Page 56 of Somewhere Without You
She shrugged.“It’s not my first run-in with a narrow minded asshole. Won’t be the last.”
“I’m sorry,”I said, realizing how this all must havefeltfor her.“Iwasn’ttrying to—”
“Don’t apologize,”she interrupted.“You didn’tknow.”In the background, the band switched songs to something more lively.“So. . .”Dani said, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.“This complicated ex-husband of yours—I’m sensing drama. Spill it.”
I tipped back the rest of my beer, the burn giving me courage.ThenI set the glass down, leaned into the table, and started from the beginning.
Thirty Two
May 27th, 2023
Dear James,
I keep catching myself rereading your letters, like there’s something hidden between the lines I might’ve missed the first time. Maybe it’s the way your words feel familiar, even though they shouldn’t. Or maybe it’s just that hearing from you makes everything feel a little less heavy.
The past few days have been a bit of a blur. I adopted a dog. He’s an Australian Shepherd named Winston. Your letters have been wonderful, butI’dbe lying if I said it doesn’t stillgeta little lonely out here. He’s not much of a talker, but he’s an excellent cuddler, so I’m not complaining.Also, kind of scary, but someone threw a rock through my window the other night. Winston’s notexactlya guard dog, but having him here makes mefeela bit safer.
I haven’t read Plutarch’s Lives, but now I’m curious.MaybeI’ll grab a copy next time I’m in Charleston. Speaking of which, I stopped by their library the other day. I’m not sure what Iwashoping to find,maybesomething to make youfeelmore real. Iwasabout to give up when I came across an old photo of you and your brother. I stopped breathing for a moment. You have thislook, like youknowmore than you let on. It’s. . . distracting. Is it weird to say you’reincrediblyhandsome?Probably.ButI haven’t been able to shake thefeelingthatI’ve seen you before, like in another life or some half-remembered dream. NotthatI’m thinking about you all the time or anything, it’sjustnicetofinallyput a face to the name.
I’m glad you have your brother.Thatkind of bond is rare. What is he like?I have an older sister, Katherine.Butafter our mom died, she became more of a mother than a sibling. I think part of her resents me forthat. Our relationship suffered because of it andeventuallyshe moved away. I followed, hoping to fix things, but it’s never been the same. Too many old woundsthatneverfullyhealed, youknow?
Oh, and since I’ve seen you, it’s only fair youseeme. I’m including a photo. It’s a few years old, butconsidering you’ve got 160 years on me,I figure we’re even.
Anyway, it’s late and I shouldprobablysleep. Write when you can. Your words have a way of finding me when I need them most.
Yours truly,
Emily
P.S. A sci-fi movie is a glimpse of a world that doesn’t exist yet, but maybe could.Funny enough, I guess that’s kind of what our letters are, too.
The shrill ring of my phone yanked me out of sleep. Beside me, Winston barked,justas startled by the noise as Iwas.
“What was that?” my sister’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Katherine?”I croaked, my voice heavy with sleep.
“Who else would it be?”
I glanced at the unfamiliar number on the screen.“Where are you?”
“I’m on a payphone at a gas station near Mission Bay.”She paused, like shewasn’tsure what else to say.“I’m sorry I haven’t called. I meant to. It’sjust. . . Are you okay?”
I didn’tknowwhat surprised me more—Katherine calling out of nowhere orthatshewasusing a payphone.
“I’m fine,”I said, sitting up.“Why? What’s going on?”
Therewasa beat of silence, followed by her unsteady voice.“Jackson called Grant a few nights ago.”
A chill ran through me.
“It’s bad, Emily. I told Grant Ihadn’theardfrom you,thatI didn’tknowwhere youwere, but I don’tknowhow muchlongerI can keep lying to him.Andonce heknows, it’s only a matter of time before he tells Jackson. Youknowhe’s awful at keeping secrets. Remember when Ifound out—”
“Where is he?”I asked, nowwideawake.
“I don’tknow. Grant doesn’t either,” Katherine said, panic slipping through. “Buthe said Jackson sounded. . . unwell. Ranting and raving. Grant couldn’t understand what hewassaying. Jackson’s losing his mind and no oneknowswhere he is. You haven’t seen him. . . have you?”
I thought back to the shattered window downstairs.
