Page 39 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Because he’s gone.

Because he’s dead.

I know I’m never going to stop wondering what really happened that day.

I’m never going to stop lying awake at night, thinking about the masked man who came into the store while Gray was working. I’m never going to be able to understand why he thought the few dollars in the cash register were worth more than my brother’s life.

But after years of obsessing over his murder, begging the police to dig deeper and give me and my mom some closure, I had no choice but to come to terms with the fact that we’ll never know who did it.

So, I let go.

I moved on.

I accepted Gray’s death so that it wouldn’t kill me, too.

As soon as I started working on my issues, Maggie and I became inseparable. We’re even getting a new dorm next semester. It has a fully functioning kitchen and a bathroom—which is a big step up from the one we’ve shared so far.

It’s safe to say that Maggie is my closest friend.

Fine, she’s my only friend.

I completely lost touch with my high school friends since moving to Boone for college.

Not that I miss them.

I’ll always remember the way Brie gave me shit for quitting the cheerleading team to help my mom with the store. Or the way Louise told me I was depressing to be around just two days after we put Gray’s body into the ground.

Lacey was the only one I considered to be a true friend out of all of them, but she became her stepsiblings’ legal guardian right out of high school, essentially assuming the role of a single parent at eighteen.

We drifted apart over time, but I don’t blame her for neglecting to text me back.

She obviously has a lot on her plate.

My phone chimes with a message from my mom, and I don’t even need to open it to know she’s waiting for me outside.

“My mom’s here.” I pull Mag into another hug. “Enjoy your trip and a hot summer fling with an Italian guy, okay?”

She laughs. “Oh, I plan on it.”

I grab the handle of my suitcase and glance around our dorm one last time before walking out. I spot my mom’s car parked out front the second I exit the dorms.

My mom hurries out of the car when she sees me and pops the trunk with her key fob. I’m greeted by one of her bear hugs and an interrogation I should’ve seen coming.

Once we’ve established that I haven’t forgotten anything in the dorm—it only took Mom listing every single item in my suitcase to make sure I packed it—I haul my luggage into her trunk and climb into the passenger seat.

I notice the back seat of her car is brimming with boxes as we hop back onto the road.

The trunk was packed, too.

She just recently vacated the apartment she’d been renting for two years. She said she wanted to live closer to me—even though her old apartment was less than fifteen minutes away from the dorms—and found this lovely condo right off campus.

She was supposed to get the keys to her new place a week ago, and if there’s one thing you need to know about Lillian Queen, it’s that she hates moving. She usually starts unpacking right away to get it over with.

I slide the window down to enjoy some fresh air. “Why do you have all that stuff in your car? I thought you’d be all moved in by now.”

She clears her throat. “About that. There’s been a slight change of plans.”

I can practically see beads of sweat forming on her forehead when she says that.