Chapter One
Nina
Jordan waited for me at the end of the hallway, ready to head off to school. I was running late, so by the time I reached her, she was tapping her foot and giving me that raised eyebrow look she always did when she was well on her way to lashing out. I saw in her green eyes the anger simmering just below the surface this morning.
“I know this house is huge, but maybe you could remember I have an entire class of third graders and a principal who because of her lack of sex is literally the crankiest woman you’ll ever meet. If Sister Fits Nice and Tight reams me out because poor old Jensen can’t get me to school on time, you’re going to see a whole new Jordan at dinner tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I just got tied up with something,” I said in my best “forgive me” voice.
Her face twisted into a scowl. “I bet if I checked your cell phone I’d see what was tying you up. You’re still texting him every morning, aren’t you?”
“And every night before I go to sleep in his bed as I stare at the painting I made just for him.”
Jordan sighed, her shoulders sagging, and a frown settled into her beautiful features. “Oh, honey. It’s been months since he answered you. He probably doesn’t even have that phone anymore. I’m not saying he’s not ever coming back or you shouldn’t do that every day and night, but…”
Her words faded away as she stared at me with pity in her eyes. No matter. I didn’t care if anyone believed what I believed. I knew in my heart he was receiving every text I sent. I didn’t know why he didn’t answer, but that didn’t change the fact that I wanted him to know that I hadn’t given up on us.
Picking up her bag, I handed it to her with a smile. “You’re going to be late. Have a good day, and don’t be too hard on those little darlings.”
“You’re not coming today?”
“No. I have a meeting with Daryl, so I can’t head into the city today. Maybe tomorrow, though.”
Grimacing, she spun on her heels and headed toward the front door. “Daryl? That guy who looks like a mountain man? I’ll take the uptight nun and eight year olds, thank you.”
“Have a good day, Jordan. What do you say to pizza tonight?”
She stopped and turned to face me. “Are you sure you can handle that?”
“You mean sauce and cheese on crust?” I joked, knowing she saw right through my facade.
“I’m serious, Nina. The last time we tried Tony’s you were bummed for days.”
“I’ll be okay. I’ve been craving flat birch beer.”
Jordan shook her head. “You rich people have weird tastes. I’m off to mold young minds. Later, gator.”
I yelled after her, “After while, crocodile!”
As she opened the door, she looked back at me and smirked. “So uncool.”
When I knew I was safely alone, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my messages to the one I’d sent Tristan just minutes earlier. My breath caught in my chest as I read the words and prayed for some kind of response.
Good morning. I dreamed about you last night. I miss you so much. Every night I convince myself that you’re finally going to come back to me, but every morning I wake up alone. I love you. I haven’t given up on us, Tristan.
I hadn’t given up, even if Daryl had talked me out of going to look for him. I was sure he knew where Tristan was, but if he did, he wouldn’t tell me. He was as close as I could get to the man I loved, though, so when he called and said he wanted to meet, I always agreed, every time hoping that day would be the one when he’d finally tell me what happened to Tristan and when he was coming home.
Scrolling through months of texts, I stood there in the entryway reading what remained of our relationship. Text after text showed the slow progression of my feelings over time from sadness to anger to acceptance. I’d lived through the loss of him from my life in those messages straight from my heart. Some days they’d been the only way I could get out of bed and face the world. Expressions of desperation and hopelessness, they gave me something no person or thing that remained in my life could.
They were a lifeline each morning and night connecting me to Tristan.
Jordan didn’t understand why I continued to bother since he’d stopped answering my messages the day after he left. Some days I didn’t understand either, but I couldn’t stop myself. There was some small relief from my heartache in tapping out my feelings into words, regardless of where they went once I clicked Send.
Some nights I scrolled through every message, terrified that my phone had deleted some of the earlier ones. A sort of mania took over, and I’d have to count each one, reading every single text to make sure they all still existed, as if losing even one meant losing a part of him.