Page 270 of Let Me In

I crouch low.

There. The yacht. Just a silhouette now. No movement. No sound. A floating kingdom of ghosts.

I stay until my legs go numb, until the tide shifts again, until I’m sure.

Tomorrow night, I’ll move.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I breathe. And wait. And remember her arms around me like a second skin.

I make it back to the truck just before midnight. The cold is in my bones, but I don’t notice it. Not really.

I close the door soft, strip off the gloves, and reach for the phone in the side pocket of the duffel. No hesitation. She’s already there at the top of my messages.

I type slowly.

Still quiet out here. Nothing reckless, I promise. I keep you in my mind the whole time. Every step. Every breath. And I’ll be home soon.

Did you eat something? And stay in?

Tell me you wore socks, too.

I send it.

Then just… sit.

The truck’s cab fogs slowly from my breath. The night feels heavy outside the windows, like it’s waiting for something too.

My fingers hover.

Then I type again.

I love you, Emmy.

Sleep in our bed tonight. Keep the light on.

I set the phone down.

Don’t turn it off.

Don’t move.

I just close my eyes for a moment and picture her there. Small and quiet in the flannel I left behind, curled around the dogs, the firelight brushing the edge of her cheek.

She’s waiting.

And as soon as I incinerate this fleeting part of my past, I’m coming home.

EMMY

The fire’s down to embers.

I haven’t moved in over an hour.

The dogs are asleep, warm against my legs. The porch light is still on. The flannel still clings to my shoulders.

I haven’t cried again.

---