Page 46 of Dear Rosie

And it did. It sucked. It was hard for my twelve-year-old self to face.

But her reaction was… bad.

I’d forgotten about it. Somehow pushed it out of my brain. But I remember her crying.

Sobbing.

And I remember that she’d said something about her dad that made me believe he might be hurting her.

My stomach twists.

Please let that not be true.

He was there when I tried to see her one last time. And even in my distant memory, I remember him being scary.

I think of thoseless than legalpeople I know and wonder if we need to go fuck up his life. Some belated justice for scaring young Rosie.

I inhale deeply.

That same night, I wrote Rosie a letter. Left it at our spot in the woods, under that bag of marshmallows. But I never heard back from her. And I have to wonder if she even got the letter.

She might have gotten it and chosen not to write. But it’s just as likely a squirrel took off with the bag of marshmallows, and the letter disappeared into the woods.

Leaning closer to the glass, I watch Rosie tip her face back, like she’s soaking in the sun.

Since the pantry, I’ve thought about that first moment when Rosie opened the door.

Over and over, I’ve replayed it.

Her nervousness.

How quiet she was.

That constant shimmer of tears.

How I offered her a fucking signature because I thought she was an overwhelmed fan.

I rock back on my heels.

I’d say I owe her an apology for that. But considering Rosie let me finger her without telling me who she really was… I think we’re even.

With that in mind, I step away from the windows.

Time to go check in with my caterer before the picnic starts.

TWENTY-SIX

ROSALYN

“Looks good,” I tell Presley.

“Thanks.” She flicks a rogue ice cube back into the cooling tray. “I think just the desserts are left to get outta the van. I’ll get it if you’ll organize the spring rolls.”

“Deal.” I nod.

After discussing the menu with Blake, we agreed cold food was the easiest for logistics and the most refreshing with the warm summer weather.

And even in the heat, hauling ice around in our wagon is still easier than setting up grills and warming pans.

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