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No, no, no, no. I’m not liking where this is going. And she knows it. She’s been fidgeting with her nails since she arrived.

“I wouldn’t ask you if I had an alternative. You have a lot of space. Could you house her while she’s in Pine Falls? Just for that night before you leave?”

Fuck. There it is. The words are out, and I can’t make her take them back. I can’t pretend like I didn’t hear them.

I slide a hand into my hair, pushing it away from my eyes. “Donna, I—”

“Please, Oliver. I don’t know what to do if you refuse. She’ll probably have to sleep on the streets, or worse . . . camp.”

I make a face. “Camping isn’t worse than the streets. Camping is my favorite thing to do. I would much rather go camping than live here.”

Donna grabs my hands in what I can only describe as a death grip. Damn, this woman is strong for her age. “Please.”

I struggle to retract my hands from hers, but when I finally do, I let out a sigh. I can’t say no, can I? I hate the idea of sharing my space with a complete stranger, but at the same time, what kind of person would I be, knowing I could have prevented her from being uncomfortable or freezing to death outside? I’m gonna hate every second of it, I know that, but I also know myself, and I’m not looking forward to the pinch of guilt poking me every time I’m with her if I say no right now.

“Fine, she can stay at my place tonight.” It’s like I’m getting my teeth pulled out one by one with each word. “I have a spare bedroom she can use.”

Donna closes her eyes in relief. “Thank you. I owe you one.”

“It’s okay, really. Has the reporter heard about the change of plans?”

She shakes her head. “She hasn’t landed yet, so I couldn’t get a hold of her. I don’t think she’ll mind, though.” Donna winks at me. What is that supposed to mean? “Let me forward you her details so you have her full name. Don’t worry, she’s not a serial killer. She’s been with WP for about as long as you have.”

My phone buzzes with Donna’s email. I open it and skim over the unnecessary trip details until my eyes land on the name.

And I forget how to breathe. The only sign I’m still of this earth is the organ pumping blood in my chest with the speed of a hamster on crack.

I can’t think; I can’t speak.

That name. The name of a woman I knew five years ago. A woman I’ve thought about every day since my last year in college. A woman I haven’t heard a word from since June 21, 2018.

Charlee Fletcher.

Toronto, September 29, 2017

Hello, hello!

My O folder contains strictly confidential information for my eyes only.

Don’t worry, I’m not crazy. It’s password protected. I wouldn’t make it easy for anybody to find.

It’s funny, I was thinking the same thing when I was telling my sister about our letters. I said to her that the more I read you, the more I get the feeling that we’ve known each other our whole lives. Not sure I believe in the universe talk, though. I prefer to think I’m in charge of my own destiny and that I forge my own path. But if there were any supercelestial powers at hand, then, yes, they’re working very well.

I don’t think I’d like to draw every day or make it my career. I’m just doing it for me, you know? Kind of an outlet for my mind to wander when I don’t feel like staying in the real world. I wouldn’t want to share my art with everybody, although looks like I made an exception with you . . .

What is it about isolating yourself that you like so much? Except the peace and quiet, of course. I think for me, it’s when life gets too heavy and I’m too tired to support its weight. I got better as I grew up, but when I was younger, I had this unnecessary pressure to be as good as my older sister. “Get good grades like her, honey. Why aren’t you as organized as Riley? If you were more focused on school rather than exploring and gallivanting everywhere, maybe I wouldn’t have to worry so much.” Riley represented the perfect daughter to my mom, and I get it, you know? Mom had enough on her plate without having to look after me on top of it all. She kind of expected me to do that on my own. I lived with this unattainable example in front of me, and all I could hear was “You’re not good enough and you’ll never be.” So isolating myself in nature was my way of getting away from all of it. I much preferred missing a class or two in high school and challenging myself to discover a place where no one could find me.

Now things have changed, and even though I’ve learned to manage my life a bit better, my mom’s recent cancer diagnosis has definitely put a damper on things, and I find myself craving solitude all over again. I know it’s selfish, considering. But every time I think about the fact that my mom is fighting every second for her life, I feel like I’m drowning, and nobody can pull me out. But I know I need to stay strong for her and remain positive, so it’s just a constant battle in my mind.

Anyway . . .

Wow, that was a lot of unpacking, huh? I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for that much. Maybe this is a sign I should see a therapist? Ha! If you do read everything, though, and don’t think I’m unhinged for sharing every detail of my life with a semi-stranger, then thank you. I guess I needed to talk, and you were there to . . . listen to/read me.

I wish I could relate to fresh produce and eating a homemade meal every day, but my mom didn’t have time to cook for us, and it was perfectly fine like that. She did so much for Riley and me so that we could have the best possible childhood. She worked two jobs, and that meant she had to sacrifice some other parts, like spending quality time with her daughters. So my comfort food is Kraft Dinner. Yeah, I know, I know. What can I say? One bite, and I’m back at my kitchen table after soccer practice on a Tuesday night with my mom and my sister by my side.

If you made it this far, you’re a saint. And I’m grateful for the friendship we’re developing. More than you know.

Oh, and now I can’t help but picture you in your slippers and bathrobe, running like a mad person behind an old and frail man so you can bully him into giving you your mail. Tsk, tsk, tsk, O. Tell Emile he has my vote.