The Law of Moses (The Law of Moses, #1)(54)

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because you dragged that envelope around forever. You’ll be lucky if it’s still in one piece.”

I was already digging deeper in my closet, pulling out tubes of rolled art that I’d picked up in my travels and then never took the time to frame or display. We’d sent stuff to Tag’s father from all over the world, and he stuck it in a spare room. When we’d settled in, he’d brought it to us. Four years of travels and purchases, and the loot had filled the back of his horse trailer. We’d promptly deposited it all in a storage unit, not especially interested in going through it all. Fortunately, the tube Tag was referring to should still be somewhere in my closet, because he was right. I’d kept it with me, dragging it around like a prized locket that I never even opened. Maybe because it had never been opened, it never seemed right to set it aside.

“It was in a small—” Tag started.

“Did you read it?” I shouted, digging frantically.

“No. I didn’t. But I wanted to. I thought about it.”

I found the tube I was sure it was in and pulled off the lid with my teeth, sinking to my knees as I shook out the contents like a kid on Christmas. I had put the letter back in an envelope when I left Montlake to protect it, and it slid out agreeably and landed in my lap. And like that kid on Christmas, who has just opened something he can’t decide if he likes, I just stared at it.

“It looks the same as it always has, every other time you’ve sat and stared at it,” Tag drawled.

I nodded.

“Do you need me to read it?” he said, a little more kindly.

“I’m an *, Tag. You know that right? I was an * then, with Georgia, and I haven’t changed a whole lot.”

“You worried I won’t love you anymore, after I read it?” There was a smile in his voice and it helped me breathe.

“Okay. Yeah. You read it. Because I can’t.”

I handed him the letter and fought the urge to stick my fingers in my ears.

He tore open the envelope, unfolded the sheet of paper filled with Georgia’s words, and looked at it silently for a moment. Then he started to read.

Dear Moses,

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to feel. The only thing I know is that you’re there and I’m here and I’ve never been so afraid in my life. I keep coming to visit, and I keep leaving without seeing you. I’m worried about you. I’m worried about me.

Will I ever see you again?

I’m afraid the answer’s no. And if it’s no, then you need to know how I feel. Maybe someday, you’ll be able to do the same. I would really, really like to know how you feel, Moses.

So here goes. I love you. I do. You scare me and fascinate me and make me want to hurt you and heal you all at the same time. Is it weird that I want to hurt you? I want to hurt you like you’ve hurt me. Yet the thought of you being hurt makes me ache. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?

Second, I miss you. I miss seeing you. I could watch you all day. Not just because you’re beautiful to look at—which you are—not just because you can create beautiful things—which you do—but because there’s something in you that pulls at me and convinces me that if you would just let me in, if you would just love me back, we could have a beautiful life. And I would really love for you to have a beautiful life. More than anything, I want that for you.

I don’t know if you’ll read this. And if you do, I don’t know if you’ll respond. But I needed you to know how I feel, even if it’s in a crummy letter that smells like Myrtle because it’s been in my jockey box for a month.

Even if you just listen and then you leave, I hope you’ll let me tell you in person when you get out.

Please.

Georgia

P.S. My five greats? They haven’t changed. Even with everything that has happened, I’m still grateful. Just thought you should know.

We sat in silence for several long seconds. I couldn’t speak at all. The letter didn’t tell me anything, not really. But Georgia was in the room with us now, her presence as real and warm as her brown eyes and the hot pink of her kiss. Her words practically leapt from the page, and they took me back like I’d been sucked through a worm hole and she was standing before me, waiting for me to give her a response. Amazingly enough, after all these years, I still didn’t have one.

“Man,” Tag whistled. “You really are an *.”

“I’m going to Levan,” I stated, surprising myself and making Tag rear back in amazement.

“Why? What’s going on, man? Am I missing something?”

“It’s nothing. I mean. I thought maybe . . .” I stopped. I didn’t know what I was thinking. “Forget it.” I shrugged it off. I took the letter from Tag’s hand and folded it up. I kept folding it, tighter and tighter, until it was a fat little square. And then I held it in my palm and wrapped my fingers around it as if I could just toss it away, just toss away all the things that were bothering me. I could count them off on my fingers, just like Georgia’s mom used to do with her foster kids, and I could toss them away.




“I may not be thinking clearly. I haven’t slept very well in the last couple of days. And seeing Georgia . . .” My voice trailed off.