And moments after I’m done, Amanda comes running into the house, Chili running with her.
Chili.
My dog.
The laziest being on the planet.
Running.
For a second day in a row.
“We got another letter!”Amanda shrieks.
I spin so fast I almost hit my head on an open cabinet door. “What’s it say?”
“I don’t know. I just saw the envelope and ran up here so we could open it together.”
Her cheeks are flushed. Her breath comes in rapid bursts that make her chest rise and fall quickly under her tank top, and her eyes are shimmering with excitement. There’s a curl that’s come loose from her bun, hanging down and brushing her cheek.
She’s so fucking pretty, and her energy is contagious, and she makes me happy.
At peace.
Safe.
I shouldn’t feel safe with her. My family has told me since before I could talk that anyone in her family was dangerous to us.
But there’s nowhy.
Without a why, I reject the idea that they want to do us harm. And I’m thirty-one years old.
I’m old enough to deserve to know a why if there is one.
But I don’t think there is.
I think our families are just assholes who don’t know how much their feuding hurts everyone around them and makes me not want to be part of the family.
“Oh, itisanother letter,” she squeals as she slides the envelope open and peeks inside. “Same handwriting. Look.”
She pulls it out to show me. I have to grip her hand in mine to slow the vibrations shaking the letter, especially with the old-fashioned scriptand the fact that my ancestors were still practicing their English after a lifetime of speaking German.
I love how excited she is about this. Like this letter is the magic of Christmas. But better, because it’s not about Tinsel. It’s not aboutChristmas all year round.
We’re in the middle of a heat wave. All the snow here is fake. The music is out of season. The poinsettias aren’t blooming.
It’s not the magic of Christmas.
It’s the inherent magic Amanda carries inside of her.
I wasn’t faking when I told her grandma that at lunch today.
“Oooh, Lucy was in charge of sending Maud’s dowry from Germany,” Amanda whispers.
I clear my throat. Being this close to her is making me want to read this letter while I bend her over the table naked. “So there’s question about if George stole it.”
I’m not interested in the letter. I’m interested in Amanda.
Which I will absolutely not be confessing tonight.
