A few days later, you pull the letter out of your purse for the thousandth time. This time, you actually have a purpose other than staring, mesmerized by his writing. His address is written, clear as day, on the corner of the envelope. You pull a pen out of the desk drawer and copy it over on a fresh envelope in the middle. Then you pull out one of your daughter's notebooks and start writing.
Derek-
It's very good to hear from you. Unfortunately I am married, so I'm going to have to ask you to stop writing to me.
Derek-
It was great to hear from you. I'm sorry to hear that you left your wife. I hope you the best.
Derek-
It was quite a shock seeing your name on the return label on your letter. How have the years treated you? I can't say I've done all that poorly, I'm happily married with a wonderful 16 year old daughter.
Derek-
I was very surprised to see such a familiar last name in my mailbox. It's really a shame you two couldn't work it out.
Derek-
I'm quite sorry to hear about your loss. If you're in Seattle anytime, maybe we could get a cup of coffee. After all I am happily married. Maybe I could give you some pointers.
Derek-
I'm very busy, and I don't have time for this.
Derek-
That's great news!
Derek-
I'm sorry.
Derek-
I—
"Dammit!"
You throw your pen up in the air and sigh in exasperation as it lands on the desk. You really have no idea what to write. The only thing you do know that you want to write him.
Okay you know a lot more than that. You know you want to ask him how he is, if he misses you, if he stills cares about you, if he wants to see you, if he's still mad at you. But, most importantly, you want to ask him when the next flight to New York is, because you are so on it.
You tear out the sheet of paper you started to write on, crumple it up, and throw it away. Once again you read over the letter, hoping you missed something. A phone number, and email address, anything. Anything that can help you get a hold of him faster than a letter. But no—there's nothing.
Neither your daughter nor husband is home. You say a quick thanks to whoever hears those little prayers you make every so often and slip on the computer. It's been bombarded by your daughter, but you manage to get on the internet. Exactly why, you aren't sure yet. Your fingers are typing without you thinking, and you find yourself looking at a list of flights to New York.
Ignoring the warning that the voice in your head is giving you, you click on one that leaves in two hours. Two hours is enough time right? Explain to your husband that something came up and you need to go visit your aunt in New York. Tell Tallulah that you'll be back as soon as you can.
The purchase button is just inches away. You pull the mouse over it and click on it. There. That settles it. You're going to New York. Quickly you enter all your information in, request a first class ticket if available, and log off the computer. Letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, you stand up and start mentally packing.
'Clothes, (For how long though? Who knows how long I'm going to stay?) shoes, underwear, bra (Do I still have that pink one? The one with the black lace on it?) toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, hair stuff…'
You still have to wait for Tallulah and Pete to come home before you flat out lie to their faces, but you decide to be packed and ready to go when they come home. Running up the stairs, your heart is already pounding. Do you write him and tell him that you're coming? That would be a little pointless, seeing as it'd probably get there after you. While you pack, you try to imagine what you're going to say to him. For crying out loud, if you couldn't figure out what to say on paper, how are you going to figure out what to say in real life? At least on paper, you can hide behind the pen… but in real life, you're just there, nothing to shield you.