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I take the basket full of letters back home with me.
I don't speak to either of the Parkers as I walk back down the stairs and out the door. In a strange way, I think they understand.
I leave the basket inside the car, knowing that if I bring it back to my mother's house, those letters will no longer be private. No longer for my eyes only. I hate to think that her parents have already read them, though they have a right to. And what right do I have? It was a marvel her parents let me see them at all. Would Sam have wanted this?
My throat constricts as I remember that first letter. For Henry.
Was it really for me? When had she planned on giving it to me, if she'd ever planned it at all? Why didn't she give it to me that final day we met?
As I anticipated, my mother and Emma are waiting up for me by the kitchen table. They ask me questions and I keep my answers vague, even chipper.
While we're in bed, Emma rolls over to face me and for the first time since I met her twenty years ago, I feel like I'm looking into the face of a stranger. She seems to sense this unusual unfamiliarity between us and reaches for my hand under the sheets. I let her hold me, but my fingers stay limp and unresponsive.
"You okay?" she whispers. I can't stand to look at her while I lie through my teeth.
"Fine, hon. Get to sleep now," I mumble, letting go of her hand as I turn to face the other way.
✉ ✉ ✉ ✉ ✉
I dream about her that night.
I know it's her because it starts with the sunny nail polish glinting on her toes. She moves closer to me, looping one leg over mine, and I can feel the scratchy denim of her bell-bottom jeans on my bare thigh. It's oddly erotic.
"Henry," she whispers into my mouth, and her strawberry-mint breath cools the sweat above my lips. Am I nervous? I shouldn't be. I've kissed plenty of girls before. What makes Samantha so different?
My body seems to react intuitively to her voice and suddenly my hands are on her shoulders, my lips on hers - she looks so pretty in that white button-down shirt. She's left the top three buttons open, I notice, as I reach over to take it off. And it's one of those shirts that are see-through, though she's wearing a white vest to match underneath. It's not Sam's usual style but it suits her.
"Y-you look nice," I stammer and when she giggles, kissing the tip of my nose before going back to my lips, I remind myself never to say anything aloud when I'm in the middle of sex, ever again.
