letting her go, but what I really was doing was pushing her away before she could push me away.
But I pushed too hard, and she’s gone.
It’s what I wanted.
But that’s a lie. What I really want is to see her face again. To hold her, and hear her laugh. I want the sunset walks in the park and arguments over what movie to see. I even want her tantrums and her sarcasm. But most of all I want the love that I threw back in her face like it didn’t matter. I’d do anything for that.
So here’s my question. If your Bruce came to you and told you that he’d made the worst mistake of his life—that he’s ready to be brave and love you … would you give him the chance?
Can you still love the man who can’t stop loving you?
In anticipation—
S. Condon
“Wow,” Riley said, blowing out a long breath. “Wow.”
Julie must be rubbing off on her, because she felt tears welling at a stranger’s letter. And not a few dainty drops. Like one of those honking, slobbery type of cries. “Does anyone have any chips?”
Emma traded the chips for the letter, and Riley tore open the bag. They were the baked, unsalted kind, but she barely noticed as she munched them three at a time.
“Oh my,” Emma said in a croaky little voice.
“Oh jeez, even Emma is getting weepy. What is it, like, a poem or something?” Grace asked.
“So much better than a poem,” Julie said as she snatched the paper from Emma and skimmed it. “It’s a love letter.”
“Let me see this.” Grace ripped it out of Julie’s hands. Not that Julie noticed, because she was crying. Again.
“I think I’d leave Jake for this guy,” Grace said, becoming sobering as she read it.
“I wonder how Camille got it,” Julie said, pulling herself together and dabbing her eyes. “Why wasn’t it with the rest of the letters?”
“No postage,” Emma said, peering at the envelope. Then her eyes narrowed. “Grace, give me that.”
Grace handed over the letter, and Emma stared at it for several seconds before she lifted her eyes to Riley. “Ri, how many people know about your original fake name for Sam?”
Who cares?
“I don’t know. You guys. Camille. Maybe one of the copy editors, if they made a pass at it before I changed it to Bruce?”
Wordlessly, Emma handed the letter back to Riley.
Riley felt the blood drain from her face as she saw what Emma wanted her to see.
