Page 12 of Dear Rosie

Dad shouts something at me, but he doesn’t get up from his chair.

I’m gasping for breath when I get to my room, but I still manage to shut my door quietly before leaning against it.

My eyes jump over the envelope.

Nathan Waller

323 Kendel Way

Cleveland, OH 44111

I checked it so many times when I wrote it, but I must’ve messed it up.

I press my ear to the door, making sure Dad didn’t decide to come upstairs to yell at me for running in the house, but I don’t hear anything.

I move to my bed and drop to my knees, digging the notebook out from between my mattress and box spring.

Setting it on the bed, I open the notebook and take out Nathan’s letter, then spread it open next to the envelope I just took out of the mailbox.

Word by word, I check that I copied it right.

I check it again.

And again.

I keep checking it, and my heart sinks deeper each time. Because I copied it right.

I copied it right, but it’s wrong.

That’s what undeliverable means. It means I don’t have Nathan’s real address.

I don’t have any way to contact him.

Struggling to breathe, I rip another page out of my notebook, carry it over to my small desk, and pick up my pen.

My hand is shaking so badly that it’s hard to read the words I write.

ROSIE

(AGE 19)

“And we’re here now with tonight’s fan favorite, wide receiver Nate Waller.”

I lift my gaze to the TV on the opposite wall.

The volume isn’t loud, but the hospital waiting room is quiet at this time of night.

I shove my hands under my thighs and watch as a man—I used to know as a boy—steps into frame.

His hair is darker now.

Darker yet with sweat. And it’s matted to his head, but he still looks incredibly handsome.

“I can only catch it if my quarterback throws it.” Nathan grins at the reporter, and I close my eyes.

I feel a smile try to tug at my mouth, but it doesn’t quite form.

How different our lives became.

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