“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 asshole.”
“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.
“So you’re going to Levan. And I’m coming with you.” Tag stood as if it was already decided.
“Tag . . .”
“Mo.”
“I don’t want you to come.”
“This is the town you terrorized. Right?”
“I didn’t terrorize anyone,” I argued.
“When they talk about painting the town, I don’t think you were quite what they had in mind, Moses.”
I laughed, in spite of myself.
“I have to go with you to make sure they don’t run you out with pitchforks.”
“What if she won’t talk to me?”
“Then you might have to settle in there for a while. Follow her around until she does. She was pretty persistent with you, it seems like. How many times did you turn her away? How many times did she keep coming back?”
“I still have my grandmother’s house. It’s not like I don’t have anywhere to go or any reason to be there. I’ve paid the property taxes on it all these years.”
“You need some moral support. I’ll pull a Rocky Balboa and train with tractor tires and chickens for a couple of days. If Levan is anything like Sanpete, they have plenty of both.”
Moses
WE PULLED OFF THE INTERSTATE just outside of Nephi and exited onto the old highway that connected Nephi to Levan. The Ridge is what it was called. Just a two lane stretch of nothing with fields stretching out on either side. We passed the Circle A with its big red sign sticking up high enough to be seen above the overpass and a mile down the freeway, telling truckers and weary drivers that there was relief in sight.
“Go back, Moses.”
I shot him a questioning look.
“I want to see it. It was there, wasn’t it?”
“Molly?”
“Yeah. Molly. I want to see the overpass.”