Page 9 of Dear Rosie

I slip my handwritten letter underneath the bag, then set it back down.

Hopefully she’ll come back for it tomorrow.

ROSIE

I shove the branch out of my way, my stumbling steps taking me off my usual path.

The deep, hiccuping sobs make it hard to walk straight.

I was planning to come out here today.

Planning to see Nathan one more time.

Hoping he’d come out here too.

But when I looked out our front window, after eating the cheese sandwich I made for lunch, I saw it.

The moving truck.

Leaving.

It almost made me throw up.

I had to slap my hands over my mouth to keep my sounds in.

I was planning to see him.

But last night I cried myself to sleep. And then I slept in late.

Too late.

Because Nathan is gone.

My foot catches on a root, and I fall forward, my palms meeting dirt and pine needles.

Wincing, I get back on my feet and brush my hands on my pants.

“Stupid,” I hiss at myself.

Using the back of my hands, I wipe the tears from my eyes.

A spot of white catches my attention, and for one tiny second, I think it’s Nathan.

It’s not him.

It’s the marshmallow bag.

More tears fall.

I wanted to take it last night. He usually lets me keep them. But it didn’t feel right. Even when my grumbling stomach sent me back home.

After I got home, I ate ramen in my bedroom, then I took a shower. And I swear I heard the doorbell while I was in the bathroom, but when I got out, everything was still the same.

My hands are too sore to boost myself up onto the log, so I just grab the bag with plans to sit on the ground.

But a piece of paper slides off the log and floats through the air.

I catch it.

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