Letters to Hank

Chapter Thirteen

The sky became dyed with every shade of red and purple on the spectrum. Rose and Scout sat on the tailgate of his truck, frozen custard in hand. Ted Drews was always busy in Saint Louis, especially Friday nights in June. Tonight was no different. People bustled around, kids ran and played, cars sped by. The yellow lights overhead flickered on as the first stars made their nightly appearance.

Scout shoveled a spoonful of turtle custard into his mouth. "Have you decided on a major yet?"

Rose smashed her desert deeper into her cup, her stomach dropping. "I haven't settled on anything. I'm thinking psychology, but I don't know if I want any career in that field."

He grinned. "That'd be good for you."

"I guess."

Scout wrapped an arm around Rose and pulled her close. "You have the rest of your life to figure out what you want to do."

Rose shrugged and took a bite.

"What's on your mind? You're ever this quiet."

"I don't know." She forced a laugh though they both knew it wasn't genuine.

"Come on, Rose. I know you better than that." He took his arm back and piled in more custard. "Something is bothering you. Is it Hank and Hazel again?"

Rose ran her fingers over her spoon. "I'll never know who they were."

"Maybe that's a good thing." He swung his feet back and forth like a child on a swing. "You know something, Rose? You'd make a good detective." He nudged her with his elbow, a grin curling his lips upwards.

She couldn't help but giggle. That was Scout—someone who could always crack a bad joke to lighten the mood. That was one thing she loved about him. He never did fail to make her smile. "I think I missed my calling."

"Nah, you didn't miss anything. A simple change in major and you'll be teaming up with the FBI to solve all the mysteries you could ever dream of."

Rose's smile didn't disappear no matter how hard she tried to wipe it off. His humor came quicker than a raging river and it swept over her, drowning her in satire. She studied him carefully as he looked out among the sea of people. His chestnut hair tousled in the wind, his jawline was chiseled, and his lips were perfectly full.

The thought of leaving him behind for college made her stomach sink.

"Scout?"

He glanced over at her, completely relaxed in her presence. "Rose?"

She wanted to say so much, yet didn't know how to say any of it. She choked on her frozen custard and looked away. "Do you really think Hank died when Hazel did?" She cringed inside. She didn't want to think about the postcards right now. All she wanted was to forget about them once and for all and move on with her life even though she didn't know where she was going.

Scout gazed out at the crowd again and tapped his spoon on the rim of his plastic cup. He shrugged. "I don't know. No one seems to."

Rose, her eyes to the ground, chewed the inside of her cheek. "I think you're right."

"About what?"

"That this isn't my story to solve."

He smiled and pulled one knee to his chest. "You're pretty brave, though. I don't know of anyone else that would fly halfway across the country to find someone you've never actually met."

She laughed once, recalling the answerless interaction with Heidi. "That was a good trip. Exhausting, but fun."

Scout leaned closer and replaced his arm over her shoulders. "There's no one I'd rather be solving mysteries with other than you." Ever so gently, he kissed her temple, his breath mingling with her hair.

"I wouldn't ask anyone else to help me." She grinned, her cheeks growing hot.

"Maybe you ought to fill in the gaps yourself."

"What gaps?"

Scout took a bite and stuffed the frozen custard into his cheek. "Who was Hank to you?"

She thought for a moment, glancing up at the dim glow of the string lights above that cast dark shadows on everyone's faces. "A war veteran that stayed home while his sister traveled."

"No, no." Scout shook his head. "That's who he actually was. Who is he to you?"

Rose simply stared up at him, her brows furrowed.

"What if he was living this secret, double life. Maybe he made his wife think he died, only to go live with Hazel?"

"You're making things up."

"That's the point, Rose." Setting his empty ice cream cup aside, he lay on his back, his hands behind his head. "Fill in the gaps yourself. Figure out who he could have been rather than exactly who he was. It could be a story with a thousand endings."

Rose pulled her feet up to the tailgate and shifted, her back against the side of the truck bed. They were both quiet for a long moment, looking up at the stars and listening to the commotion around them. Couples laughed, kids rattled off what kind of custard they wanted, engines revved, crickets chirped in the trees. Despite the bustle of it all, Rose closed her eyes, breathed in the summer air, and allowed the scene to soak in. The breeze tickled her legs, the warm air kissed her gently, and the world was a soundtrack to accompany her.

"If I could choose one moment to live in for the rest of my life, it'd be this one right here," she said softly.

Scout grinned. "It's not too bad of a night."

After saying nothing for several more minutes, Rose finally said, "Maybe Hank had two identities and lived a secret life." She couldn't say the line with a straight face. Scout was rubbing off on her—the sarcasm, the imagination, the impossibility of it actually being true. She giggled at how much she sounded like him.

Scout bolted upright, his eyes wide. "Now we're talking," he laughed.

They bantered back and forth about who Hank might have been, who Hazel could be, how they ended up with different stories. It all ended, though, when Rose's phone buzzed from her back pocket.

My father said he'd like to meet with you two, if possible, Anne said through Facebook.

Rose's heart stopped. All the impossible things, the story with a thousand endings, came to a close with one, simple message.

"You look like a ghost," Scout muttered. "Who is it? What happened?"

Rose shook her head. "Anne said her father wants to see us."

"Oh."

The very son of Hazel Kroyer, the nephew of Hank Gordon, wanted to meet Rose. Shivers ran down her spine.

This is it, she thought to herself. The true ending.

"I'm scared, Scout."

"Of what?"

"Of finding out." She bit at her thumbnail, her eyes wide. The night breeze no longer was an embrace but a cold slap on her arms.

Scout jumped out of the truck bed and tossed his and Rose's empty cups into the garbage. "This is what you hoped for, wasn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

Scout gripped her hands and pulled her down to the ground. "You made me promise that I wouldn't back out or give up." He slammed the tailgate shut. In the shadow of the lights, Rose noticed a smirk growing on his face. "I'm not letting you quit now, either."