Page 54 of Benson
He brought the cards inside, cleared the long dining table, and set out his favorite pens. Della peeked in from the kitchen, eyebrows raised.
“You’re really going to write to all of them?”
Benson nodded, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “They took the time. I want to take the time too.”
The first note was simple:
Thank you for your kind words. Wishing you peace, warmth, and joy in the new year.
He signed it with care: —Benson McCoy.
Then another.
Your card meant more than you know. Happy New Year to you and your family.
And another.
I’m grateful for your kindness. May the coming year bring you comfort and hope.
Hours passed. The coffee went untouched. The silence was filled with the scratch of pen on paper and the quiet rhythm of gratitude. Benson didn’t rush. He read each card again before replying, letting the words settle into him. He realized howimportant it was for him to return home and help so many people, but it hurt so much to leave Kyle.
By midnight, he had written dozens. His hand ached, but his heart felt steadier than it had in days.
Kyle hadn’t called. The silence still lingered. But tonight, Benson wasn’t waiting. He was giving. Reaching. Building something that mattered.
And in that quiet, surrounded by envelopes and ink and the soft hum of Della’s presence nearby, Benson felt a flicker of hope—small, but real.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kyle
Newport Beach, California
The sun hung low over the Pacific, casting golden light across the waves as Kyle and Juan walked barefoot down to the beach. Kyle carried two towels slung over his shoulder and Juan had a speaker tucked under his arm, already queuing up music that pulsed with summer energy. The water was warm, thebreeze soft, and for a moment, Kyle let himself believe he could outrun the ache in his chest.
They swam for a while, diving through the surf, laughing as the waves knocked them off balance. Juan was lighthearted, easy to be around, and Kyle was grateful for that. But even in the laughter, the constant ache lingered.
After a while, they sat on the sand, towels wrapped around their shoulders, watching the tide roll in.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I met someone on my way to California,” Kyle said suddenly, voice low.
Juan looked over, curious but gentle. “And?”
Kyle nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. “He drove a truck. Delivered presents all over. I was hitchhiking in the snow in New York, and he picked me up. We drove across the country together.”
Juan didn’t interrupt. He just listened.
“His name’s Benson,” Kyle continued. “He lives in Michigan. He couldn’t move here. And I wasn’t ready to leave California. I wanted to give this place a chance. I thought I needed it.”
He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I sent him an ‘I love you’ text. He never answered.”
Juan’s expression softened. “That’s rough.”
Kyle nodded, the words catching in his chest. “I miss him. More than I thought I would. More than I know how to carry.”
Juan leaned back on his elbows. “You ever think maybe he didn’t know what to say?”
