Chapter 18
Miles
Sunday
I looked at Ella as she stepped outside of her gate, carrying a backpack and a towel on each shoulder. She stopped in her tracks and turned to the line of small white mailboxes next to her. Crouching in front of one of them, she accidentally dropped her towel to the floor.
I had called her yesterday. Neither too late, nor too soon, just before dinner time. I had certainly given it way too much thought.
She had given me her address, and we had agreed that I would pick her up at her house around 11 a.m.
“Hi,” she smiled, approaching the car a few seconds later. “Sorry, I just had to check if there was any mail.”
“No problem,” I replied as she opened the passenger door. “Are you expecting something?”
“Maybe.” She got into the car. “I never know. My dad lives abroad, and we keep in touch through letters, besides phone calls, of course. My sister always calls him; she says telephones are a modern invention, and that we’re stubborn and old for insisting on the ancient way.
” She looked at me, smiling. “So it’s just something I’ve always done.
Check if there’s any mail. Every day.” She adjusted her belongings on the car floor.
“And when there’s nothing from him, I just bring the other mail home and leave it on the dinner table for the family to see. ”
I nodded and found myself imagining what that home would look like.
“And your brothers?” I asked. She had told me about having one sister and three brothers. And I had also seen her leave the CIC saying she was going to do “big sister things.”
“Oh, my dad is not their dad. I mean, my mom married another man after my dad. And they had my three brothers.”
“So you live with your mom, your siblings, and your stepfather?”
“No,” she answered, “he and my mom wanted different things. He also lives far away now. He comes back to see them from time to time, though.”
“And your dad? Does he also come to see you?”
“He does!” she said. “But he has a very demanding job, so most of the time, it’s me and my sister who fly in to visit him.”
Ella’s eyes moved back to the little white mailbox.
The idea of them writing letters to each other felt nice. The idea of waiting eagerly for something that would, without a doubt, arrive.
“So, shall we start the excursion?” she commanded enthusiastically.
I answered with a smile and turned on the car.