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Roberto winces. “What?”
“Never mind.”
Roberto sighs wistfully. “I’m here because I promised to give you this.” He sighs as he holds out an envelope. “It’s from Eleanor.”
“Eleanor?” At the sound of her name, tears sting my eyes. Heaven knows, crying is all I’ve done the past year since I lost my very best friend to a brain tumor. My voice is unsteady when I ask, “She left me a letter?”
“She did.” Roberto’s baritone voice croaks. “Eleanor’s putting you in check from the grave.”
I press the letter to my chest and close my eyes, picturing her face, her smile. No one else has ever loved me, the real me, the way Eleanor did. I still miss her so much my bones ache. I take a breath, placing my finger under the flap and carefully nudging it open. Through misty eyes, I read:
Not again, Dawson!
If you’re getting this letter, it means Roberto just caught you climbing out the bathroom window. Which means you just had another Binder date and are on the run from whatever disaster was unraveling inside.
I know this letter is probably going to make you cry, and although I can’t stop you, I hope you don’t. Know that wherever I am, I’m looking down on you, my brother, and my parents. I hope I’m smiling at how proud I am of you. If I’m NOT smiling, then listen up, Dawson Hope Wright.
I’m guessing it’s probably getting close to Christmas because, knowing you, you didn’t get on Binder for a while after I died. I bet you did that stay-in-the-house-and-isolate-yourself thing for a while. Then, you thought about getting on Binder, and maybe you even chatted a bit, but then logged off. Now that it’s almost been a year since I passed, you’re thinking that the holidays are approaching, and it’s time to get your butt on a date. Am I right?
I smile through my tears. Yes. She’s right. Eleanor is always right.
Assuming I am, which, come on, when am I not? Here’s what I need you to do. It’s going to be a particularly tough holiday season for you. I really hope I didn’t croak right before Christmas. I’m crossing my fingers that I make it just in time to screw up the Super Bowl, actually. Because, yuck.
She passed on December twentieth, so she didn’t make it to her goal. That saddens me more, if that’s possible.
Nevertheless, I didn’t have control of this one, but you know me—I’m taking control where I can. I’m going to make sure that you and my family have a special holiday this year.
And that means that you, my loyal friend, need to travel to our blessed hometown of Cherry Creek, Tennessee. You must spend the week leading up to Christmas and Christmas Day with my parents and, yes, my brother.
Ugh. Eleanor’s twin brother, Sawyer, is my enemy and the flaming jerk hole who crushed and humiliated me. But in fairness, it’s not like I have plans for the holidays. My parents, who now live in New York when my father took office, are on a holiday cruise.
I understand that this is a big ask, but I did die, after all, so can you really say no?
No—I can’t refuse my dead best friend.
I didn’t think so. Once you get to my parents’ house and you’ve complimented my mom’s festive dinner and my dad’s ridiculous Christmas display, Sawyer will give you instructions on how you both can get your last Christmas gift from me.
My heart squeezes. I get one more gift from Eleanor? My eyes read quickly:
You’re welcome.
If you’ve forgotten, my dear Dawson, I love you like the sister I never had. I will love you forever, no matter where I am. Please know that I’m making you do this for a reason—a reason I’m not at liberty to share with you… yet. But I had secrets, even from you and Sawyer, and now, I need your help.
Love you to the moon and beyond,
Eleanor M. Quinn
ChapterTwo
After parkingmy car on the street, I trudge through the snowy sidewalk to Eleanor’s parents’ house.
I glance up the hill to see my old house, a large Victorian mansion with a pool and the best views of the lake. It’s a beautiful estate, the nicest one in the Lakeside Homes neighborhood, but I don’t miss it. Studying its off-white pillars and tan shutters, I have no desire to see it up close. And, I’m actually relieved to be heading to Eleanor’s house, which always felt more like home than my own.
Walking up to her place, I grin. It has to be a fire hazard with so many Christmas lights. I swear you could see it from the moon. I’m glad Eleanor’s father still decided to take this Christmas as seriously as ever. I feel inspired—we should all attempt to figure out how to do the holidays without Eleanor, thinking of her through the family’s traditions. It saddens me, but if being here can give us all a bit of reprieve from our grief, then it’s worth it.
On the front porch is the signature backside of Eleanor’s brother, which is quite appealing, unfortunately. My lip curls.
Sawyer Quinn. My arch nemesis growing up and the thorn in my side in Vanderbilt’s pre-law program. Whatever I did he had to do better, and he justhadto be totally obnoxious about it. Not to mention he’s the guy who let me down when I needed him most.
