The Secret of You and Me - Melissa Lenhardt Page 0,25

than most; I only occasionally jumped at sudden sounds and, in the last few years, the nightmares had almost stopped completely.

I smiled weakly at Sophie and bit into my burger so I wouldn’t have to answer. Sophie didn’t press me for details, for which I was thankful, but took up her knife and fork and proceeded to eat her burger with them, a habit she’d apparently never broken after having braces in middle school. I chewed and watched her, eyebrows raised. She saw my expression and said, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

Sophie’s gaze flickered between the photo behind me and my face. “Will you stop it?” I said.

“I’m sorry. It’s just... I can’t believe you’re back. I’m so glad you’re back.”

“You know I’m not staying, right?”

Sophie stilled and put her knife and fork over her burger as if she was finished and nodded her head quickly. “How did your meeting with Charlie go?” she said with false brightness.

“Fine. It’ll take a couple of weeks to get through probate, I suppose. I’d hoped to leave by this weekend, but Charlie convinced me it would be easier to deal with it all now instead of traveling back and forth.”

It wasn’t a total lie. After leaving Charlie’s office, I texted Alima that I would meet her in Montreal, as planned, and fly back to Texas afterward to deal with the house and probate. Her reply had been almost immediate, telling me not to worry, she’d changed the dates, and for me to take care of what I needed to, and to let her know if there was anything she could do to help. She didn’t sound angry, but I wasn’t entirely sure.

“Do you want Joe’s number? For the estate sale?”

I laughed. “Estate sale? I’m renting a Dumpster and putting everything I can into it. I would have a bonfire in the pasture, but there’s a burn ban, isn’t there?”

“This is South Texas. There’s always a burn ban. What does Mary say about your plan?”

“I haven’t told her yet. If she wants anything, she’s got to come get it. If not, it’s going to the landfill.”

“That seems cold.”

“Cold? Cold is telling your eighteen-year-old daughter get out of my house and never come back. Cold is knowing I’m laid up in an army hospital bed and not bothering to come see me, to even fucking call. Cold is sending your sister to hold your daughter’s hand because you’re too goddamn stubborn to swallow your pride and apologize.” I inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize to me. You’re right about all of it. How can I help?”

I smiled. Just like the Sophie I remembered. Willing to do anything, go to any lengths, to help her friends. I nodded toward her burger. “First thing you can do is finish that. You’re skin and bones.”

“Okay, Emmadean.” I rolled my eyes and she laughed. She picked up her utensils but didn’t eat. Instead, she opened her mouth a couple of times as if wanting to say something but not knowing how. I had an obscene amount of burger in my mouth and had to swallow before asking, “What is it?”

She put her knife and fork down on the table. “We’re getting along so well, I hate to ask this question.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

She studied me. “I have to. It’s The Question, the one I could never answer. Not adequately, anyway.”

Sophie cleared her throat to forge ahead, though I wished she wouldn’t. I wanted to talk and banter and laugh for a little while longer.

“Why didn’t you answer my letters?”

I took my time replacing my burger, wiping my hands on a paper napkin and gulping my tea. “You know, you can get sweet tea in DC, and in Virginia, but it just isn’t the same as Texas sweet tea,” I said. “Must be the water.”

Sophie waited.

I set the glass down and wiped the condensation off my fingers with a napkin. Boot camp had been lonely and brutal. I’d been desperate for letters, for a connection to a life that seemed so distant from my reality. I’d drunk in Emmadean’s letters as if they were life-giving nectar, my tears dropping onto the pages as I read each sentence, carefully written with a cheerful voice, and without any mention of the events that drove me from home. When Sophie’s letter arrived, I tossed it in the trash before I could be tempted to open it. I swallowed, as the emotion of holding her letters came rushing back. Anger mostly, a