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McCall:These are weird gifts.
Booker:They aren’t weird if you know the whole story.
McCall:How’d your test go yesterday? What do the doctors think?
Booker:It’s not looking good.
McCall:What’s the plan?
Booker:Learn sign language so I can talk, I suppose.
McCall:Well, then I’m learning it too.
Booker:Really?
McCall:Of course. I need to know what your long-winded ass is always rambling on about. You should tell Macie, so she can learn before you come home.
Booker:Not yet.
McCall:You’re as stubborn as old Mrs. Reynold’s favorite mule.
Booker:I know.
McCall:And stop drugging your poor momma. She told mine she’s never been as tired as she has the last week. She thinks there’s something medically wrong with her.
Booker:She cries all the time, and looks at me like I’m dying.
McCall:She thought you were, you prick. Let her stay conscious long enough to heal from the trauma.
Booker:Fine.
Booker + Macie
Booker:You remember when your momma decided you were going to be a tennis star? I think you were almost fourteen.
Macie:What does that have to do with the basket of river rocks on my porch?
Booker:McCall and I convinced you to ditch practice one day and go with us to the river instead. We taught you to skip rocks.
Macie:You could skip from one side of the river straight to the other. I remember thinking that was so impressive. I didn’t quite understand it then, but I’m pretty sure watching you skip rocks was the first time I was ever turned on.
Booker:Is that why you kissed me?
Macie:On your cheek. Your skin was cool from the river water. McCall gagged.
Booker:My heart was racing. I remember thinking that life couldn’t possibly get better than it was in that moment. My girl and my best friend playing hooky with me down at the river.
Macie:No calls, no texts, no letters. And now you’re torturing me for fun.
Booker:You have every right to be angry with me, Macie. I wanted to call, I wanted to text. And I did write you…the letters never made it to your hands.
Macie:What letters? Why didn’t I get any letters?
Booker:The why isn’t important.
Macie:Nine years, Booker Thomas. We were inseparable for nine damn years. You left me without a word, and now you tell me you tried to write to me? How is that not important? It’s everything.
Booker:I have a plan. I have an order, and a plan on how this is supposed to go. It’s not time, not yet.
