AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My mind blanked at his flippant expression of love. Over the years those words had tumbled from his lips a time or two, and they never ceased to stop me dead in my tracks.
Only this time it was different.
Things between us had evolved. Intensified. Gotten complicated.
I stared at Lee’s back, and my mind struggled to catch up. “I’m just going to wash up. I’ll be back in five minutes. Just make yourself at home!” My voice squeaked out three octaves higher than what would be considered normal.
I hurried away and locked myself in the bathroom before he could respond. With my back against the door I sucked in a few breaths, willing my heartbeat to settle and for me to somehow find the courage to explain myself in a way he could possibly understand.
I piled my curls on top of my head and vowed to give them a thorough wash another day, then took the world’s fastest shower as I scrubbed sand from my toes.
When I finished, I peeked from the doorway of the bathroom. Lee was sitting on the couch, so I silently slipped from the bathroom to the primary bedroom and quickly dressed in a pair of leggings and found a T-shirt with only a few splatters of pottery glaze on it.
Much like my chaotic apartment way of living, Lee had also seen me in my comfiest clothes. Gathering my courage, I plastered on a sunny smile and greeted him in the living room.
The smile slid from my face when I saw Lee resting his elbows on his knees, hunched over on my couch with a single piece of paper dangling from his fingertips. I stopped in the doorway and stared.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Please, no, not like this.
“Lee?” My voice was timid and small, and I hated myself for it.
“Why do you have this?” He held up the letter. “Howdo you have this?”
I exhaled and bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling. “Okay, so the letters—”
“Did her parents give you these?” He gestured toward the clear plastic shoebox full of paper. “Because I asked them after she died. I asked if I could keep those letters, but they claimed they had no idea what I was talking about. They said they couldn’t find any letters.”
My heart pounded against my ribs. I held up one hand, hoping he would let me finish without cutting me off. “Please don’t blame them. They didn’t give you the letters because they never had them. I did.”
“What? She gave these to you? These were personal. Private.” Emotion was building as each of his words grew more punctuated than the one before it.
“She didn’t give them to me. They weretome ... sort of.” I stared at him, willing him to understand without me having to flay myself open and explain every sordid detail.
His brows pinched together and he shook his head. “What are you talking about? Why do you have the letters I wrote to Margo?”
I took one step forward and could feel the frustration simmering off him.
“Look, when you guys left, Margo and you were already on shaky footing, right? She told me the one thing you asked of her was that she would write to you while you were gone. Well, Margo was ... you know ... Margo. She asked me—” I shook my head, remembering that day with heartbreaking clarity. “No, she begged me to do it. She said that she wasn’t the creative type, and I was. But I refused. I knew it wasn’t right. But then she told me that you said it would be the one thing that would keep you going, knowing that there was someone here thinking about you and connecting you to your home. You were my friend, Lee. I didn’t know what else to do. So I did it. I wrote that first letter and signed her name to it. She and I lived together, so the letters all came to our place. Anytime your letters came in the mail, she left them on the counter for me to open, and I would take them and read them and write you back. And it was me. Me who poured everything into those letters. Only I never once signed my name.” Shame washed over me as tears streamed down my face. “I signed hers instead.”
Lee stared at me as my voice cracked on those final words. His back was stiff and straight. His jaw tense.
My eyes pleaded with him. “Say something, please.”
With a flick of his fingertips, he released the letter, and I watched it float to the floor in slow motion.
“I have to go.” His voice was strangled and low.
I didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes as he strode past me without looking back.
After the front door to the apartment clicked closed behind him, I sank to my knees, gathered the letter he had dropped, and sobbed.
THIRTY
LEE
The old screendoor slammed behind me after I stomped out of Annie’s apartment. The weight of her confession pressed heavily on my shoulders. Confusion, hurt, and betrayal swirled and collided like a raging storm. The revelation that Annie had written the letters—the letters that had captivated my heart and deceived my soul—was a cruel twist of fate. A war of emotions churned inside me, the hurt cutting deep as the truth settled in.
All this time it was her.
