The letter is just one more thing for my mental To Do list:
– Get a job.
– Be on the lookout for anybody who was shackled to a rock, who I let go a couple of days ago.
– Check the piece of plywood underneath Mom’s sink to make sure it’s still got all the nails holding it down.
– Remember to feed Midnight. And take her on a walk.
– Find out how to go about getting my license.
– Find the road that leads to—that used to lead to—the Crag’s Inn.
– Start working out.
I put that on there because I saw a few minutes of one of those weight-loss reality shows, and I vowed never to be on one.
– Get something for Mom’s b-day (nonalcoholic).
– Learn to fire a sidearm (figure that could come in handy).
– Buy a gun (see above).
– Be prepared in case things with Lily suddenly go to the next level (this being even more unlikely than me buying a handgun).
– Did I mention find a job?
– Open the letter that just came in the mail from Kelsey.
I look at her handwriting. The envelope feels light, not too light but light enough. No ten-page letter inside. It’s not a card. It’s a good old-fashioned letter.
She tried to call and that went nowhere.
I really don’t want to open this letter. Like the email I got from Poe that I deleted, I don’t want to read this.
Maybe it’s just something friendly, like her way of saying hello.
But with everything going on in my mind—all the stuff that I can’t keep track of—I don’t want … no, I don’t need something else to think about.
I put the letter on my desk upstairs, unopened. It’s still only July. Eventually Kelsey will move on and find someone like her. Cute and unwatched and unchosen and all that. Someone who isn’t thinking about a new student named Lily, along with wondering what the guys up the street are going to do next.
Kelsey is for another story and not this one.