Sunday, May 7
Dear Oliver,
Good news, I think. It seems that soon I won't need my passport. Steve verified that I will leave here within the next ten days. I consider that a hopeful sign. My team has been leaving one by one for the past three days. I understand another person leaves tomorrow. He said he couldn't shut down the operation yet. I don't know what that means exactly. I'm not ready to ask. I'm hoping that as soon as I don't need a passport, that I won't be needed at all.
I remember that Jonathan wrote to Catherine that he would lie awake at night, hear trains whistle and think of them headed west to where she was. There are no train whistles here. There is the sound of helicopters taking off – of someone leaving.
I think of myself leaving, heading west, to the Rockies, to Denver, to you. I think of the joy of working beside you – of simple things – of Yoohoo's and smoothies – of Rita adjusting her glasses with the fingers of her right hand – of the many startled expressions of Norman – of the sound of a dead letter shooting up the tube to its rightful recipient. I think of you calling me Ms. McInerny in the day and Shane in the evening. You have no idea how often I think of you.
With hope and faith that our time apart is about to end,
Shane
