“In all the years you’ve known me, have I ever gone to the theater with you?”
I think about that, and she hasn’t. I’ve just never questioned it.
“Do you have something against movie theaters?” Miller asks.
“Uhhh, yeah. They’re disgusting. Do you know how much semen is on a theater seat?”
“Gross,” I say. “How much?”
“I don’t know, but they should probably research it.” She pushes off the locker and walks away. Miller and I both stare at her.
“She’s interesting,” he says.
“She is. But now I’m not so sure I want to come to the theater tonight.”
Miller leans in toward me. “I clean that theater, and it’s spotless. You better show up. Seven?”
“Fine. I’ll be there. But if you could Lysol the entire back row of every room, that would be great.” Miller leans forward to kiss me goodbye, but I push his face away with my hand. “I don’t want detention again.”
He laughs while he backs away. “See you in six hours.”
“See ya.”
I don’t tell him there’s a chance I might not be there. I haven’t talked to my mother about it yet. After what happened in the hallway today, it’s clear she doesn’t want me dating Miller. I’ll probably hang out at Lexie’s after school for a while and then lie to her and tell her we’re going to the movies.
I’m getting pretty good at lying to her. It’s easier than telling her the truth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MORGAN
Jonah knocks softly on the front door before opening it.
I’m on the couch with a sleeping Elijah when he lets himself in.
“I picked him up right before they were about to lay him down for a nap,” I whisper.
Jonah looks down at Elijah and smiles. “They sleep so much at this age. I kind of hate it.”
I laugh quietly. “You’ll miss it when he starts refusing to take naps.”
Jonah nods toward the garage. “I didn’t have time to run home after work. Mind if I try to unlock Chris’s toolbox?” I shake my head. Jonah heads in that direction, and I put Elijah in his bassinet. I move it to the far side of the living room so that the noise from the kitchen hopefully doesn’t wake him.
Jonah walks back into the house with Chris’s toolbox and carries it into the kitchen. I follow him to help him with the door.
I hand him a knife, and it only takes him a few seconds to pick the lock. After he opens the lid, he lifts the top tray out so that he can search through the larger section in the bottom.
There’s a perplexed look that suddenly appears on his face. That look prompts me to walk over to the toolbox and look inside.
We both stare at the contents that were hidden beneath the top tray.
Envelopes. Letters. Cards. Several of them, all addressed to Chris.
“Are these from you?” Jonah asks.
I shake my head and take a step back, as if the distance will make them disappear. Every time I feel like one of my many wounds might be starting to heal, something happens to rip it open again.
Chris’s name is written in Jenny’s handwriting on the outside of all the open envelopes. Jonah is sifting through them.
My heart begins to race, knowing there could be answers to all of our questions inside those envelopes. When did it start? Why? Was Chris in love with her? Did he love her more than he loved me?
“Are you going to read them?” I ask.
Jonah shakes his head with assurance. His decision is so final. I’m envious of his lack of curiosity. He hands them all to me. “You do what you need to do, but I don’t care to know what they say.”
I stare at the letters in my hands.
Jonah grabs what he needs from the toolbox and pushes it aside, then gets to work on the last stubborn door hinge.
I walk the letters to my bedroom and drop them onto the bed. Even just holding them feels too painful. I don’t want to look at them while Jonah is here, so I leave my bedroom and close the door. I’ll confront them later.
I push myself up onto the counter in the kitchen, and I stare at my feet, thinking of nothing but the letters, no matter how hard I try to think of something else.
If I read them, will it give me a sense of closure? Or will it only deepen the wound?
Part of me is afraid it’ll make it worse. The small memories I have make it bad enough,