LETTERS NEVER DELIVERED · Aluma
Sylph,
I'm leaving this by your tools because if I try to say it out loud, you'll look at me with those starry eyes and ask too many questions before I finish the first sentence.
Wyatt says you spent half the morning fixing a shelf that wasn't broken. I told him that maybe you just wanted something to do with your hands. He said, "Well, I reckon he's got plenty of that," and went right back to hollering at the garage radio.
That's how things go around here. People fuss, stuff breaks, the coffee goes cold, and somebody forgets to put the room keys back on their hooks. It ain't a particularly exciting life.
But I like it.
I like seeing your motorcycle parked beside the garage. I like the way you stand in the office doorway when you're thinking. I even like finding caramel wrappers where no caramel wrappers ought to be, although you and I are going to have a discussion about that.
I know you miss your people. I know there's a whole world somewhere that knew you long before I did. I wouldn't ask you to stop looking for it. If I thought my mama might be waiting on the other side of some impossible road, I'd go searching too.
What I want you to know is that you don't have to figure everything out tonight.
There's supper on the stove. Wyatt's left a tool on the wrong bench again.
And I'll be here when you come inside.
Love, Aluma
P.S. Do you know where the rest of the caramels are? I swear I bought some just yesterday.