BELONGS TO ME

Chapter 49

LETTER IS IN ITALICS

Camila

By the time I'm done for the day and manage to track Carl down about borrowing his Tahoe, the printing shop is once again closed. They couldn't say much over the phone, other than confirming I had an order that was getting dusty on the pickup shelf.

Shawn has called a few times, but after his unexpected arrival this morning, when I was really hoping for a little time to explore campus alone, something I think he should have realized, I've let his attempts go unanswered.

Thankfully, Carl agrees to drop his keys and car off to me tomorrow morning before class, so I make the executive decision to skip the first day of my second set of classes.

I make sure to email the teachers before bed so that I don't get dropped from the courses, and I'm on the road the next morning, minutes before the place opens.

It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the place, and I smile at the large neon sign above the door that reads, Paper Dreams and Things.

The woman behind the counter smiles as I enter and turns to the giant wall made of little cubes.

"You are going to love the way this thing turned out!" She shakes her head, placing a shoe box-sized package in front of me. "Let's pull it out so you can make sure it's all correct." She begins tugging on the gold tie holding it closed, and I dart a hand out.

"No, wait," I rush out.

She freezes.

"I uh, it looks so pretty with the ribbon. I don't want to mess it up. I'm sure it's perfect." I nod anxiously.

"Oh, no problem at all." The woman folds a few pieces of paper, placing them on top of the box and pushes it toward me. "Oh, I almost forgot! This..." She removes a sticky note from the side of the box I can't see, pressing it down on top as well. "A woman came in and left this address. Asked that we tell you to come back after you picked this up. I guess she's been tryin' to reach ya, too."

"Yeah, sorry about that. My emails are buried right now."

"Well, hun, you have a happy holiday."

And just like that, she moves on to another customer, and with tense muscles, I carry the box, no heavier than a pair of shoes to the car.

Rather than pull it open, I put the address on the sticky note into Carl's GPS, and fifteen minutes later, I'm pulling into a parking lot I'd be happy to never see again.

Killing the engine, I climb out and hope I'm headed into the right area, a little unsure when I get closer and see the name of the place.

Tri-City Rehabilitation Center.

I remember this place. I saw it when I came back for my follow-up.

With a deep breath, I head inside and a wave of nausea hits me.

The woman behind the counter smiles, waving me forward, so with slow steps, I do, and as she hangs up the phone, she beams.

"Sign on in, honey. Who you here to see?"

"Oh, um—"

"Camila?"

My head snaps left to find a woman around my mom's age walking up, a clipboard in her hand. "Hi."

"I'm so glad you made it by! I've been trying to reach you for days. I was going to call Lauren, but she made me promise not to."

My heart beats wildly and I nod.