“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says a little too quickly. “I just… wanted to hear your voice.”
A simple acknowledgement shouldn’t send warmth rushing through me, but it does.
“I’m here.”
I lie on the bed and listen to her breathe. I don’t know if Ishould talk since she wanted to hear my voice or just be patient and wait for her to speak.
Her breath weighs heavy on the speaker after clamming up. “I’ve been thinking about what I told you.”
My grip on the phone tightens. Is this when she tells me everything so I don’t have to read it in the research from Witt?
“Okay.”
“I didn’t tell you everything.”
She’s going to open up.See Witt.I don’t need to stalk her.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” she cuts in. “You keep saying that.”
I do. Because I don’t want to push her. I don’t want to be the guy who makes her relive something she clearly doesn’t want to.
The other part of me wants to know the things that make her sad, what makes her happy and what makes her cry.
“I need to tell you. I want to,” she adds, her voice hushed.
I sit up and move to the edge of the mattress. “Then tell me. No judgments.”
She exhales. “You know the note you read?” She swallows. “Well, I got my first note my senior year at Lehigh.”
“What did it say?”
“Enough.”
There’s that word I hate. I wasn’t enough for Michelle. Not enough to be as great as my brothers.
“It mentioned things no one should have known,” she continues. “Things I hadn’t told anyone. Which is why I didn’t take the scholarship to Michigan.”
“And that’s when you moved to Texas?”
“Yes.”
“And you never found who sent the letter?”
“No… I just ran.”
I drag a hand over my face. “Anna…”
“Don’t,” she interrupts.
“What?”
“Don’t get all serious on me.”
“Why not? This is serious enough for you to change your name.” I shake my head.
