Page 37 of Our Elliana

“Elle, I have the snail mail.”

“Come on in.”

“Just the normal shit, looks like,” he says, then squints as he peers at me. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were all hot and bothered.”

If I was a shy girl, I might’ve demurred at that. But I’m not. “Just missing Jackson, I suppose.”

“Lunch hookup boy, you mean?” Andre clarifies, but I feel like that’s a bit crass, so I toss my bestie a frown.

Still, he’s right. I can’t stay on my high horse for long.

“Fine. Yes.”

I’m considering elaborating when Andre hands over the mail, and I spy another envelope similar to the one I received prior. Chills that are distinctly nonsexual skitter down my spine as I tear it open. Especially as I determine that this new arrival has the same nondescript look to it as the other. The envelope is off-white without a return address and is again made out to me.

Within I find another condolence card, this time with butterflies against a blue background and no words on the front. On the inside it says, “So missed and so dear, don’t worry, my love, they’re always near.”

My unease doubles, and I peek out the window. I don’t know why. Even if it wasn’t too late to halt the mail carrier’s exit, it’s not like they could explain why the sender didn’t sign it or include a return address. This time around, I laser in on the postmark over the stamp, seeing that it says Washington D.C.

Which means it must’ve been dispatched locally.

“What’s wrong?” Andre asks me, and I hand him the card to analyze.

“Andre, have we received any other cards like this that you haven’t told me about?”

“No. Why?”

“This is the second of these that has come in the past few weeks.”

As my BFF scrutinizes everything about the correspondence, a crease appears between his eyebrows.

“I don’t like the looks of this, baby. Not one single bit.”

I massage the side of my neck. “I don’t, either,” I admit.

“Does anyone else know about this?”

“No.”

“Well,” he juts his hip out in a way that only he can. “I think it’s time you remedy that. You need to file a report, preferably with Diego.”

Diego Ruiz, a detective with the local police precinct, went to high school with Andre and me. He was a couple of years older, so we knew him more by reputation than anything. But since then, Andre bumped into Diego and his boyfriend at a local bar, and they’ve all been buds ever since.

Anyone Andre trusts is someone I know I can trust, too. Yet there’s no real evidence of anything troubling, so I’m not sure if it’ll do any good. As I think it over, I hesitate. What is there to report? Yes, it’s a bit out of the ordinary, but there’s no actual threat, nor is there any reason to consider this ominous.

“It could just be someone who’s confused,” I tell Andre. “An elderly shut-in friend of my father’s or someone who thinks that his passing is more recent than it was. I don’t like the idea of causing a stir for nothing.”

“I don’t like this, Elle. I just don’t.”

But now I feel like I’ve overreacted. “I’m sure it’s meaningless.”

“What if it isn’t meaningless?”

I lean on him, hoping to quell his anxiety. This is all my fault. “I freaked myself out, and that freaked you out. There’s nothing dangerous about this. Why would there be?”

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