Page 10 of Dear Rosie

And with shaking hands, I unfold the paper and flatten it on the log.

Dear Rosie,

I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you. I knew it would suck, and I didn’t want to make you sad. But now we’re both sad, and I didn’t get to tell you goodbye.

I don’t want to leave you.

If your dad

If you ever don’t feel safe, call someone.

I don’t know what our phone number will be yet, but maybe you can write to me?

Our new address is:

323 Kendel Way

Cleveland, OH 44111

Your friend,

Nathan

I crouch at the top of the stairs, waiting for Dad to leave.

He doesn’t leave the house much, just to go get food and beer.

He left once last week, but it was the day after Nathan moved, and I didn’t know how long it would take them to get to Ohio. So I decided to wait.

But it’s been two weeks since he left, and I think that’s enough time for Nathan to get to his new house.

The front door slams, and I wait a handful of long seconds before I scurry down the staircase.

The sound of an engine starting signals the next step, and I hook just one finger around the edge of the living room curtains to peek out.

Dad’s pickup is backing down the driveway.

That foreign sense of safety fills the house with his absence.

If you don’t feel safe, call someone.

I reread that sentence so many times.

Call who?

His truck disappears out of view, and I turn to look at the clock on the wall in the kitchen.

Once two minutes go by, I open the door.

If Dad caught me doing this… I don’t know what would happen.

The letter itself is bad enough, but using Mom’s envelopes and stamps, even though they’ve just been sitting in her nightstand since she died? He might actually kill me for touching them.

But staying in contact with Nathan is worth the risk.

With my pulse beating wildly, I run across the yard and sidewalk to our mailbox.

I open the door and slip the envelope inside, then lift the little metal flag on the side of the box.

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