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Best Friends for Life
I press a finger against the doorbell, and the soft sounds of Scarlett’s favorite song play.
The door swings open and Tully’s smile falters. She grips onto a cane and steps forward.
“Um…hey,” she says. “What are you doing here?”
"Hey." I hold out the roses, but she doesn’t take them.
“I thought they gave you ten years…”
“The governor pardoned me.”
“Wow," She says, looking shocked.
“That’s good for you. Why are you here?”
“I want to see Scarlett.”
“Then come back later,” she says. “She’s out on a date with her boyfriend.”
“She’s seeing someone?”
“That’s what I said.” She shrugs. “Anything else?”
“Tully, look,” I say, “I know I’m the last person you want to talk to these days, but can you please just set that to the side for a few seconds?”
She sighs. “It’s time for me to take my medicine, so you can come in, but only for a couple minutes.”
“Thank you.”
She takes the flowers from me, and I follow her inside a beautiful and airy living room and into a kitchen.
“This is a very nice place,” I say.
“Thanks.” She opens a cabinet. “I picked it since I figured this was close enough to our past, but far enough for a fresh start.”
She sets six different prescription bottles on the counter and stares at them. Then she looks at me. “Um…Scarlett usually does this for me but she’s late. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” I pick them up one by one and dispense whatever’s on the label into her hand while she sips from a glass of water.
"How have you been, health wise?"
“As good as I can be. My doctors claim I need to invest in a shit ton of hydrotherapy since I can’t seem to get consistent with the three-times-a-week physical therapy.”
I tilt my head to the side, remembering a line from her old letters. “I thought your physical therapy only had to be once a week.”
“I wish that was the case.” She shrugs. “I just don't like thinking about it."
“Why did you stop writing letters to me?” I ask, unable to let that go. “Better yet, did Scarlett really say that she wanted me to move on without her?”
“Huh?” She raises her eyebrow. "What letters?"
“The ones you used to write before you stopped.” I pull a few of them from my bag. "I saved all of them because I was hoping we could still be somewhat cordial when I was released.”
She takes one of the letters from my hands, flipping through its pages and looking confused.
“Easton…” She shakes her head. “I didn't send you these. I didn't evenwritethese."
