“Can’t you drop the letters off at your next class?”
I shrugged.
“How’d you have time to write all those letters and create your murder board?” he asked, slowing to a stop at the end of the lane.
“Caffeine.” I hopped out with a smile. “Be right back!”
Davis and Violet waited while I hurried into Village Books, heart hammering in my chest. I waved to Michael, then dropped my lettersinto their respective boxes before slowing as I approached the cubby marked with my name.
An envelope leaned neatly against one wall. My name, not Forever Yours, was scripted neatly on the front.
I pounced forward on a burst of dopamine. The anonymous letter exchange was addictive, and I already wanted more. Something about the writer, and the direct path of his words to my heart, made opening each letter feel like Christmas morning. I swiped the treasure with greedy fingers, then made a beeline for the front door.
“Where’s the fire?” Michael called.
I waved an arm overhead and smiled but didn’t slow down. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if Michael was Historically_Bookish and Forever Yours. He’d been at the store earlier when I found the letter after class, and he was still there now. Unlikely coincidence? Or just a guy working his shift?
Davis heaved a labored sigh when I climbed in. “Any other errands you need to run, or can we walk my dog?”
I rolled my eyes and tore into the envelope as we merged into traffic.
Emma,
It’s too soon. I know. But I found another letter I had to share. I hope you liked the last. I’m already shamelessly hooked on these correspondences, both the historical ones and our own.
This is a note to Virginia Woolf from Vita Sackville-West. You might know Vita and her husband weren’t monogamous, and Virginia’s spouse only cared that she found joy. Vita’s words speak to me. Their urgency. The sincerity. Their truth. If I could write half as well as Vita, I’d write a similar letter to you.
Forever Yours
I flipped to the second sheet of paper and absorbed the first few words.
I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become.
I pressed my lips together in delight, familiar with the letter Forever Yours mentioned and enclosed. I’d only ever dreamed of a longing like hers, and never dreamed of being on the other side.
“Another admirer?” Davis asked.
I peered over Violet’s luscious fur. “No.”
He dared a glance in my direction as he drove. “Then who?”
“It’s from Forever Yours.”
Whatever Davis thought of that, he kept it to himself.
I wanted to keep speculating about the secret author, but it didn’t seem right to talk about it with Davis. A man I’d kissed once in reality and a thousand times in my memory.
I folded and tucked the letter into its envelope, then snuggled with Violet as we motored away from downtown.
We followed a winding, tree-lined road into the forest. Shade blocked the sun, and the truck grew momentarily dark. When thecanopy receded and the light returned, Davis parked near a building marked asVisitor’s Center.
“Woof!” Violet stood, eager to get outside.
Davis gave her a soothing pet, unfastened his seat belt, and caught my eye. “I like this place because the trails and views are amazing. More serenity. Less people.”
“Your favorite,” I teased.
“You should be able to find a lot of specimens for your herbarium here.”
