Page 41 of The Christmas Letters
Despite my hesitations, my rash judgments, my stupid certainty that we would never work out, if Tess is the woman writing me letters, I’m in. Unequivocally.
“The toy drive sounds amazing,” I say, recognizing that I have to respond to the conversation I’m having in person and not just the one happening inside my head. But I can’t keep myself from asking, “So how long has the Southern Society been doing the Santa letters thing?”
“I don’t know,” Tess says. “The box of letters looks like it’s been around for decades, so probably a long time.”
“And it’s only one person who answers them? Only you?”
Tess furrows her brow, a completely understandable reaction since my questions are pointed and weird. “As far as I know,” she slowly answers. “I’m the only one doing it now, but I get the impression the box has been passed around a lot. Apparently, I was the third person they gave the job to this year and the only one gullible enough to keep it.”
“I wouldn’t say gullible,” I say. “I would say generous. You’ve done an amazing job. And clearly turned the whole thing into something even better.”
Tess smiles at my praise, a hint of color filling her cheeks. “Thanks. That means a lot.” She points up ahead. “Right here. Take the next right.”
I focus on the road, using the slight break in our conversation to catalog what I know.
If I’m understanding Tess correctly, two other womenmighthave had the letters before they wound up with Tess. One of them could have pulled out my letter before passing the rest along. But what are the odds of that happening? Tess is in charge of the letters. It makes the most sense that she would be the one who responded to mine.
But is that just wishful thinking?
I could just ask her. Come right and say,Hey, did you happen to find a really old letter in the box this year?But asking would immediately reveal my identity, and that thought makes me hesitate.
There are definitely some details that fit though. Everything my pen pal told me about wanting a new life, starting over after losing the life shethoughtshe had…that fits with Tess making her own way after bailing on her fancy society wedding. She also talked about finding peace at the beach, and I ran into Tess out on Sullivan’s Island. It really could be her.
Would Tess be disappointed to learn I’m on the other end of her letters? After I judged her so unfairly, would she even want to pursue something? Would I? I meant it when I said I didn’t want to walk the same path I did with Daisy. Idothink I was wrong about Tess, but—
“It’s the second driveway on the right,” Tess says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I nod and turn the truck onto the winding drive, listening as Tess calls Mrs. Greenly to get the garage code we need to retrieve all the gift-wrapping supplies.
I stop the truck in front of an enormous three-car garage. The Greenlys’ house sits off to the left, looking like it belongs in a magazine highlighting Southern, plantation-style estates.
“Wow,” I say, followed by a low whistle. “This is some house.”
“She says everything is in that third garage bay,” Tess says, ignoring my comment. She’s probably a lot more used to houses like this than I am. “Want to back up to it?”
“Sure thing.” I swing the truck around and shift into park, then follow Tess as she climbs out and approaches the garage. She types a code into a keypad just outside the door and it slides up, revealing an enormous pile of wrapping paper and boxes of gift bags.
“Guess this is what we’re here for. Should we load it up?”
Tess nods. “Let’s do it.”
I step forward, hesitating when a loud crash sounds just beyond the gift wrap. A cat darts out of the garage like it’s escaping a cell at a high-security prison and disappears into the darkness. “Um, you think that cat was supposed to get out?”
Tess follows my gaze. “I don’t know. Let me ask really quick…”
She pulls out her phone, her face shifting into a grimace as she reads the screen. “Uh-oh,” she says, her voice low. “I missed a text from Mrs. Greenly.”
She walks toward me and turns the screen around so I can read it.
“Whatever you do, don’t let the cat get out of the garage,” I read aloud.
I lift my gaze to meet Tess’s. “Oops.”
“What are we going to do now?” she asks.
I chuckle. “I guess we’re going to search for a cat.”
“This is totally ridiculous. We don’t have time for this. I don’t evenlikecats.”
