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“I did! And I didn’t even need to issue a strike.”
“PraiseDios!” Roxi laughed and started the car. “I’m saving that last one for something spectacular. I wouldn’t want to go out on a mild offense.”
???
“Where’d you go yesterday?” Sister A pulled her hair back and hovered over Gia’s bed. She didn’t need a winch to get it so tight—her climbing grip strength transferred to ponytail creating.
“Just out with a friend.” Gia yawned bigger than necessary and stretched both hands overhead, then pulled the duvet up to her chin. She’d been home by her midnight curfew, but up for hours texting Derrick from under the covers to not disturb her roommates.
“Roxxxiii?!” Sister B all but “ooh’d” like a teenager who’d discovered her sibling’s secret love.
“Yeah, but it’s not like that. I needed to take care of something, and she helped. We’re friends.” Gia reiterated to the sisters what she told herself every morning. Just friends.
“Mm-hm.”
Gia slithered back into a pile of feather pillows that conformed to her body in an instant. “I need twenty more minutes. See you over there.”
“She’s avoiding the topic!” Sister B kept at it. “You know what that means.”
“Just leave it, Janelle—we gotta go anyway. My call time is in an hour and I wanna warm up.”
Bless Sister A for making it stop. For that, she deserved to be called by her name.
“Thanks, Jen. See you over there,” Gia reiterated and tucked a pillow tighter around her ear. She needed more than twenty minutes to recover from the day before. As she drifted off, the introduction to yet another letter repeated itself. Writing the letter wasn’t so much the issue. It was how to write to an Alzheimer’s patient. And the worry of what came next. Even if Emily read the letter, would she remember to take action? Would someone else intercept it for her and help? Would anyone even care? What seemed exhilarating was suddenly a huge mountain to summit without a guide. There were no plastic grips or coaches cheering her on for this ascent—and perhaps that was part of what made it so meaningful.
Home for Christmas
It took two weeks for Gia to find right words to send to Emily Mitchell. She’d written and ripped up a dozen letters, each some variant of the one before, each giving too much information and too many ways for the recipient to opt out. It was Derrick who helped her get to the finish line, with advice stolen from selling houses.
“Don’t give her an out,” he’d said. “Go with the presumptive close. Tell her when we’ll be there, instead of asking for a time that works.”
There was a reason Derrick was a good realtor.
Gia sat cross-legged on her pleather couch and copied the letter from a piece of notebook paper onto floral stationery she’d picked from the market’s small greeting card section—one carefully chosen word at a time. This was her chance to get through to Emily—no room for error. The letter summarized the ask, informed the reader that Gia and Derrick would be in the area on Saturday, and they’d swing by then. No pressure; just a friendly hello.
She snapped a photo of the finished product and texted it to Derrick.
Please proof this for me—going to mail it on my way to work. Thx.
Gia tossed the remaining blank stationery into her backpack, along with the letter, a thank you note to Lorrainne in Pasadena for her help, a fresh pack of gum, and that day’s lunch—half a carbalicious leftover pizza. Thick crust. It was her reward for finishing the letter, and for (mostly) sticking to Courtney’s diet plan, even after the competition. She’d placed tenth overall in Newport Beach—far from a medal, but impressive to the women on the team, who couldn’t believe she came out of nowhere, disappeared one of the nights, and still had an excellent showing. Climbing, unlike many aspects of Gia’s life, came naturally.
Looks great!Derrick replied.Send it! Let’s get Jennifer the best Christmas gift ever.
Christmas.
Crap.
Christmas break for the school district was two days away, which meant Roxi was headed back to L.A. for the reality show. She’d been so consumed in solving the mystery of Emily Lorraine Mitchell that Gia hadn’t asked an obvious question and the clarity hit her like a (school) bus. Why were they filming a reality singing contest over a holiday break?
???
“Hi Mom,” Gia answered on the last ring, the familiar “to answer or not to answer” debate landing on “answer.” That time.
“Hi doll. Haven’t heard from you in a while. I wondered if you were still alive.” Standard Gianna. Care wrapped in sarcasm.
“I am. But I’m headed to work. I’m just at the Post Office mailing a letter.” Why did she mention the letter? She kicked herself and slid the sealed envelope into a metal flap inside the building labeled “outgoing,” and listened as it clinked closed. There went nothing! And everything. Her happiness somehow hinged on reuniting her neighbor with an old flame, and it was out of her hands and into those of the Postal Service.
“You write letters now? My daughter is all grown up! What is it? A Christmas card for your father?”
