Their Last Summer

The Letter (2023)

"Did you check the mail honey?" my mom asks, taking her famous lasagna out the oven.

"No, I thought dad would bring it in when he got home", I admit.

"I don't think he'll be back before it gets dark, and I was expecting something."

"I'll head out now and check it", I say, sliding off the bright red stools I've always hated so much.

When I open the door I can already tell the "something" my mom was expecting is waiting in the mailbox. The lid is cracked a little and some white plastic is hanging out, as I get closer it's just what I thought, another package. I swear she's gotten something everyday since I've been home from college, which has only been a week, but still.

I open the lid and collect the package along with a few other things. I go through the stack. Light bill, grocery store coupons, an insurance letter, and... a white envelope with my name? I haven't gotten mail here since I accidentally ordered my new camera ,the first week of college, and had forgotten to change my address. It took two weeks before my mom could ship it to me. I learned then to always check which address things were being shipped to, but this isn't a package. Maybe a relative sent it? I look around for a return address, a stamp, anything, but there's only my name, Henry Dawton, in big blocky letters.

I decide to wait and open it until I'm inside. Something about being out in the open, while the sun was setting, and having a strange letter in my hands was unsettling. I turn and walk back up the driveway. Once inside, I hand my mom her package, and set all the other mail on the counter (besides my letter).

My mom's face lights up, "It did come in. I've been waiting all week to know what happened to that darn detective."

She must be talking about her newest book. I smile back at her and sit down at the already made table, "Are we waiting for dad?"

The smile fades from her face, "We wouldn't want the food getting cold, now would we?"

"No, I guess not."

When my mom and I have our plates I can't stop myself before saying, "nothing much has changed then, huh?"

My mother gives me a sympathetic look, "no, not much dear."

Why is she the one giving me a sympathetic look? She married him. I'm at college, surrounded by friends, but she's here alone every night. I should be the one giving her a sympathetic look, but I can't. No matter how hard I try to deny it, my dad not being here to eat with us is disappointing. I force myself to pick up my fork and keep eating, the envelope weighing heavily in my pocket.

Once supper is over I put my plate in the sink and head back to my room. My door barely shuts before I'm pulling the envelope out. I stare at my name one last time before opening it. I go fast at first, but I notice my speed lessens. What could this be? Maybe it is just a card. Why am I creating so much suspense over something so silly?

I have convinced myself that there's nothing to worry about, while I pull the three times folded piece of paper out. Maybe it's Debbie. She does strike me as the type to leave a handwritten note in my mailbox. I open up the letter and can feel my mouth go dry. What kind of sick person would leave me this?

"You gave up on June that easily?"

My head begins to spin, I need to sit down. I slump onto my bed. Who would give me a note about June? She went missing two years ago. And what does it mean, I gave up on her? I didn't realize there was something to give up on. Finding her killer maybe? Is that what this letter is talking about? How am I supposed to find the person who killed June? The police couldn't even do it.

I fall asleep thinking about June. I've tried to forget about her these past two years, but she's always there. In the back of my mind waiting for the slightest thing to bring her to the surface again. After all, how am I not supposed to think about the first girl I ever loved, especially the way things ended.

---

Her green eyes are staring into mine, "Why did you give up on me?"

"I didn't", I say, we're standing in the woods.

"You didn't even try to help", June says, tears falling down her cheeks.

"What could I have done?", I ask, feeling my eyes pool.

June stays silent. Then out of nowhere she takes off.

"June! Wait!" I yell, but it's too late.

I wake in a cold sweat. My breathing is coming out fast and hard. I look over at the clock, 1:00 a.m. I lay back down. June's eyes are still piercing mine when I fall back to sleep.