Skipping Stones - COMPLETE

Chapter 23

THE DOORBELL RINGS, startling me. The front door has a distinct sound, much different from the back. It's been ringing a lot the past few days. People who don't know us well use the front door: the postman, the florists, UPS, etc. Friends and family always come to the back door.

It's late, though. So I furrow my brows as I walk to the door trying to figure out who it might be. I peek through the curtains, and I don't see anyone. There are no cars parked on the street. I never felt scared in this house when Papa was here. Even though there had been a break-in when I was really young, I had always felt like I was safe.

Now that he's gone, it feels empty and scary here. It's something I'm definitely going to have to adjust to in the future. Grabbing the key hidden under the candy jar, I use it to unlock the deadbolt. When I open the door, the only thing in front of me is a stack of envelopes sitting on the mat.

When I pick them up, I notice the name in the corner is Stone Wilder, so I immediately know they are from him. They are wrapped in twine. They have dates on them, but no postmarks.

Pushing the door closed, I lock it and replace the key under the candy jar. Then walking back to my room, I contemplate whether or not I want to open this proverbial can of worms tonight. My body is so tired, emotionally and physically. The only thing appealing to me is sleep because when I'm sleeping, the pain from all that I've lost doesn't cut through me like a knife.

Then I sit on my bed. Strumming my fingers across his writing sends a spark of electricity through me. Bringing them to my nose, I inhale a trace of what I've come to recognize as his cologne. It smells divine. He sent me letters. Granted fifteen years too late, but he sent me letters. He came back for me. I've been so mean. So cold.

Once more, I trace my fingers across the writing. Stone Wilder. Will I ever get used to seeing or hearing that name? I shake my head. He lied to me, though. I didn't even know his real name. Will I ever be able to trust him when I barely knew him?

Dropping them, I collapse backwards onto my bed hugging the body pillow, and close my eyes to recall all the memories. Remembering the times I begged God to bring him back. I swore that if he'd just send him to me again, I'd give him my heart forever. Who am I kidding? I gave him my heart in a month and never got it back. He took it when he left.

This is why when I tried relationships they never worked. It was because no one could or can ever live up to what he was to me, to how he was with me. Memaw and Papa used to tell me that there were so many fish in the sea, that we were young, and it was first love, first heartbreak. For so many fish in the sea, it's funny how he's the only one I've ever wanted. Perhaps it's the grass being greener on the other side? Or maybe it's that he's the one person that was meant for me, and because fate and luck hate me, I was only allowed to have him for a brief period of time?

Then I realize that maybe it was only a brief period of time to make me fully appreciate forever, for the rest of our lives. Face it, fifteen years apart is a long time. I've wondered about him, wanted him. I curse myself for sending him away. The prospect of losing him with no closure for a second, well, really a third if we count the time he saved me in Afghanistan, is more than I can fathom. It literally is an extreme that my mind refuses to accept.

Springing from my bed, I grab the letters knowing they have to be read. They were obviously important enough for him to send them. He came for me. I'm being absolutely ridiculous. Having him back is an answered prayer, even if it's not in my timing.

It startles me when I nearly run into Memaw, her hair in her little fabric hair net. "Oh, sorry," I laugh.

"You look happy," she smiles.