Page 133 of One More Heartbeat
I straighten, wave bye to her, and walk to the house as I check through the stack of mail. Nothing exciting. And no letters from Annie Wilkes 3.0.
Two others have also shown up at my house following the first one a month and a half ago. I handed each letter over to the police.
I flip to the last envelope. My name and address are handwritten on the front. I don’t recognize the return address. The only thing I do recognize is the town it came from.
Cooper’s hometown.
The one his family moved to following his death.
The handwriting doesn’t look familiar. It might have been a while since I last saw his wife’s writing, but this isn’t it. Her handwriting is unmistakably feminine, the letters smaller and neater.
I carry the mail into my office, toss the rest of the stack onto my desk, and open the last envelope. I put on my reading glasses and remove the single sheet of lined paper.
Garrett,
You sit there in your fancy house, making more money than you could ever need because of those shit books you write.
Okay, not a fan of my stuff. I should toss the letter into the recycle bin, but something compels me to keep reading. Stupidity, perhaps?
It’s obvious you don’t give a crap about the people you’ve hurt. The people who cared about you when they shouldn’t have bothered. It should have been you who died that day in Afghanistan. My brother should have been the one who came home.
You don’t even care what you did to his family. Cassie struggles every day with the loss of the man she loved and still loves. Their kids still struggle every day, waiting for their mother to be the next one who disappears from their lives. All because of you.
You know what pisses me off most? That you never did time for your gross negligence. There was no punishment for your crime against my brother, against the woman he loved.
I hope you burn in hell when it’s your time to leave this world.
Cooper’s brother didn’t bother to sign it, but I can picture in my mind the man who wrote the letter. Austin. Cooper’s younger brother.
Shit, how did he even know what went down when his brother died? He’s right, there was no trial. I didn’t do anything wrong—other than not listen to my gut. Ultimately, it was the enemy who ended Clarke’s and Cooper’s lives with the booby trap that Cooper accidentally triggered.But you were there. And now, you’re here—and they’re dead.
My gut churns. The familiar sickening feeling of guilt resurfaces, and too much saliva coats my mouth.Why did it have to end that way?
I swallow back the pain and pull open my desk drawer. I shove the letter inside, remove my glasses, and rub my weary eyes.
Fuck.How do I make up for what I’ve cost their families? I reached out to their wives after I returned stateside, but at the time neither wanted to talk to me, caught up in their own grief. Instead of trying again later on, I clung to my guilt, letting it fester deep beneath the surface.
Guilt that flared up once more after Peony showed up, motherless, on my front stoop.
48
ZARA
Garret: Have to cancel tonight. Sorry.
Sitting on the staff-room couch,I reread the text he sent me this morning.
Then I reread the five other identical texts he had sent me, starting the day after we returned to Maple Ridge from Alabama.
He was so devastated at the loss of his friend, he couldn’t even sit through the service. And the way he fucked me afterward—hard, desperate, a quiet anger hovering at the edge—further confirmed his devastation.
On top of that, he’s drowning in stress from his rapidly approaching deadline. A deadline that might be more manageable if not for Wilderness Warriors, Peony, and Garrett’s unofficial role in my treatment plan.
It’s no wonder he’s been canceling.
My chronic medical condition and I are a burden to the man I love. Just as I feared we would be.
Another text pings on my phone.
