Chapter 165
Tilda
I cross the driveway, my shoes crunching over the gravel.
I feel like I’m losing my mind.
Every text Ethan sends me puts me that much closer to replying.
But I don’t know if I should.
I don’t know what to believe.
My feet carry me forward, up the little hill, toward the tree line.
I don’t want to make the wrong choice and get hurt all over again.
I can’t—
My steps slow.
He…
I look to the left. And to the right.
And for as far as I can see…
Purple ribbon.
For as far as I can see, Ethan has wrapped purple ribbon around the barbed wire fence that separates my property from the park.
I step closer until I can touch it.
It’s the same ribbon he gave me.
The same ribbon he bought me.
It’s… vandalism.
It’s beautiful.
I pull my phone out of my pocket.
I don’t know what to say.
No idea where to start.
But I need to let him know I’ve found this.
I need—
My phone rings.
I stare at the screen. I don’t know the number. But… I feel like I should answer it.
I lift the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Matty?” The older man’s voice is frail.
The oxygen disappears from my lungs, and I can’t reply.
Is this…
“My name is Stephen.”
Stephen.
A manic laugh tries to break free.
It’s a man named Stephen. Not Uncle Jack calling from beyond the grave.
“Hi, Stephen. I’m Matty.”
There’s a raspy cough on the other end of the line. “I’m so glad I got you.” The man’s voice sounds weak. “I know this is an imposing request. But I’d like to meet you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “I was a… particular friend of your uncle. And I promised him I’d check in on you. After…”
The name comes to me then.
The lawyer had said it when I called him on my birthday.
Stephen and I both pinkie swore to look after you.
“I’d like that.” I agree before I can overthink it.
“That’s good of you. If you could do it… soon. This week.”
My poor, bruised heart squeezes.
This man just lost Uncle Jack a few months ago, and now it sounds like he’s…
I swallow. “If you’re close, I could come… day after tomorrow. If that works.”
“That would be wonderful.” I hear the raspy cough again. “I’m not too far. Just outside Denver. But Jack never drove that old truck of his this that distance.”
“Oh.” I bite down on my lip, wondering how I should get there.
“When we hang up, I’ll text you the name of the little airport near me. From the one near you, it’s less than an hour flight.”
A flight.
My palms start to sweat. “Oh, I—”
“Thank you, Matty. This means a lot.” Stephen’s voice hitches. Then he hangs up.
I lower my phone. Then stare as two texts pop up immediately.
And I don’t know why it surprises me that a man who might be on his deathbed knows how to text… but it does.
I look at the first one. And it’s the name of a regional airport.
I look at the second address. The one he’s titled Home. And it looks familiar.
Turning away from the ribbon-wrapped fence, I read the address over and over as I walk back to the house.
I swear…
Inside, I cross to the dining table, to my growing pile of mail, and pick up the envelope I got from Uncle Jack.
The return address label has Jack’s name. And Stephen’s home address.