There’s an envelope taped right above the lock, and her name is written across the front in swoopy cursive.
Valeria doesn’t have to open it to know who it’s from. That handwriting belongs to one person and one person only. She’d recognize it anywhere.
Brooke’s.
Suddenly, the hallway feels colder, like the air itself has stepped back from her. Anxiety churns in her gut as her fingers close around the letter; her eyes are already stinging, and her vision is blurring. It’s as if her body understands what’s inside—what’s waiting for her—long before her mind does.
She can’t open it, can’t evenlookat it. So she shoves it deep into her bag, her hands shaking.
Forgetting entirely why she was there in the first place, she turns and walks back to her car, pulling her phone out and calling the only person that makes sense to her right now. Camila.
The line rings twice before Camila picks up.
“Hey, Val, what’s up?” she says in that gentle tone of hers.
“Can I—” Valeria wavers between words, the question shrinking on her tongue, suddenly feeling silly.
“Val?” Camila says, a little worried now.
“Can I come over?” Valeria asks, the dread in her gut overriding whatever embarrassment she felt.
“Yes, of course. Do you remember my address?
“I do.” Valeria exhales, relieved. “I’m on my way.”
Valeria doesn’t know how she remembers the way to Camila’s. Still, she’s grateful her brain decided that memorizing the exit number and the three turns to theright were important things to file away for later. Valeria arrives at Camila’s house in twenty-five minutes. She shaved about five minutes off her previous drive, thanks to a bit of speeding.
The moment Valeria pulls up, she spots Camila on the porch, a cigarette glowing between her fingers. Valeria parks out front, and Camila stands, already moving to meet her in the driveway.
“You got here quick,” Camila says, with an eyebrow raised. “You okay?”
“Brooke left a note taped to my door, and I needed someone. Clara and Alejandra are at bingo, and Isabella and Lily are in Seattle, and I didn’t want to make any of them cut their plans short because of me. Then I remembered you offered, so here I am,” Valeria says quickly, dumping it all out without a single breath.
“Makes sense.” Camila nods. “I’m glad you’re here. Why don’t we get you inside? It’s supposed to rain soon.”
Valeria looks at the sky, the gray clouds taking over. “Good idea.”
Once inside, Camila walks Valeria toward the living room. The air smells faintly of lemon, probably from a recent cleaning. Valeria sinks onto the plush couch, the fabric cool against her skin, and places her bag on the smooth wooden coffee table.
“Where is it?” Camila asks softly.
“In my bag.” Just the thought of it makes Valeria’s stomach twist. And a wave of sadness washes over her, a tightening in her chest making it hard to breathe fully.
“Do you want something to drink before you open it?” Camila asks. “Do you evenwantto open it?”
“I don’t know,” Valeria says after a few seconds, her voice sounding small.
“You don’t owe her anything; you can toss it if you need to.”
“I know,” Valeria says while looking at her bag.
Does she want to read the letter? No, not really, but she also knows that ignoring it will only prolong the pain, and she’s far too nosy to throw it away without a peek.
Camila heads into the kitchen, bringing back two glasses and a bottle of bourbon. Camila pours the amber liquid, ice clinking in the glasses, then she hands one to Valeria.
“For whenever you’re ready.”
Valeria takes the glass and stares at it, her leg bouncing up and down.
