Broken Girl(72)

“I know. I’m so happy I got to see you, Rosie.”

“Thanks for asking about my life.” He tightened his arms around me before he let go. “And Key?” I breathed.

“Yeh?”

“Don’t ever stop asking to meet me, no matter what my answer may be. Even if there are more days I say no than yes.”

“All right, I won’t stop.” His words caressed my heart.

“Thanks.”

Briggs drove me home, a whole four blocks away. I guess the idea of keeping me safe was still burned into his brain, as it should be, he was still in the thick of protecting and healing the hos in the Tenderloin. Six months off the track and moving to a whole other state, still doesn’t stop the conditioned routine I had lived for the last three and a half years of my life and how quickly a turn of circumstances could trump any forward momentum.

Key pulled up to the curb at my apartment complex. It wasn’t anything special, nor beautiful. The complex was more industrial looking, a concrete jungle just like my apartment in the city with the exception of the patch of dirt and grass between the sidewalk and building.

“Well, this is me. Thanks for the lift home and the coffee.”

A smile crested his face.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Nothin’, Just happy to see you.”

I leaned over and hugged him. A lengthy hug, I tried to let go, he wasn’t going to have it. His face against the side of my head, he whispered in my ear, as if by him whispering it made him mentioning Shane anymore okay.

“Don’t be mad, he asked me to give you this. He hopes you understan’.” He slipped something into my sweater pocket and I stiffened at his words. Tears spiked at my eyes. Could all the answers to my future I’ve been longing for be right here? Should I even read it? His words seemed so weighty in my pocket. It would be so much easier to stay with Key, have him take me with him.

“Thanks.”

I reluctantly hopped out of his rental car and didn’t look back. Briggs tapped his horn a couple of short times before I heard him drive off. I slipped my hand into my sweater pocket and felt the chill of the envelope, the chunk of tape sealing the seam and the plumpness of the letter inside filled with Shane’s words. My heart slipped and slid through every thunderous beat, I needed to get into my apartment and read what could be the best or the most devastating thing I’d received in the last six months.





ALONE IN MY apartment, a place that has become my safe haven where being alone wasn’t so lonely. I propped Shane’s letter against an old coffee mug on the kitchen island. I stared at it for hours, held it up to the ceiling light, pulled just enough on the edge to see how easy it was to open, then dropped it back on the counter.

I’d just spent the last six months working so hard on letting go of who I was. Left California and uprooted my life to get as comfortably far away from my past as I could. What if his letter hammered me back into my past? Whether I was crazy for not ripping into it or cynical for being terrified of what it might say, I knew one thing for sure, whatever it said, good or bad, I had to be in the right mindset to read it. It sounded ludicrous, struggling with what to do, but it was huge for me. There was no way I could handle his rejection.

“Bite the bullet then, Rose. Pick up the f*cking letter, rip it open and just as if you’re tearing off a Band-Aid, deal with the immediate pain. It’s easier that way, deal with it so you can move the f*ck on!” I huffed out loud.

I’d rather drown in the moment of truth, than spend my life swimming in a lie.

It wasn’t lost on me that I didn’t have anyone there to rip the letter open for me. “One . . . two . . . three,” I mumbled as if the numbers had all the power in the world to change my mind.

Briggs had said, “He hopes you understand.” What the hell did I need to understand?

I’d waited a half of a year, an eternity to the impatient, and a lifetime to a kid. In a blink of an eye, a mere six months and my world could be destroyed by what he had written on these pages. I unfolded the letter, fear pecked at my heart.



Complicated Captivating Rose,

I keep writing and rewriting this letter. I know I promised you I’d give you space. I just need to know if you’re okay? Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you being alone and trying to find yourself. God knows, I look for you in the faces of people every day. I keep searching for you in the words I hear, in the memories I have, even the broken sidewalks where you’ve left your past. I cling to small pieces of you while I walk past the restaurants where we’ve made memories, hoping to find anything that would bring you back to me, but it never does.

I want you to know that you’ve ruined my appetite for Cajun food. I can’t even go near a Cajun restaurant anymore. I’m not starving myself, I’m just not enjoying the foods that remind me of you.

Anyway, after you left I went and found Briggs downtown, hoping he might have answers. Every time I’d ask about you, he’d say he didn’t have anything. Five months and Briggs’ answers stayed the same, he wouldn’t crack, (I think he’s getting pissed at me for asking, so I’ve backed off a little). Instead of finding him every night, I ask him twice a week, now just once every couple of weeks. He’s the only connection I have to you, and if there’s the slightest chance he’d be willing to tell me you’re okay, I’m going to jump on it. He’s the only Key I have to you, (funny, to find out that you call him Key).