Page 67 of Finding a Melody

He didn’t move for a moment and I felt like he was about to call me out on my bullshit plan. “Fine,” he finally said.

Unable to help myself, I smiled, enjoying his concern for me. “Thank you.” Not wanting to overthink it, I leaned over and gave him an awkward hug, stretching over the middle console to reach him. I couldn’t really say it was a hug either. I managed to get an arm around his shoulder and squeezed a little, pulling him toward me. Then I released him and took off, cheeks burning with embarrassment, unable to look at him as I went inside.

As soon as I walked in and disarmed the security, I released a breath and leaned against the wall, looking around.

Boxes all over. Nothing new. And the quiet. Nothing in the house stirred. Not creaking steps or groaning floorboards. It was complete silence. I closed my eyes and tried to feel that peace I always desperately searched for. It wasn’t there still.

Sighing, I went to the porch and waved at Paxon. It took him a moment to start up his car and drive away. Even I felt his reluctance. But he had responsibilities as a brother and a son. He couldn’t hang around me all day.

I walked out and grabbed the mail before heading inside and locking myself in. There wasn’t much there, just the normal spam mail, especially to vote for so-and-so for upcoming elections or to donate money. Or my favorite, all the lovely credit cards I was approved for.

But then one particular one caught my attention. It was a normal envelope, but the writing on it was handwritten with my name. There were stickers on it for the forwarding system I had set up when I moved.

The writing was so familiar that my breath froze in my chest. Slowly, I looked at the address for the sender. Nevada. Las Vegas. Then finally, the name.

“What?”

Liam Wiles.

Was this a joke?

I tore open the letter and more of the familiar handwriting covered the page. It almost felt like I was being slapped in the face. I had been obsessed with his neat handwriting as a kid. No way would I not recognize it.

My little Cadie,

How are you? Probably a silly question to ask, one I hope to get a response to one day, but know I won’t. I always imagine when you get these, you burn them, or maybe there’s a drawer you shove them into? Yet, I won’t stop writing to you. No matter how many trees I have to cut down. I’ll be here for the day you won’t hate me enough to want to finally talk to me. I love you from the moon and back, over and over again.

Love,

Liam

What the fuck? What the fuck?

What the fuck?

I stared at the date. This was sent just after I moved. And what other letters? I never received a letter from him before.

What the actual fuck?

My heart twisted so hard that a sob escaped and I curled into myself, practically falling to the floor. Dad. Letters. His words, his handwriting.

Him.

I read the letter over and over again. This had to be a fake, right? A joke? But everything about this was so very much him.

My nickname.

The way he expressed his love for me.

His signature.

I grabbed my phone, noted there was a text message, but I was too consumed with confusion to care to read it. I flipped over to the hospital and called.

The moment I got through to Lindie’s room and she answered, I was boiling.

“What?” she snapped into the phone.

“Why the fuck did I just receive a letter from my dad?”