You Don't Know..What you Don't Know

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Spring

Mackie and I settled comfortably into friendship.

The chemistry everyone else seemed convinced was there... simply wasn't.

Somewhere between laughing over terrible cafeteria food and teasing each other in the hallways, we'd become more like brother and sister than anything else. I may have nudged us in that direction on purpose, but Mackie never seemed disappointed. He appeared just as happy having a friend.

Honestly...

So was I.

Phillip kept his distance after the dance.

He stayed with Trish.

Maybe she'd always be a little high-maintenance, but she offered him something I couldn't—consistency. Right now, that was probably exactly what he needed.

As for me...

I wasn't ready to commit to anyone.

Not Phillip.

Not Randy.

Not Mackie.

Not anyone.

Torri and I texted less and less. Whenever we did talk, he sounded distracted. His new girlfriend apparently demanded most of his attention.

Steve claimed she was completely psycho.

I figured that was between the two of them.

Everyone had to make their own mistakes.

When I walked into the house that afternoon, a familiar envelope waited on the kitchen counter.

My heart skipped.

Randy.

Our last exchange had been... intense.

We'd spent pages debating what life would look like once he was released. He turned eighteen in July, and after that, juvenile detention would no longer be an option.

The thought terrified me.

I was only sixteen.

Helping someone rebuild a life after incarceration felt far bigger than anything I should know how to do.

Still...

I kept trying.

I carried the letter upstairs to the window seat that had quietly become my favorite place in the house.

I carefully unfolded the page.

Tia,

So I got some news and couldn't wait to tell you.

I got approved for a weekend pass.

I hope snail mail gets this to you before Friday. I'll text you from my sister's phone once I'm out. Hopefully she can drive me to see you.

Sorry this is so short. I'm trying to catch the mail carrier.

Love you,

Randy

I read the letter twice.

Then a third time.

It had been months since I'd seen him.

His original three-month sentence had stretched into something much longer. Every time I asked why, his answers changed.

Counseling.

Behavior.

Paperwork.

I eventually stopped asking.

Part of me knew he was protecting me from something.