Page 81 of Hate You, Maybe
And we plan to tell that to your boss.
Sorry we couldn’t be more helpful on that front. But maybe you’ll still feel like we were helpful in other ways. We think there’s been a positive change in both of you during your time here. Hopefully you will notice positive change, too.
On that note, we’d love for you to write back to us about your Camp Reboot experience. We hang these letters (the good ones, at least) in our office, like wallpaper, as a reminder of why we do what we do here.
To make things easy on you, we’re leaving paper and a couple of self-addressed stamped envelopes. Take your time. Only about half the people who come here write us back, so we’re used to that by now. Lol!
Fondly,
Bob and Hildy
PS: Thank you for understanding why we keep our marriage a secret.
We’ll do the same for you, rest assured. Not that you’re married.
Yet.
Well, look at that. As goofy as Hildy and Bob are, they sure do pay attention. And if they saw real change in both Sayla and me, who am I to disagree? Even Fern thinks we made progress, although I still can’t breathe into my toes.
Heh.
But besides that, they’re right about one thing: I’m not the same man I was when I showed up here Monday morning,and I think Sayla knows that, too. I hope she also sees I wasn’t the enemy she believed me to be in the first place.
At this point, I’ve got nothing more to prove to her and everything to gain from her trusting me going forward. At the very least, we can make sure the SACSS visitation goes smoothly. We owe that to Wilford. He’s a good man with the right intentions for our school. Sure, sending us here felt like a punishment at first, but maybe the guy had some idea of what he was doing after all.
From inside the cabin, water starts running in the bathroom. Then the shower goes on.
Sayla’s up.
I imagine her wild bedhead and her big, sleepy eyes and her kiss-swollen mouth. The picture is way too tempting. And I should give her a last bit of privacy anyway. So I leave the folders from Bob and Hildy on her bed and head out to load up the Buick. We still have the hour-long ride home. We can talk then. In the meantime, I’ve got to stop thinking about kissing her.
Yeah, good luck with that, man.
An hour later, I cast a quick glance at the passenger seat. We’ve been driving for a while now, and Sayla has yet to say a word. She’s busy gnawing on her lip. Picking at her cuticles. So I return my focus to the road. I happen to know it’s easier to talk about hard things without making eye contact. My mom and dad used that tactic on us kids all the time.
Get us in the car. Get us talking.
“You all right?” I ask.
She shifts in her seat, and I can feel her eyes boring into me. “I was just thinking about Bob and Hildy’s note,” shesays. “Do you really think they won’t say anything to Wilford about us … being a couple?”
“I think they’ve got a vested interest in keeping quiet,” I say. “Plus I think they genuinely liked us. Then there’s the fact that we aren’t. A couple, I mean.”
“Exactly.” From my peripheral vision, I can tell she’s nodding. “Nota couple.”
“If I’m being honest, though”—I hitch my shoulders—“I don’t really care what anyone else thinks about us. Or about me. As long as I know the truth.”
“Yeah, same,” she says. More nodding. “I don’t care what other people think about me either.”
“Heh.” I let out an amused breath.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face.” I eye her sideways. “You care about other people’s opinions more than anyone else I’ve ever met.”
“You really think so?” Her brow creases. “Wait. I just proved your point, didn’t I?”
“That’s not a bad thing,” I tell her. “I like that about you.”
