by Emilia Finn
So I keep my most beloved possessions right here, safe and secure, and close enough to touch every single time I visit.
Which is every single day.
I bring the shoebox down and try to swallow the tears that threaten to send me into a sobbing mess. Usually, I would carry the box to my bed, take a seat, and go for a trip down memory lane, but today, I don’t make it any further than where I am. I simply fold my legs and drop to the floor until I sit with a grunt.
Prying off the lid, I grab the folded sheet of paper on top and unfold it with shaking hands. It’s dated the middle of last year. Just a few weeks before William shot and executed a man in cold blood to save his sister’s life. It was the last letter he ever penned for me, the last time I heard from him directly until the day he turned back up in this town with his bags and a claim that he was going to live here forever.
Dear Olivia,
Things are getting kind of bad here. I’m pretty sure my sister is lying to me about where she works, but I’m afraid there isn’t a lot I can do about it. If she doesn’t work, we starve. And while I don’t much care about my own hunger, I care about hers. I’m scared of what I’ll find if I push too hard and demand answers.
That makes me a coward, because in my heart, I know what she’s doing isn’t good for her, but for as long as I don’t know, it doesn’t count, right?
Right?
No.
I know I haven’t really told you a lot about what’s going on with me. I know you’re running blind with the stuff Bubbles and I are running from. But you still write back anyway. And I really love that about you. I appreciate that connection to the outside world.
I feel like maybe things are coming to a head here. There’s this guy at work who’s normally close-lipped, but he mentioned something today that was kinda interesting. If this stuff can be solved, and Jamie gets his way and marries my sister, maybe I’ll move to your town and we can… I dunno. Get dinner or something?
I’m not very good at the dating thing. And you didn’t actually say you were interested in dating anyway. So I’m making assumptions. But still… I kinda love talking to you. So maybe we should try it in person. My treat, and I promise not to touch your ass… unless you’re into that sort of thing. In which case, my hands are yours to use however you want.
Are you laughing? I hope so.
I like seeing your smile. It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I hope you’re well. Please write me back, but maybe make a copy before you send, in case Bubbles and I have already moved from this place. I’d hate to miss out on whatever words you send me, and if we move, your letter will float around and never find me. If you make a copy, you can resend it when we have our new address.
It’s closing in on midnight here, and I’m about to clock out at work. I’m writing to you in the dark, but I’m sitting on a box under a streetlight, and I dunno why I told you that, but I figured maybe you’d like to see what I see.
Please write me back. Getting your letters is the best thing that happens to me these days.
Talk to you soon.
Always,
William.
I fold the paper again, and grab another. I can’t stop the tears that spill over onto my cheeks. It’s like a purging of poison, a realization that I’ve been in love with a guy for years. It wasn’t a typical relationship, and we never saw each other in person. But we talked, we wrote letters, we flirted and chatted, and we got to meet the other’s heart and soul.
And then he stopped writing.
And I started dating Brenten.
Dear Olivia,
Today is my birthday, and Bubbles made me a cake. It’s chocolate (my favorite) and came with a single candle. We only had one, but in our home, it still counts. As long as we have one, we can make a wish, and for as long as we can make a wish, we can still dream for something better.
I wished for you. For your friendship, for your smile, your kindness, your strength. I wished to see you again, even though it’s been three years since the last time, and hope seems to be dwindling. I wished to touch your hair (it’s so pretty) and kiss your smile (even though we haven’t yet kissed in real life, I’ve dreamed of it a lot, so now it feels like we have).
I’ve been working on this stuff about Nate Hardy – they say I killed him, but I swear I didn’t. I met him a couple times. He was nice enough, and he was a good fighter during this tournament I attended. But I swear to you, Sweet Olivia, I didn’t hurt him. I don’t know who did, but maybe if I keep staring at these files, I’ll figure it out.
Bubbles jokes that I work on this file so much that I could have been a cop in another life. She says I have the brain for it; which is ironic, since I haven’t solved the case.
Anyway. Are you well? How’s work?
I miss you like I’d miss my right arm. And it’s crazy, because we’re just… pen-pals. Nothing more.
If I move to your town, would you bring me a cup of sugar and tell me you love me? Would you lay with me in the sun, and reply to my letter, but with your voice instead of a pen? That would be amazing.
I hope your family is well. Even Ben. He’s a prick, by the way. But I respect who he is and what he stands for.
Write me back. I wanna know everything.
Always,
William.
My heart bleeds, and my stomach roils. But I grab another letter, one of our earlier communications, and unfold the thinning paper.
Dear Olivia,
My favorite color used to be green, but I seem to be looking at blue more often these days. My favorite food is steak, but it has to be cooked right. My favorite candy is chocolate, but I don’t like the kinds with all the stuff added. I don’t want sprinkles, or nuts, or marshmallows, or peanut butter. I just like plain ol’ chocolate that melts on my tongue and sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I saw in your last letter that you like your chocolate frozen first? That’s kinda weird. But… ya know… you’re beautiful, and everyone knows about the beautiful/crazy scale. So I’ll let you have this one if you promise not to have other freakish tendencies.
Will you teach me yoga when I visit next? I’m trying to be a gentleman, I swear I am, but I’m telling you now, I’ve dreamt of me and you in that class, and it doesn’t end the way a typical class does for you.
Which… now that I’ve written that, I realize could be reason for you to forever refuse to teach me.
I’ll ask again in a few months once you’ve forgotten this letter.
How’s Jamie? He still weird? My sister sighs and walks around all sad and shit, and I know it’s because she misses him. Maybe she can meet up with him again someday…
When that day comes, will you say hey to me? I’ll be waiting.
I’ll add a bunch of questions over the page for you to answer. I want to know everything; favorite number, car, vacation destinations, sex positions.
Damn. I swear I wasn’t gonna write that last one.
It’s there now… so, ya know… feel free to answer it if you wanna.
I’ll talk to you soon.
I miss your face so much that I wanna puke. Maybe you could send me a picture? I swear not to do naughty things while staring at it… that was a lie.
Always,
William.
“Livi?”
I jump in place, and sniffle when I realize how my silent tears have turned to painful sobs. Twisting in place and staring up, since I’m sitting on the floor, I swipe my tears away and try to see through them to the blonde woman standing just outside my closet. “Aunt Jules?”
“Why are you crying?” She kneels and duck-walks her way into the tiny space beside me. Jules wears a fancy skirt suit and heels, and yet she manages to squeeze herself into this space and slide down beside me.
When she’s down, and her breath slows after that workout, she looks to me with concern blazing in her eyes. “What the eff, Livi?”
“I’m in love with a guy I can’t
be with.”
Her brows pull close together. “Brenten?”
“No!” I snort and sniffle away my mess. “Brenten is an idiot. I’m talking about William.” I pass her one letter, and watch as she hesitantly unfolds it and begins to read.
Perhaps she was expecting a diary entry from myself, about myself. Perhaps she was expecting a story I wrote, a poem, or hell, a grocery list. But when she’s met with the “Dear Olivia,” her breath catches as she hurriedly reads and tries to catch every morsel of information.
I grab another letter and plop it on top. I pass a third. And a fourth.
“These are all from him,” I cry. “They’re from years ago, when he was running from a murder charge and everything was simpler. And it’s crazy that that time was simpler. He was running from a murder charge, Aunt Jules!”
“You knew where he was all along?” She flicks through the pages. “Livi? You knew?”
I shake my head and try to push my hair out of my eyes, but it’s fruitless; we’re sitting in a closet that has taken on a static electricity life of its own, and my face is wet, which means the strands stick to my skin. “I sent my return letters to a post office box. I knew what town he was in, but nothing more.”
“You wrote letters for years.” She studies the dates marked in the top right of each letter. “One a month.”
I nod and bring my knees up so it feels like someone is cuddling me.
William and I finally slept in the same bed last night, we cuddled, and touched, and kissed. It was wholesome and perfect, and nothing at all like the hot moments of insanity we’ve also shared.
“We averaged once a month,” I rasp out. “Sometimes when I was really lucky, I would get two in the month. Other times, there was two months between letters.”
And those were the times I was certain I would die from the not knowing.
“I love him, Aunt Jules. I’ve loved him for a long time. But I found something out about him this morning that I can’t ignore.” I swallow and glance up to meet her eye. “No one is perfect, I get that. And despite everyone accusing me of being strait-laced and a cop’s daughter through and through, I let things go. I’m not a machine, and my automatic response isn’t always to snitch.”
“What did you find out?” she whispers. “And how is it worse than running from the cops for a murder charge?”
“He didn’t hurt that guy.” I lean back against the wall of the closet and close my eyes. “He didn’t do it, and there wasn’t a person on this planet who could convince me he did.”
“It was McGrady.” She glances into my room to make sure no one has followed us in. “He admitted it.”
“Right. I was certain William was innocent, and McGrady admitted it. He wasn’t that bad person that people thought he was, so when the first letter arrived, and he begged for a pen-pal, when I knew in my heart he didn’t hurt the guy – even before McGrady’s admission, I knew – I wrote back.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” she whispers. “All of this time with Brenten, the stuff with Oz, the stuff with…” She shakes her head. “You should have said something.”
“He left, Aunt Jules. He stopped writing and went missing for a whole year.”
“He called his sister weekly,” she counters. “Every single week, he was on the phone.”
“And every single week, I made sure I was at those card games, just so I could hear his voice.” I reach up and wipe away my tears. “He stopped writing me, Aunt Jules. Like I didn’t matter at all. Then the Brenten stuff happened, so I figured why the hell not?”
“I wish I’d known, Livi. I wish you’d have told me that you and Will had something going on the side, because then I—”
“He’s working for Ripley,” I choke out and bury my face against my hands. “He admitted it this morning.”
“He did?”
I nod and wipe a hand beneath my running nose. “He said he was at a meet last night that went bad. There was money and drugs and some other guys, and the cops turned up.” I turn my head and meet her beautiful eyes. “The cops… as in your husband, and as in my dad. William has a bad leg today, because a cruiser clipped him and sent him hurtling into the forest. Now he has stitches and a limp. And I can’t be in love with a guy who so blatantly hurts people. I just…” I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Who does he hurt, Liv?” She places her hand on my leg and pries my fingers apart so she can hold on. “Baby, who does he hurt?”
“The families of people who buy the drugs,” I cry. “The kids who go hungry, and the babies still inside a junkie’s stomach. The wives of the husbands who turn to drugs, and the husbands of the wives who couldn’t handle real life anymore, so she chose drugs. There are a lot of victims when it comes to drugs, Aunt Jules. And William should know firsthand; his parents were junkies. His parents took turns abusing and neglecting him. He knows! So why would he actively help the spread of drugs just so there would be more kids like him and his sister out there?”
“Maybe it’s not…” She tries, she tries so hard to explain away what we now know to be truth. “Um… maybe there’s more information there to be had. Maybe you don’t have the whole story.”
“I have him admitting to transporting money and product.” I snatch the letters from her hands, and the letters that lay spread on the floor around my feet, and shoving them back into the shoebox they came from, I press the lid back on and push the whole box away. “I love him, Aunt Jules. But if I turn a blind eye and allow him to do that, then I may as well tear my soul out and stomp on it. I couldn’t live with myself knowing what I know.”
“So, what, then?” she prompts. “What are you gonna do? Ignore him for the rest of your life?”
I nod my agreement, then shake my head, then I close my eyes and breathe through what I think might be a bout of vomit. “First, I’m going to the police station to report what I know.”
“The police station?” She gasps. “What?”
“I have to report it, Aunt Jules. I have to help them, and I have to offload what I know. It’s common knowledge Daddy is working on a taskforce right now that is taking the drugs off our streets. Daddy and Uncle X work themselves to the bone on this. It would be unforgivable of me to know but not to tell.”
“Telling is a huge deal, honey. It’s massive.”
“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?” I open my eyes and glance across to her. “Are you seriously suggesting I keep it all to myself?”
“No.” She looks down at the floor and exhales. “Absolutely not. I’m just… preparing you, I guess. Come on.”
She stands in the limited space around us, then offers a hand and pulls me up beside her. “I have to go to court. We might be able to tie up some other stuff first, then I’ll come with you this afternoon to make your report.”
“This afternoon?” I question. “Not this morning?”
She shakes her head and fixes her skirt when it twists as we move. “Oz and X will both be in court for the next few hours, so unless you wanna give your report to Libby or one of the juniors, you’re gonna have to wait. This isn’t something you drop over a cup of coffee and then run out with a too-da-loo, baby. You’re gonna give your daddy a heart attack when you tell him what you know.”
“The bit about drugs?” I nod and study my feet. “I know. It’s really bad—”
She snorts. “No, the bit about you being in love. Oz deals with criminals and bad shit every single day. But his baby being in love?” She laughs so loud that I startle and glance toward my bedroom door. “Someone is gonna need to catch him. You know Oz ain’t gonna be okay.”
“You’re making a joke of my heartache.” I push past her and move toward my princess bed. “You think it’s all so funny and easy, huh? But did you forget the bit where the guy I love will go to prison? I’m going to lose him, Aunt Jules. I’ll lose him forever. And then there’s his sister… I’ll break her heart, and she’ll try to stomp me. And Jamie; if I break Quinn’s heart, then I g
ain an enemy in a Kincaid. This isn’t black and white, Aunt Jules. And what I’m going to do doesn’t affect only me. This is a big effing dea—”
I stop when my phone rings in my pocket. Not a text, but a call.
Pulling the device out, I hold my breath and stare when the name that flashes brings me actual pain.
William Quinn.
Over and over and over again, his name flashes along to the same beat as the ringtone.
“You gonna take that?” Jules questions and lifts a brow. “Could be important.”
Swallowing, I glance up when the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall calls my attention, then a second later, Uncle Alex stops at the doorway.
“Jules.” He looks to me, and frowns. “Liv? Why are you crying, sweetpea?”
“She’s not crying,” Jules cuts in and steps in front of me. “We’re heading out?”
“Yup. It’s time to go and close this chapter. Did you… uh…” He tries to look around her to me. “Did you tell her what we’re—”
“No.” Again, Juliette cuts him off and pushes through the doorway. “Let’s go. We can talk in the car.” Then she turns back to me and waits for my eyes. “We have to go take care of this stuff at court. And you… need to breathe. I’ll call you when we’re done, then I’ll come with you for that other stuff.”
That other stuff… as in, me being a snitch on my boyfriend. Again.
My phone stops chirping after a moment, so my jumping stomach has a second to relax, but then it begins again and sends nausea swirling with enough force to bring my hand up.
I want to be sick, much like William’s letter to me states, I miss his face so much I want to puke.
“Wait, Aunt Jules.” I take a shaky step toward the hall and pray the sickness in my stomach will go away soon. “I want to come with you to court. It’s time to tie it up.”
“You wanna come?” Her cheeks pale just a little. “Are you sure? You don’t have to be there for this.”
“No. But I want to be.”
I duck back into my room, and less than a minute later, I come back out again in something a little more suited for a courtroom than jeans and a shirt. “Let’s go.”
