Summer 1995

Author's Note: There are grammatical and punctuation errors in the correspondence portions of this chapter that are intentional, dear readers, reflecting the maturity level and mood of the seventeen-year-old pen friends. They are entirely my own fault and not that of the lovely admins here at TPP.

Chapter 18: Summer 1995

Age 17

27 June, 1995

George

This couldn't be happening. She must have misunderstood. She read it again.

He's not coming home.

The letter he had sent her last month, giving her hope that maybe they might have a chance to....

He's not coming home.

She had mentally worked for weeks, building up her self-confidence. She had played out innumerable scenarios in her head, planned a hundred ways how she would get him to realize they might be more than....

He's not coming home.

What was the point anymore? Why bother with summer? She wanted to punch the sun for shining so warmly.

He's not coming home.

She started to run. She didn't know if she could ever stop.

That night, Annie cried herself to sleep for the first time in over a decade.

1 July, 1995

Annie

It had been a difficult three days, to be sure. She had frightened her Gran when she got back to the house that first evening. To be honest, she had frightened herself: she'd had absolutely no idea where she had been during the three hours she spent running after reading The Horrible Letter. That night had been the longest of her life.

After she woke up the following morning, she began to feel disgusted with herself and her pathetic behavior. It was ridiculous to put so much store on seeing the boys each summer, she told herself. It wasn't healthy. And it was high time to find something else to occupy her mind, to break the obsessive hold spending summers with them apparently had on her.

After all, there had been no guarantees it would have had a happy outcome even if they had come back, had there? She might have misinterpreted the letters of earlier in the spring, of course. George might have come home only to decide to make it clear he was not interested in her in that way.

She sucked in her breath in response to the stab of visceral pain that latest thought had delivered. Maybe she wasn't quite ready for that degree of self-flagellation.

20 July, 1995

Annie

This wasn't getting any easier. The opposite was true, in fact. Time was proving completely ineffectual at relieving her heartache.

"Do you mind?" she snapped at the couple pawing each other in front of her. "I do have other tables, so if you're not going to order anything...."

"Annie?" came a voice from behind her.

Ah, shit. She shot a parting glare at the offensive couple.

How dare they look so stricken? she fumed as she marched over to the counter. She stared insolently at her "manager," who was a dork and had only been a year ahead of her at school, confident she could handle whatever he had to dish out.

"Erm, Annie? You seem a bit... tired. It's not very busy, so why don't you go home?" he tentatively ordered her.

"I'd rather finish the shift if you don't mind. I need the money," she snapped.

It was a lie. She needed distraction, not money. What was there to spend it on? The idea of going anywhere fun was laughable. No place was fun anymore.

"Well, I wouldn't count on a tip from them, that's for sure. And you can't keep working so many hours. I can't let you have any more overtime. That's from the owner, not me," he dodged.

"Whatever," she sneered. She took off her apron and tossed it on the counter. She glared once more at the couple who glared right back at her as she walked out the door.

Maybe I'll feel better on the way home, she thought with little hope as she stretched her legs for a moment then began to jog. She never drove the truck anymore, preferring to run wherever she had to go.

A reliable distraction, running. Something in this world she could count on.

1 August, 1995

Annie

What more was there to say? She couldn't bring herself to write about the panic she'd felt, listening to her Gran gasping for breath last night. The horrid wheezing sound brought tears to her eyes just thinking about it.

She had lost her grip on reality, before. Yes, she had been depressed without the twins, perhaps even behaved a bit sullenly. Okay, she had been wallowing in it, if she was being truly honest with herself.

But this was different, now. Gran was threatened. She felt utterly terrified by the thought of losing her Gran: her life, her family, the only person she had left to her in the world.

Annie said another little silent prayer, just like the hundred others she had muttered over the past day.

Please God, don't take her. I'm sorry. For everything. I promise to stop being such a little shit. Just let me keep her, please.

10 August, 1995

Annie

Annie had been stuck in the hospital now for ten days straight, but it felt like far longer. She had spent almost every minute of those days watching her Gran lie in a bed, feebly trying to breathe, wasting before her eyes. She had never looked old to Annie before. But now Gran was frail, ancient, so very awfully fragile-looking.

Annie hadn't had the luxury of running, or working, or any other distraction for a while now. The only difference was that she didn't feel such a strong need for them anymore. She still thought of Fred and George often, still worried about their well-being. Especially George: she still felt the same ache of longing for him in particular. But it seemed more manageable now, somehow. Put in better perspective, at least.

For nothing in the world mattered more than Gran. There was no place else Annie would rather be than right here at her side, doing whatever she could to cheer her, to help her get better. She was ashamed it had taken such a crisis to open her eyes to the truth.

25 August, 1995

Annie

Annie fixed the letter to Errol's leg and watched him fly precariously northward once more.