Sincerely,
Delaney Larson
I hold the paper in my hand and stare at the words on the page. I don’t know what to do or think. This is all my fault. Unless she’s stealing from us. But I know she’s not. As soon as I took a few minutes to calm down, I realized I didn’t believe she’d do it. I didn’t even bother to check the catalog envelope she gave me at the cafe. I didn’t need to.
I pick up the envelope with my name on it, and it’s heavier than Henry’s. I open it and think I’m going to be sick when I pull out a wad of cash. There’s $800 here. Money that I know she worked hard for and can’t afford.
There’s a sticky note on the front of a bill that reads:
This is for my tires. If it’s not enough, please send me an email with how much more I owe you.
I can’t fucking believe she’s paid me back for the tires. I want to rip up every one of those hundred-dollar bills until they’re inshreds. But I won’t because she’s going to take them back if I have anything to say about it.
I stare at the folded piece of white paper accompanying the money for a solid minute before I gather the nerve to pick it up and unfold it.
Harrison,
I’m not like her. I should not have to prove it to you, and the fact that you needed to ask me to, makes it clear to me that this—us—is not right.
Delaney
I grab the letters and the money, and I race out of the office, not even bothering to turn off the lights. Five minutes later, my heart races as I punch in the code to unlock the cabin door. When it opens, I knock loudly.
“Delaney? Are you here?”
I don’t know why I even ask because I know she’s gone, and it’s my fault. When I turn on the light, I’m correct—there’s no sign of her ever having been here.
I walk over to the bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey—a heavy pour—because it’s going to be one of those nights. I take a seat, and I pull out my phone and text Henry.
She’s gone. Not just from work, but from the cabin, too. I’m here now, and it’s desolate.
Henry
Are you okay?
I don’t answer Henry’s text for a few minutes, but when I do, I can’t lie to him.
No. I’m not. She’s gone, and it’s my fault. I don’t want to talk anymore tonight.
I should have known that Henry wouldn’t let it go. He texts a few more times, and I ignore them. A few minutes later, the entry keypad beeps, and I watch the door, expecting to see Henry enter, but he doesn’t.
It’s Hayden.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you.” He heads straight for the bar and pours himself an even larger glass of whiskey than I poured, then walks over and tops mine off. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay. But you know Henry is gonna make you.”
I say nothing and stare into my glass. After a few more minutes, Henry walks in the door.
“Where’s Holden?” he asks.
Hayden shrugs. “I think he was on some kind of weird date. Well, I think he might think it’s a date, but the mystery woman he’s talking about might not.”
“Huh, maybe we should talk about that instead of my disaster of a love life,” I say.
