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“Sasha has a college fund. She won’t be using it now.”
Mrs. Cade continues where her husband left off. “Walter and I have talked about turning it into a scholarship in her memory. I don’t see why you can’t be the only applicant for it.”
Mrs. Reinhart puts a hand to her heart. Sasha’s parents are watching Elijah, their expressions hopeful.
Mr. Cade straightens his back. “I know you already have a home with the Reinharts, but there’s a great university near Peyton Colony, and we have plenty of space.”
Mrs. Cade cuts in, leaning forward and grabbing his arm. “I know you’re too old to be adopted, but we have a spare bedroom and you’re Sasha’s brother. You’re family.”
Elijah’s mouth hangs open. Even his hand that’s holding mine under the table goes limp. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Reinhart is crying, and Sasha’s dad frowns in this weirdly happy way.
He’s no longer the tough Texas lawyer; now he’s just a dad. “Will you think it over, Elijah?”
Elijah turns to look at me. I squeeze his hand. “Say yes, you dork.”
His eyes sparkle, and he seems to wake up, his hand tightening on mine. “Yes, sir,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I’d love that. Thank you.”
“Then it’s settled,” Mrs. Cade says. “Welcome to the family, at last.”
I raise my glass, nodding to the Reinharts, the Cades and the one Delgado. We may all have different last names, but we’ve chosen to be together. “To family.”
“To family!”
As our glasses clink together, I glance over and see a single tear rolling down Elijah’s cheek. His hand squeezes mine so hard my fingers hurt. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The final letter will arrive any minute now. Mrs. Cade will probably check the mail the moment it’s delivered, just like she always does. She’ll see the letter addressed to the newest member of the household, Elijah Delgado. Maybe she’ll recognize the handwriting. But she probably won’t.
Mr. Cade is arranging an internship for Elijah at his law firm, but for now, Elijah is adjusting to his new life, one that now has a cell phone and Sasha’s old computer. He’s been spending all of his time getting to know his new parents and letting Mrs. Cade take him on the occasional shopping spree. In the evenings, he hangs out with me.
Elijah might be in his new bedroom when Mrs. Cade brings him the letter. Or maybe he’s on the back porch, which is his favorite part of the Cades’ house. He loves that you can see the lake from every angle of their backyard. He loves the sunset dancing on the water and the deer who hang around waiting for food. Most of all, he loves that he finally feels free.
I am in school as the letter is being delivered. I don’t know exactly when it happens, but I feign attention in class while holding my phone under the desk, waiting for a message. Will he call me the second he gets it? Or will he wait a while?
Unlike the others, this letter is from me.
Dear Elijah,
I am sending you on an adventure. It is part business, part date, but dress like it’s all business. I’m thinking slacks and that black button-up shirt you have. Drive to the address below, and walk into Building A. Tell the person at the front desk your name and that you have a 3:00 p.m. appointment.
(Don’t be late!)
After your business adventure, the fun part begins. Meet me at the marina, behind the Starbucks. See you soon.
Raquel
I check the time as I stab two green straws into the mocha Frappuccinos I just purchased. It’s almost four, and Dean Marshall told me the meeting would last about half an hour. My phone has been silent all day, and I’m a little nervous that Elijah might be pissed at me. But when I step outside, drinks in hand, I see him leaning against my car in the parking lot, arms crossed over his chest, a carefree smile on his face that sets my mind at ease. The sleeves of his black button-up shirt are pushed up to his elbows, and his pants are crisply ironed, no doubt thanks to Mrs. Cade.
“Hey.” I feel like the luckiest girl alive.
He takes a step forward, peeling himself off my car. “I got some mail today.”
“Oh yeah?”
He pulls a folded stack of papers from his back pocket, peering at me through his lashes as he opens the pages I’d carefully folded myself the day before. “Step one,” he says, “apply for admission. Step two, complete pre-assessment activity. Step three, complete placement testing.”
He lowers the papers. “Step four, get a bacterial meningitis vaccination? I have to get a freaking shot?”
