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Just being near him is soothing at the moment. Maybe I’m just vulnerable,
but right now I don’t want to be anywhere else.
A sprinkle of rain starts as we pull into a driveway leading up to a house
that’s shielded behind a wall of trees.
A flutter courses through my belly. “Your house?”
We’re in Thunder Bay? I didn’t think I was dazed out that long.
He pulls into the garage and turns off the engine. “Have you ever been
here?”
I nod. “A couple weeks ago. You hadn’t written in so long, I needed
make sure you were okay—”
“You don’t have to explain,” he cuts me off. “I should’ve written. You
had every right to be worried.”
“Why did you stop?”
He smiles gently, opening his door and taking my shoes. “A story for a
different day. But it didn’t have anything to do with you,” he assures.
“Your dad said you were fine.” I climb out of the truck and walk
around, following him into the house.
“My dad doesn’t air dirty laundry. Did you tell him who you were?”
“Would he know me?”
“Of course,” he replies, entering what looks like a laundry room and
tossing my shoes into the washer. “He’s seen your letters coming in for
years.”
Yes, of course. If I’d told him, maybe I would’ve been invited into the
house and seen a picture of Misha. And then I would’ve found out even
sooner who he really was.
Misha comes over to me and pulls up the hem of my shirt, but I lock my
arms down, looking at him.