37. Skylar
Chapter Thirty-Seven
SKYLAR
I spent most of that day trying not to be distracted. I managed, but barely. I thought I could do the easy thing and just cut my feelings out, slice them away, but it wasn’t that easy. At all.
I kept missing Tucker, yet my doubts remained restless.
There were lots of things I didn’t understand about other people, but I had a pretty good radar for when something was off.
When you were in foster care, that sense became highly attuned.
My therapist had once explained to me that it was a survival instinct.
“You had to pay close attention because you didn’t know what was going to happen. ”
Every time I thought about Tucker, which was a whole lot, my heart ached a little. It felt raw, like a painful scrape stinging.
I was startled to discover a phone message from my old social worker at the end of my workday.
I made a habit of turning my phone off when I was at work.
Ludie thought it was funny, but it was easy for me.
Unlike most people my age, I hadn’t had my own cell phone until I was an adult.
Emily and I had shared one when we lived together for those years after we aged out of foster care.
It was all we could afford. We never had our own phone like the other kids in high school. That was out of the question.
After Dan and Ludie left for the day, I resisted the urge to lock the doors, telling myself if Tucker stopped by that I would be brave and actually speak to him. I didn’t want to admit that I was desperate for him to stop by while simultaneously praying he wouldn’t.
Both options were terrifying.
I played Jolene’s message. “Hi, Skylar. It’s Jolene. I hope life is treating you well in Alaska. When you have a few minutes, please give me a call. I’m covering the on-call service tonight. I have something important for you.”
“What the hell?” I muttered to myself.
Without hesitation, I tapped out the call number, laughing because I still had it memorized. It was the main call number for after-hours for the non emergency stuff for kids in foster care. There was also an emergency number, which was only for if you were on fire, or bleeding, or dying.
As promised, she picked up right away. “Skylar!” she exclaimed when she answered.
“Hey, Jolene.”
It was odd to hear her voice. Emotion throttled in my throat at the sound of it.
Although she was a professional and simply doing her job, I’d always felt kind of lucky that she’d been my social worker.
So had Emily. She’d always checked in with us and made sure we stayed in the same school district for years.
She did what she could for us under some shitty circumstances.
“How are you?” she asked, her tone warm.
“I’m okay,” I answered.
“Yeah?” Her voice was soft, and I knew she was wondering if I missed Emily.
“I really am,” I said, meaning it.
“Glad to hear it. I hope it’s okay that I called.”
“Of course, it is. What’s up?”
She paused, and I could hear her take a breath. “I have a letter for you from Emily.”
My lungs seized for a moment. “What?”
“I just got it, or I would have sent it sooner. When Emily was in the hospital before she died, she wrote a couple of letters. She gave them to the social worker at the hospital. I’m not sure why, but it took this long for it to get to me.
That social worker didn’t know how to find you.
Emily was listed as your main contact for everything.
She finally found me, and I told her I would be able to contact you. ”
Trepidation, anticipation, and grief rolled through me, one wave after another.
“Should I mail it to you?” she asked when I didn’t say anything else.
“I’d like that, but could you email it too?” I didn’t think I could wait for snail mail.
“Of course. I already have it scanned and sitting in a draft. I figured you’d want both. I’m sure you miss her.”
I couldn’t even speak. The next wave of grief slammed into me so hard I felt knocked over, gasping for air and trying not to swallow water. When I surfaced emotionally, I gulped in air while Jolene waited on the phone with me. I sensed she knew I was trying not to fall apart.
“I know she was family to you.”
“She was,” I whispered, my voice cracking and tears rolling down my cheeks.
“I know. You know you can call me anytime you need to talk.”
I took a shaky breath. “I know, but I’m not your job anymore.” That was the bald truth of our relationship.
She fell quiet for several beats before replying, “I know, but I actually care about you. If you ever need something, you know I can point you in the right direction. I’m really good at that.
” For a second, I thought I heard tears in her voice.
“I met you because of my job, and you were my job. But, this, right here, I’m still here.
I have boundaries. It’s not like I’m doing anything crazy.
I would tell my boss. ‘Hey, I told Skylar she could call me if she needed something.’ And she would say, ‘Yeah, I get it. The world is hard, and foster kids don’t have many people on their side. ’ Trust me, I know it’s not easy.”
“I know you do,” I managed, swallowing through the tears wicking up from the knot in my throat.
“Will you send me a postcard?”
“Huh?”
“From Alaska. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s amazing. Is it as beautiful as they say?”
I smiled through my tears, smearing my free hand across my cheeks. “It really is. I’ll mail you a postcard.” I took a shaky breath.
“That’d be great. I already emailed the letter,” she said just as my phone vibrated.
“Oh, I thought that was a text.”
She laughed. “If you need anything, just call me, okay? I mean it.”
“I will.” I sniffled and took another breath. The air was amazing sometimes.
“Should we get off the phone now? You never were very good at saying goodbye and used to hang up on me a lot,” she teased lightly.
I laughed because I did hang up on her a lot when I was a teenager. “Oh, my god. I was such a shitty kid to you sometimes.”
“Now, cut that out. You were just like any other teenager, and you kept me on my toes,” she said warmly.
“I won’t hang up on you now.”
“All right. You take care. My mailing address is on the signature in that email.”
“It’s okay for me to send a postcard?” I pressed.
Her sigh filtered through the line. “This job is complicated. You were on my caseload for ten years, and it matters to me how you’re doing. If you want to send me postcards, I’d love your updates.”
“Okay.” My lips tugged into a smile.
“Let me confirm your mailing address before you go.”
She recited it quickly. Of course, she had it right.
“How did you find that?”
“When people need something, we can look people up. I didn’t have to do anything sketchy to find you.”
I laughed, sniffling a little.
“You take care, Skylar. I’m going to put this letter in the mail tomorrow so you have the real copy.”
“I really appreciate it. Thanks for calling me, Jolene. It’s good to talk to you.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” she returned.
Just as I was about to say goodbye, I said, “Hey, Jolene?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for everything. I always felt lucky that you were my social worker.”
“You did?” She sounded surprised.
“Yeah. Not everybody gave a shit. You did.”
“Well, thank you.”
“And I promise I’ll send you a postcard.”
“I’m counting on it. Take care, Skylar.”
“You too. Bye.” I hung up quickly.
After we ended the call, I blew my nose and stared at my phone, where it sat innocuously on the desk. I had powered down the computers. It was just me sitting alone in the quiet office, afraid to read an email.
Yet I knew I couldn’t wait. I snatched my phone up, tapping my email open. My eyes landed on the email from Jolene.
I gulped in a giant breath, squeezing my eyes shut before opening them wide.
Hi, Skylar. As promised, here’s the letter. It’ll go in the mail tomorrow now that I’ve confirmed your address. I wrote this before our call because I hoped you’d answer.
I’m really proud of you. You have a good job, and I’m glad you’re somewhere you always wanted to go. Whether we talk again or not, I hope life treats you well from this point forward.
Fly for Emily.
All the best,
Jolene
Oh, wow. Tears were already rolling down my cheeks again. I dragged a tissue across my face and opened the attached letter she’d scanned in. My breath seized in my lungs when I saw Emily’s familiar handwriting.
Dear Skylar,
They told me yesterday that I’m probably not going to survive. I’ve gotten some kind of infection that’s all through my body, and I feel like shit. I’m okay, but I’m going to miss you like crazy. If there is a heaven, I’ll be watching over you. I promise. Think of me as your guardian angel.
I’m asking you to make me one more promise. Try to make friends. You and I know nobody can make life okay for you except you. I know you’ve had shit luck with men. We both have. But if somebody good comes along, give him a chance. The assholes can fuck off.
I’m hoping you’ll catch a lucky break. No matter what, take care of yourself. Put you first.
I hope you go to Alaska like we planned. We already signed the lease, and I sent you an email with all the information. Don’t forget to open it.
High five with love,
Emily
Oh, hell. I was crying so hard I could hardly breathe.
I heard the thump of my phone hitting the floor when I dropped it.
I couldn’t even manage to lean over and pick it up.
I curled my knees into my chest, wrapping my arms around them and letting my head fall.
I cried and cried and cried all over again.
Grief sucked. It really did feel like drowning. Sometimes, I would swallow water, then I would get some air, and then I would somehow tread for a little bit before sinking under the surface all over again.
I didn’t hear anyone come in, but abruptly, I sensed someone was there. I lifted my head, spinning around in my chair, startled to see Tucker standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sniffling.
“Are you okay?” His eyes skated over my face.
I sighed because there was no point in trying to finesse my way out of this. “Of course, I’m not.”
He was at my side in a flash, kneeling beside my chair. “What happened?”
“My friend, the one who died. She wrote me a letter when she was in the hospital, and my old social worker finally got it and found me. Well, it wasn’t her, it was the hospital social worker who had it, and it took her that long to find someone to find me.” I felt silly explaining it all.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Then Tucker wrapped me in his arms, and I tucked my head against his neck. I breathed, and I cried a little bit more, but I didn’t completely fall apart. Several minutes later, I mumbled into his chest, and he prompted, “What?”
“I said it seems like I fall apart in front of you a little too much.”
His hand was sliding up and down my back in a comforting pass. “Stop worrying about that. Losing someone you care about hurts like hell.”
I lifted my head and took a breath, finally risking a look into his eyes. His gaze was steady and concerned. “You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, reaching for another tissue to wipe my eyes and blow my nose.
His eyes studied me. “I need to tell you something.”
I braced myself. “Look, if you want to tell me we should just be friends and keep our distance, I already made that call. Don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
He held a hand up. “Hey, that’s not what I want to tell you.”
I sighed. “Okay, fine.” I gestured to the empty chair near me.
He leaned back on his haunches before straightening and wheeling it closer to sit down.
“Okay, just get it over with.” I circled my hand in the air.
“I had a girlfriend in high school. We were in love, and she died when I was seventeen.”
“Um... Oh, wow, I’m sorry.” That felt inadequate, but I didn’t know what else to offer.
“I got a little distant because her mother sent me a letter. Before she died, she wrote some letters for friends and family and asked an attorney to wait before they were sent. In my case, that was fifteen years.”
“Oh, you’re thirty-two?” I asked. Leave it to me to focus on that mundane detail.
His lips lifted at one corner in a wry smile as he nodded. “I am.”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m sorry about your girlfriend.”
“Yeah, I am too. She had Ewing’s sarcoma, fucking cancer. By the time they found it, it had already spread. We wanted her to beat the odds, but she didn’t.”
He took a quick breath as if bracing himself. I wanted to hold him and make it all go away.
“I figured I’d never fall in love again. I didn’t want to because life is fucking unfair. But apparently, I did.”
“Huh?”
“I love you.”
The sound of my heartbeat rolled through my body. “Me?” I sniffled, staring hard at Tucker.