The Rockmore House

42 | Forever

Pete turned his back to me and studied the wood shelves displaying my collection of desk toys while I stewed in silent aggravation over his answer to my question. The thing that bothered me the most was that I knew he was right. Why should I care what he- or anyone- thought about what I decided to do with my life? Why did I crave the approval of my family and friends so much? Maybe because it was somehow easier than not caring, knowing I had their support and that no one was waiting for me to fail, so they could say "I told you so."

"What's all this?" Pete asked.

"Desk toys. I collect them."

He picked up the Jacob's ladder and watched the wooden blocks flip downward as he moved the top one back and forth. Then he set it back on its shelf.

"When you have a handheld computer that does everything, these must seem old-fashioned."

"Not old fashioned," I said. "Timeless." And I felt myself blush.

He looked at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to work out and I didn't understand why. I'd divulged everything at that point and felt about as mysterious as a goldfish swimming around in a bowl. When he kissed me the night before, I kissed him back. I'd explained that Eric was only a friend. I'd bared my soul in the letter I gave him.

"Did you read the letter I gave you?" I asked.

"I didn't."

"Oh. I guess you didn't get a chance before the fire."

"The letter might've caused the fire," he said, cringing.

"You burned it?" He was obviously not happy to see me that night, but burning my letter seemed especially bitter and vicious.

"I thought it was for the best, at the time." He took a flat plastic case filled with colored sand from a shelf and tipped it, focusing on the layers of sand swirling together as he explained. "When you were about to leave that night, I realized I didn't want you to go after all. I thought you'd have to ask me to open the door for you. So I figured I had some more time to come up with an apology or explain somehow, but you went ahead and opened the door yourself. And then you were gone and I thought I'd never see you again." He replaced the sandscape on the shelf, but he still wouldn't look at me. "I thought about it for a while, and then I decided that reading it wouldn't do me any good at that point, so I threw it in the wood stove."

"I'd probably be dying of embarrassment if you'd read it, anyway."

"I regretted it. Right away. As soon as I saw it catch fire I tried to pull it back out, but it was too late. That's probably how the fire started. I was pretty far gone by then, trying to pull burning paper out of the stove with fireplace tongs. What did it say?"

"Nothing, really."

He did not look convinced. "You wrote me pages and pages of nothing? And thought all of that nothing was important enough to bring to me, hours away from home, in the middle of the night?"

"I didn't find you just to give you the letter."

"I know. You found me to convince me to go back to my old life, so you wouldn't feel guilty anymore."

"That's not it. I didn't want you to feel guilty and punish yourself for something you didn't do. And I brought the letter in case you couldn't see me."

"Why wouldn't I be able to see you?"

"Sometimes people in the past can see me, sometimes they can't. Remember?"

"So, what did it say?" he asked again.

"A lot of stupid stuff. Some things I already told you about how I didn't understand yet what happened with Grace. I asked a lot of questions even though I knew they weren't going to get answered. About your life and what you were up to. But the basic idea was that I missed you."