Letters From A Stranger |COMPLETE|

Part 7

The ride: about an hour to reach his home. I fall asleep in the car after he tells me I can recline the seat. Using his coat as my blanket I bunch up even more.

A nudge: what wakes me. I'm a fairly light sleeper, so the littlest thing will jolt me awake. "Haley, we're here." His voice is smooth and tender. He has my bag around his shoulder already and his hand out to help me out of the car. My eyes are sleepy as well as my legs, but I take his hand and let him pull me out. The air bites.

The sky: dark and cloudy. The moon is hazy, the light from it blocked by thick clouds. I don't get a great glimpse of his home, but I do recognize that it's made of stone. And it's massive. The porch is dimly lit, illuminating brick steps up to white French doors, which are edged with more stone. I see a latch next to the doorbell and realize it holds a keypad.

Security: his explanation. He punches in a four digit number and I hear a click, unlocking the front doors. I'm too exhausted to allow my mouth to drop, so I pretend to not act absolutely stunned. He swings open the doors simultaneously, welcoming me inside. A light automatically fades in, lighting up the foyer. I step onto a white marble floor and glance around at the immense space clearly not even utilized to its full potential. It holds a double grand staircase and an accent table with some decorative plants on it. A massive crystal chandelier floats in the center of the celling. The room is gorgeous and emits quite the first impression - money.

A sigh: what emerges from Carson's throat as he observes my expression. I try my best to put on a poker face, but who knows how I appear. What I do see immediately though, is how perfectly Carson fits in here and how horribly off I am. I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.

A ring: breaks up the quiet. It's coming from the cellphone in his pocket. He has one of the new ones I've seen advertised on TV. Figures. He glances at the caller ID and makes a sound. "I have to get this. Excuse me, sorry." He taps a button on the screen and holds it up to his ear. "Hey what's up?"

A girl: the voice on the other line. It sounds too young to be his mother, so I conclude that it's his girlfriend. I can hear her clear in the silent house. "Where are you? Aren't you coming to Tommy's?" She asks him.

His reply: "I told you I wasn't going to be able to make it. I can't tonight."

The mood: shifting. Her tone intensifies. "Are you home? Maybe I can just drive over and we can spend the night together. You still have an empty house till Sunday, right? It could be fun." She sounds like a real catch.

Carson's response: "I'm busy. Later, babe, okay? I have to go. I'll talk to you later." He ends the call and moves toward the staircase. "Sorry. That was-"

I interrupt: "I know."

His expression: borderline embarrassed, but he doesn't have a viable reason to be. There's nothing wrong with talking to his girlfriend. Just because I'm here, doesn't mean he has to pretend she doesn't exist. "Empty house till Sunday...lucky you." I comment, unable to imagine being alone for two hours, let alone two whole days. I couldn't begin to fathom the freedom.

The railing: where his hand lands, urging me to follow his lead, I presume. So I come close behind and he begins up the steps, me in his wake. I scan the wall full of pictures, searching for pictures of family memories. Ones I'll never have. As I look at them, I recall him telling me he has a younger brother, so I decide to bring him up.

His location: what I am most interested in. If there's an empty house until Sunday, where is he? "That's Sam. He's staying with his friend for the weekend. My parents are out on business. My father is in Europe and my mother is in New York."

Sam: very adorable. He has blonde hair like Carson's but with little curls and a happy smile from what it seems. By the looks of it, he plays a lot of soccer. Carson, on the other hand, is a football guy.