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I didn’t have a cell phone. They weren’t exactly in my small budget, and there was no way I wanted her to call my house and run the risk of talking to my dad. She would learn entirely too much about me in one conversation with him and go running for the hills.
It was okay though, waiting for her. After all, the best things in life are worth waiting for, and I was slowly realizing that Lettie might just be one of the best things yet.
It was Saturday, though, which meant I had an entire day to get through before I was able to see her again.
I got dressed for the day and walked down the stairs from my bedroom. I had the entire upstairs to myself, which was great for privacy but terrible if I wanted to do anything but sweat during the summer months. It was hot, stuffy, and felt like my own personal sauna.
But even that was better than having to deal withhim.
“Where are you going?” my father asked. He was sitting in his recliner, chain-smoking cigarettes. It looked like he’d been up all night again, and these were usually the times I left the house and didn’t come back until he crashed. It was better that way.
“I have a shift at the bakery today.” I grabbed the keys to my truck and headed toward the door. “They sent a pink slip again yesterday. I talked to Amber at the electric company and she said she can give us an extension, but only until next Wednesday, and then it’s shut off. She said it’s the last time she can help.”
My father took a swig of the bottle he had sitting on the end table next to him. “I guess you better pay it then, since you’re so concerned about it.”
It only took one grumble from me before my father shot up out of his chair as though I had just spit in his face.
“You got somethin to say,boy?”
My father was a large man, and when he squared up to me, I could feel myself cower. I was a small child again, and it didn’t matter that I could have held my own with him, I would have never tried.
“No, sir,” I replied, my head lowered.
“I didn’t think so,” he said as he flicked his cigarette at me before sitting back down. I took that as my opportunity to flee.
My father and I had never seen eye to eye. At least not any time that I could remember, and the more we were around each other, the more it turned into arguments. And arguments inevitably turned into his knee to my ribs.
But that was something I kept to myself. That was something Aveline didn’t need to know.
I checked the mailbox before stepping into the truck and sat in the driver’s seat shuffling through them. Bills, bills, bills, and finally, one addressed to me.
The handwriting was loopy, and when I brought it up to my nose, there was a warm scent of vanilla as though it had been sprayed with perfume. I grabbed my pocket knife from my console and opened the envelope, taking out a piece of paper filled with the same loopy handwriting.
Dear Tuck,
I’m sitting at the desk in my room, and all I can think about is how much I wish I could be in Aveline right now. Your town has really taken hold of me, and I often find myself obsessing over the next time that I will get to see it.
And you.
Isn’t it weird when you find someone and you just know you’re going to be friends with them for a really long time? That’s how I feel about us. So, because I have enjoyed our meetings so much, I thought that I could write you letters in between seeing each other, and I hope you don’t mind. I was thinking it would be a really good habit for us to start for when you leave for the Army.
We can keep in touch this way. Because I really can’t imagine never talking to you again.
Maybe these letters will just be to say hello, or maybe it will be to tell you something that can’t possibly wait until our next meeting. Or maybe it will be just a way to share a joke I heard and don’t want to forget.
Not that anyone around here does much joking.
Either way, it gives me a way to talk to you. And to be honest, I feel most myself when I’m around you… Well, not just you—now I really sound like a stalker—but everyone in Aveline. In Aveline, I can be real. I can quite literally let my hair down, whereas at home, I am playing a part. I am putting on a show, and all I want is for them to call the curtain.
Mostly, I want to know about you, Tuck Anderson.
What kind of house do you live in? I don’t mean the type of house, exactly, but more the home. Is it warm and inviting like the rest of your town? I think it probably is. I’m guessing you have the type of mother who will bake you cookies on a Sunday afternoon just because she loves you. I think it would be nice to live in a home like that.
Maybe someday, I can see yours. If it’s not rude to ask, which I’m sure it is. My mother always tells me I am a lost cause when it comes to etiquette and properness, but I don’t really mind it much. I would love one time to belch so loudly at the dinner table that I shake the walls.
Wouldn’t that be hilarious?
Anyway, if you feel so inclined, I would love a note back, but address it to Julia with the address on the front of this envelope. It’s my nanny’s suite, and I have explained to her that a friend might be writing to me… and yes, she’s the fancy nanny assistant who I happen to like more than I do my own mother.
