Page 103 of Shelter
Dear Elise,
My plan wasto find you at work and hand deliver that first letter. I wanted you to read it before I brought you home with me. But Ava said that sounded like kidnapping, and you would think I was crazy. Maybe I am a little crazy because I’m still really tempted to do that. But Ava says my biggest problem is that I don’t listen, so I’m listening to her now and hoping like hell you’ll read this and come to me.
I wantto make dinner for you tonight. Ava wants me to tell you that she’ll be here the entire time to chaperone me. Please come. I have to see you.
I knowyour store closes at five. What about six-thirty for dinner? We live on the corner of St. John and Calder. 1380 St. John. Put me out of my misery and let me know one way or the other.
With hope,
Cole
I sniffled and blinked,my eyes now dry. The urgency in his second note left me a little stunned.
The jewelry store opened at ten. I’d gotten in an hour early, but since I’d come in through the back entrance and Cole had left his note at the front, I had no idea how long he’d been waiting to hear back from me. I checked my phone. It was just after ten now.
I tapped his contact. No matter what I’d told myself an hour ago, putting Cole Whitehurst out of mind was impossible now. And even if I wanted to, I’d never be able to ignore what he’d written — on either page. But I didn’t want to.
My hands shook as I tapped out the message.
Me:I’ll be there at 6:30.
* * *
I wasgood for nothing the rest of the day. After I charged a customer a hundred dollars — instead of ten dollars — for cleaning her wedding ring, Ed sent me home. That was at three o’clock, which still gave me three and a half hours to obsess. And three and half hours is plenty of time to obsess about anything.
It was going to be beyond awkward to talk to Cole after all these years. And, as he’d promised, Ava would be there the entire time. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or if it was disastrous. Maybe her presence would smooth out the edges. Or maybe she’d be one more person to make me feel self-conscious.
Or worse. Would she and Cole do what they did when we were kids and talk around me like I wasn’t there?
I realized this worry was an unwelcome vestige of my childhood and shook it off. Cole and Ava were not inviting me over to be rude to me. If the words in Cole’s letter were to be believed, they both cared about and missed me.
It was when I remembered the letters — both of them — that I relaxed for a few minutes. Cole had wanted to see me long ago, and he still wanted to now.
I had to admit that a part of my nerves — and not a small part — was because I felt the same.
Alberta had taken a half-day at work so she and Ross could go camping up at Kisatchie National Forest. I’d sent a flurry of texts her way earlier in the day, and she’d responded with her initial shock followed by messages of reassurance, but she’d dropped off the radar before four o’clock. Clearly, the patch of wilderness where Ross had ferried my best friend did not have cell service.
Just my luck.
As evening approached, I was pretty sure Ross Wilson was my least favorite person ever. I stopped at Champagne’s before heading over to their house. It wasn’t on the way, but I didn’t want to arrive for dinner empty-handed. My first instinct was to pick up a bottle of wine, but then I remembered Ava. I couldn’t very well bring alcohol into the home of someone in recovery, but I didn’t know what to bring instead.
Flowers seemed wrong. Even looking at the bouquets on display made my heartrate climb. The lilies looked too hopeful. The roses too passionate. The freesia too wistful. I couldn’t walk in carrying any of them. It would feel like walking in naked.
I needed Alberta’s advice. Calling Mama was not an option. At all. As soon as she heard where I was going, the questions would start, and they wouldn’t stop. I had enough to worry about without having to face Mama’s inquisition afterward.
I beelined to the bakery. Mama would die if she knew I was even considering bringing a store-bought dessert to my hosts. And seeing what was left on a Friday night under the fluorescent store lighting didn’t inspire my confidence. The cakes looked over-iced, the brownies dry, and the pies soggy.
Maybe going empty-handed wouldn’t be so bad. I turned to head to the exit and found myself on the coffee and tea aisle. And I stopped in my tracks when I spotted an intricate grass green and white label. I picked up the bag of imported coffee, admiring the winding river on the label that seemed to tell a story. The brand was Gevalia, and I’d never heard of it before, but the stylized drawing of flowers, bunnies, fish, and trees all balanced between a cheerful sun in the top right corner and a swirling cup of coffee on the bottom left was too pretty to resist. I had no idea how it would taste, but it looked amazing, and, even better, it was fair trade.
Gourmet coffee. Perfect. I breathed my relief and was through the checkout and back in my car in three minutes flat.
Their new house was easy enough to find, and I pulled up only about ten minutes late. Alberta was always on me about being late, and as I stepped up the brick walkway, I found myself relieved that she couldn’t text me now to scold me.
My relief wasn’t strong enough to settle my nerves, of course. I clutched the pouch of coffee with shaking hands as I climbed the brick steps reached the front door. I hesitated for just a second before I knocked. And a squeal pealed from inside.
Ava.
I was smiling as I heard the bolt knock back. The door opened, and Ava — blond and beautiful like a fairy — greeted me with another squeal.
