Page 101 of Possibly Texas

Jack’s frown softened a bit and he lifted his index finger of his right hand to sign again. Like Danny from The Shining, he flicked his index finger up and down as if “Tony” was talking.

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “I’m sure. It looks even to me, anyway.”

Jack made the “okay” sign. He was still avoiding looking at me, so I took that as my cue that while he was conversing with me again, my closeness wasn’t exactly appreciated. So, I went back across the lawn to the back steps and sat down. I placed the soda can on the step next to me and laid the plate on my lap. I’d give Jack room to stare at the evenness of his table while he ate his lunch.

Before I could tuck into my own sandwich and chips, I popped the tab of the soda and took a healthy swig. Finally, when I set it on the step beside me again, I looked over at Jack.

“I’m sorry, man,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Jack stood there for a moment, and I was certain he was going to ignore me, but he finally made an okay sign, still not quite facing me. Then he made a sign with his hand like bullhorns, and used his thumb to jab at his chest a few times.

Me too.

I smiled. “Okay.”

Jack was a man of few words. Literally and figuratively. I didn’t force him to say anything else or acknowledge our gradual march towards forgiveness.

I could be okay with “me too.”

He had been okay with “I’m sorry.”

What else was needed?

Shirlene.

The days are long and the nights unbearable without you.

My fear is that my love burns brighter than yours.

But you will forever have my heart.

“I’m telling you,” Sofia spoke over my shoulder, “that man—or woman—has it something bad for Shirlene. If these letters keep coming, I’m going to hunt the sender down myself. If Shirlene don’t want ‘em, I’ll take ‘em.”

I snorted with laughter.

A stop at the post office had been on my itinerary after work so I could pick up Jack’s mail for him. It turned out he only had a couple of envelopes. Before I left the post office, like every other Possibilian—was I a Possibilian?—I had to stop by the Wall of Shirlene Letters. Mostly because Sofia had mentioned that a new one had arrived. I ended up reading it with her rushing around the counter to read along over my shoulder.

Surely, Sofia had read the letter at least a dozen times since its arrival, but she seemed to never tire of the mystery of Shirlene. Nor did she get bored with reading the love letters over and over. Even though she had access to all of them all day long, they inspired an excitement in her that was enviable. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that excited about anything.

“It might turn out to be someone you hate,” I said over my shoulder. “Or someone who doesn’t really…match up…to your, uh, needs?”

It was Sofia’s turn to laugh.

“Well,” she said, finally, “it’d be worth the effort. There’s obviously a good one out there just wanting to be loved. I got some love.”

“I don’t know, Sofia,” I said, turning to face her in the icy interior of the post office. Floorboards creaked underfoot in a way that felt homey and lived in, not as though they were in disrepair.

She took a step back to give me space.

“It could be a stalker,” I continued. “This person does seem pretty obsessed. Especially for someone who doesn’t have Shirlene’s real address, you know?”

Sofia contemplated this for a moment, hemming and hawing over the idea.

“Nah,” she said, finally. “I disagree, Jordan. This person obviously has it bad and just got their wires crossed with the address.”

“Fair enough.”

I thought about it for a moment, unsure if I should solicit Sofia’s opinions or theories, but finally decided it couldn’t hurt.