Page 388 of Face Off

I drag one hand over my face and turn the photograph facedown before immediately turning it back over.

The woman included two photographs of her apartment, three of her business, one with her friends, and two designed to ensure I accomplish nothing for the rest of the night.

The jersey appears in the next picture.

Charm wears it with tiny black shorts nearly hidden beneath the cropped hem. The pink bows frame her waist, the crystals flash beneath her bathroom lights, and DECKER 07 stretches across her back in the following shot while she looks over one shoulder.

Mine has never looked better on anyone.

An envelope rests beneath the photographs.

Below it, wrapped inside blush tissue, is an antique compass.

The brass casing is worn smooth along its edges. A sunburst has been engraved into the lid, and the leather case surrounding it carries hand-tooled patterns darkened by age. When I open it, the cardinal directions appear in Spanish.

Norte. Sur. Este. Oeste.

A folded note rests beneath it.

I found this while shopping for Cade’s six-month wedding gift. Bliss wanted to make him a signature cologne from Egyptian oils at the shop two doors down, and Aura refused to let me buy this without knowing whether it worked.

It does.

I saw the Spanish directions and thought of you. Then I read your letter about Donne, which was either fate or proof that English-literature degrees allow men to manipulate women across state lines.

This compass is old. It has scratches, dents, and a needle that still finds north every time the world stops shaking around it.

I want you to have it because you can always find your way home now.

Home doesn’t have to be a house or one city. You built one in Milwaukee. You have another wherever your boys are. If we find our way back to one another, you will always have one with me.

You are safe now, Ryan.

No matter where you go, you never have to become homeless inside yourself again.

Charm

I lower the note.

The compass sits inside my palm while the needle trembles, searches, and slowly settles.

North.

For most of my life, home has been another word people used before taking something away. A house could disappear. A family could change its mind. Love could become conditional the second keeping me became difficult.

Charm hasn’t promised me a building.

She has promised orientation.

I lift the compass and turn it over. A small engraving rests against the back.

WHEREVER YOU ARE, COME HOME.

The words blur before I can stop them.

I place the compass beside her photographs and open the longer letter.

Ryan,