it. She scooped the bread into the trash bag with a newspaper.
She stacked bils and unopened mail in a growing pile, then grabbed another empty envelope. As she tossed it in the trash, something caught her eye. She paused, and stared down at the familiar handwriting on the envelope. Her heart raced as she reached in and retrieved it.
Libby Sawyer.
Her name was printed on the envelope in her father’s neat penmanship. He wrote her. Libby’s breath caught in her throat. He hadn’t forgotten her. She looked inside, but the envelope was empty. She scanned the messy table for the letter then returned to the envelope. The postmark read May 16th, Atlanta, Georgia.
Atlanta? Why was he in Atlanta? Thoughts rushed through her mind. Did he have a new job there? Did he live there? Was he coming to get her soon?
Libby set the precious envelope aside and turned back to the mountain of trash on the table before her. She rifled through it, tossing odd items to the floor, heedless to the new mess she created. Where was the letter? Her urgency grew as her fingers touched item after item.
Hidden under a plate of fossilized pizza, Libby discovered another envelope. This one contained a letter. Her heart soared as she puled out the single sheet and read.
Dear Libby
I hope this letter finds you happy in Rockville, enjoying the carefree days of high school. I’m sorry I’m not there for you, but losing your mother and Sarah has sent me to a painful place I don’t know how to escape.
The last months I’ve driven the back roads of the south, trying to find myself and make sense of all that has happened.
One day we had it all and the next it was gone. No one ever taught me how to survive such loss. Part of me wishes to see you again, but the other part knows that every time I look at you, I will see your mother looking back. It breaks my heart.
Please forgive your old man for his weakness.
Here are a few dollars, go out with your friends and catch a movie or buy something nice. God knows you deserve better.
Dad
Tears roled down her cheeks. She traced his signature with her finger. Touching the ink was the closest she could get to him.
Didn’t he want her anymore? Libby picked up the envelope and flipped it over. The faded postmark read Tatum, New Mexico, June 29th. Where was that? She’d never head of such a place. He had abandoned her at Aunt Marge’s. How could he do that to her when she needed him so much?
She wiped away the tears with her sleeve. Crying wouldn’t help anything. She returned to the remaining mess on the table searching for any more correspondence, but discovered nothing.
Her heart felt empty and lonely as she sat with two envelopes and a sad letter. Loneliness settled around her.
The phone vibrated in her back pocket forcing her thoughts back to the present. Peter. A smal smile lit her face. She reached for the phone and read the text.
Concert’s over, can you talk?
She responded, her fingers stil fumbled over the keys of her new toy.
No, soon. I’ll call you.
She returned the phone to the safety of her pocket. Before she talked to Peter, there was something she needed to do.
Libby walked into the living room, ammo in hand. Things were about to change. Her aunt had some questions to answer and Libby refused to be bulied anymore. Aunt Marge snored lightly in her chair. No big surprise there. QVC droned in the background.
How did one wake a sleeping monster?
Libby turned off the TV and flipped on a light, iluminating the harsh room. Her aunt sputtered.
“What? Who’s there?”
Libby waited, patient. Aunt Marge shook off her sleep and sat up straighter, her eyes narrow slits of suspicion.
“What’s your problem now? Got that kitchen clean?”
“Why didn’t you tel me?”
“Tel you what?”
“About this?” she held out the letter, far enough so her aunt could see it, but not take it. The woman would never touch Libby’s letter again.
Realization washed across her aunt’s face, her posture tensed for a split second, and then passed. “Oh that.” She waved her hand at the letter then reached for a pack of cigarettes.
“This letter belongs to me. Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“I guess I forgot.” She placed a cigarette in her mouth and lit it.
“Where is the other letter? And where is the money he sent?” Libby glared at her, wiling to fight this