Page 43 of In Their Hearts
Goodbye.
SJ
What the hell?
Now I’m even more confused. Who is this?
I sit down, the letter still in my hand, and read it again. Just that word. Those initials. Sherry’s last name doesn’t even start with a J. How did I not notice this before? Her last name is Michaels. I have to know who this is. I need to know.
Think.
Who else was in his family? His dad. His brother. It isn’t either of them. It can’t be. And yet, someone's sending these to me. Someone knows me. Someone who knew… us.
I stare at the paper, my fingers trembling as I shake it slightly, as it might finally give up its secret and leap off the page. Tell me who you are.
Nothing comes.
Maybe in the morning, I tell myself, though I don’t believe it. I take my water and drag myself back to the bedroom, my mind already racing ahead of me.
Names blur together, thoughts stacking on top of each other. I’m making another list, whether I want to or not. Something has to click. It’s going to be a long night, orgasm earlier or not.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing. I can’t shut my brain off, so I let it run. I close my eyes and reach backward, pulling up faces I haven’t thought about in years. People I used to know. People I used to call friends. People I graduated with.
The list is short.
Jamie. Aubry. Teresa. Lisa. Michelle.
Wait.
Michelle.
My eyes snap open.
Oh my god. No, it has to be Michelle. She despised being called Michelle and insisted on Shelly. Shelly Jones.
SJ.
My stomach drops as I put a few more pieces together.
She hated me. I was sure of that. We never fought because she wouldn’t even acknowledge that I existed. But why would she send these letters? Why now?
That I don’t have an answer to, but the certainty settles in anyway, heavy and cold. It’s her. It has to be.
Without thinking, I grab my phone and text Clay. The second I send it, regret sinks in. I haven’t heard from him. He’s probably given up and moved on.
I’ll call the cops in the morning. I’ll show them the letter, give them her name, and tell them she’s someone to look into.
It’s already four in the morning. Not that it matters. I know sleep isn’t coming back for me now. Questions are forming rapidly in my head.
Why did Andy’s death have anything to do with her?
I lie down anyway, curling around my pillow, trying to ground myself. I think about my guys. I hold onto that thought, like it might keep the darkness away.
23
Shelly
People misunderstand grief. They think it’s loud. That it looks like screaming into pillows or collapsing in grocery store aisles. That it’s weeping and wailing.
