Chapter 49
Dear Wren,
It’s been two weeks since you left, which was plenty of time to get used to you not being here.
But every time I walk into the kitchen or park in the lot, I look for you.
I expect your convertible to be parked by the hydrangeas.
Did you mean to always take that same spot?
Aaron used to tell people who tried to park there that it was your spot.
Yesterday, Wade did, and Aaron didn’t say a word.
I guess he’s accepted you’re not coming back.
I’m going car shopping with Gus tomorrow. He’s been saving up for years, getting rides with me, but he needs his own car to commute to college this fall. I’m going because guess what. He needs a lift to the dealership.
My dad bought me my truck. I don’t think I ever told you that. A week before he got arrested. I figured it’d get taken, that it was part of his other shady shit, but it never did. I should probably trade it in for something else at some point, but it’s got good memories now too.
Jerry King’s sailboat got repaired from the storm damage. It went back in the water today. I didn’t say it when we last talked, but I really wanted you to still be at the marina when I got back that night.
I’m not sure when you start school or your exact address, but I figure this will get to you eventually. There’s only one Wren Kensington in the world.
Write back.
Sawyer
Wren,
You didn’t answer my first letter. You’re probably busy with classes and with new friends and with all the college stuff. I hope you like it more than you thought you would. I hope you’re happy.
Gus started college last week. He says it’s basically like high school, with more course options and new people.
Do you agree? UCLA is probably different from community college.
Do you live on campus or in some fancy beach house?
Do you surf? I can’t picture you surfing, but I always hear that about California. Did you bring Apollo with you?
Wade and I are the only ones working at the marina still.
Dusty said we should keep showing up until he pulls the docks in November.
Then I don’t know what I’ll do. All the summer guys left.
Aaron said he doesn’t think he’ll be back next year.
I never liked him (your fault), but it’ll be a pain, having to train someone new to replace him.
My mom is about to leave for three months. She’ll be gone for Thanksgiving but back for Christmas. She’s worried about me, but won’t say it.
She feels guilty, too, I think, even though none of it was her fault. When I tell her that, she never seems to believe me, so I’ve stopped saying it.
I messed up everything my dad had planned for me, and it’s not that satisfying. It’s not satisfying at all.
Sawyer
Wren,
Not much to share about here. It’s getting cold. I’m almost done working at the marina, and I have a few leads for other stuff to do until summer. I’m meeting with my old baseball coach tomorrow.
Gus has exams now, so I’ve hardly seen him lately, even though he lives right down the street.
Maybe you’re busy with them too. More likely, you’re not writing back for other reasons. Same address, if you ever decide to.
Sawyer
Wren,
Fuck you.
(Sorry. (This wasn’t in the original letter.))
Obviously, I should have texted you all this shit.
Or asked for your college address. But it always felt different, telling you stuff in letters instead of any other way.
I wanted to get back to that, I guess, to before I fucked up repeatedly.
To that fall when we were just getting to know each other.
I never said it, and I should’ve—I loved that you wrote me letters.
I kept them all. Even brought them with me to Lancaster, in case the house lit on fire or something while I was away.
I’m sure this is the cheapest, weirdest gift you’ve ever gotten.
Even calling it a gift is probably a stretch.
But you said you wanted to know what I’d written you, and this is as much as I remember from them.
It never really occurred to me you weren’t ignoring them, which is why the last one got sent.
(I wasn’t totally kidding about that. Sorry again.)
Merry Christmas, Wren. I miss you.
S