“Mallerie doesn’t want to see you.”
I stared.
“Could you please tell her I’m here?”
She shook her head.
“She knows.”
I took a breath.
“Can I talk to her for one minute?”
“No.”
Then she closed the door.
I stood in that hallway for a long time.
Eventually, I returned to my car.
I tore a page from a notebook and wrote Mallerie a letter.
I told her I didn’t know what had happened.
That I loved her.
That if I’d done something to hurt her, I wanted to understand.
Then I walked back to the dorm and slipped the note beneath her door.
I didn’t know Shay would throw it away before Mallerie ever saw it.
I discovered that years later.
At the time, all I knew was that Mallerie didn’t answer.
So I drove home.
And eventually, I believed Jace.
I thought she’d met somebody else.
I thought she’d decided I wasn’t enough.
That winter was the loneliest season of my life.
I worked for Woody every day.
Came home exhausted.
Ate dinner.
Went to bed.
Mom told me there were plenty of other girls.
Jace became strangely considerate.
He offered to help when my car battery failed.
He let me borrow his tools.
Once, when we were watching television, he told me I’d find somebody better.
I remember feeling grateful.
I thought my older brother was finally growing up.
I had no idea he was simply comfortable because he believed his secret was safe.
The truth came out the following spring.
Our uncle Roger hosted a graduation gathering at his property outside town.
There was a bonfire, folding chairs, coolers of soda, and enough food for half the neighborhood.
Most of our relatives were there.
Jace had brought a friend named Dobbs.
Late that evening, Uncle Roger asked me to get another bag of ice from the garage freezer.
I walked toward the open garage.
Then heard Jace talking.
I stopped when he mentioned Mallerie’s name.
He was sitting on the edge of the freezer beside Dobbs.
And he was laughing.
“I took Corey’s phone while he was in the shower,” he said.
Dobbs stared at him.
Jace continued.
“I sent her this long message. Told her he was embarrassed by her. Told her she was just something to pass the summer. Told her not to bother coming home.”
For a moment, I couldn’t move.
Then he added something that made everything clear.
“I erased it before Corey came downstairs.”
Dobbs sounded uncomfortable.
“Man, that’s a rough thing to do.”
Jace laughed.
“He always gets everything.”
There was a pause.
Then he said something quietly.
“Not that one.”
I stood outside the garage holding an empty ice cooler.
For several seconds, I couldn’t feel my hands.
The confusion of the previous winter suddenly became something I could understand.
Mallerie hadn’t simply stopped loving me.
She’d received a message she believed I’d sent.
A message designed to hurt her badly enough that she’d never want to speak with me again.
And my own brother had written it.
I walked into the garage.
Jace looked up.
His smile disappeared.
Dobbs stared at the floor.
“Corey?”
I looked toward my brother.
“Come outside.”
He tried to laugh.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I didn’t answer.
I simply walked toward the bonfire.
Jace followed.
Several relatives turned when we approached.
I stopped near Uncle Roger.
Then looked at Jace.
“Tell them what you did.”
His expression tightened.
“Corey—”
“Tell them what you sent Mallerie from my phone.”
The conversations around the fire faded.
Jace looked toward the relatives watching us.
Then gave a small laugh.
“It was a joke.”
I stared.
“A joke?”
He shrugged.
“Come on. It was months ago.”
For a moment, I thought I might cry.
Instead, I took a breath.
“You sent a breakup message pretending to be me.”
He looked away.
“You would’ve broken up eventually.”
I stared at him.
Then turned toward Mom.
She’d approached from the picnic table.
I explained what I’d overheard.
The phone.
The message.
The lies about Mallerie meeting somebody else.
For a moment, Mom looked shocked.
She turned toward Jace.
He shrugged.
Then she sighed.
“Corey, it’s been almost a year.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Mom?”
She reached toward my arm.
“Don’t tear this family apart over a girl.”
For several seconds, I stared at her.
Behind Mom, Jill stood with her mouth slightly open.
She was sixteen.
She looked as stunned as I felt.
I looked toward Jace.
Then back at my mother.
“He already did that, Mom.”
She frowned.
I continued.
“And you just told him it was okay.”
Nobody spoke.
I placed the empty cooler on the ground.
Then walked away.
The following morning, I tried finding Mallerie.
Her old phone number was disconnected.
Her online accounts were no longer available to me.
I drove back to Kennesaw, only to learn that she’d transferred schools.
Her parents had moved, too.
Their old house had a sale sign in the yard.
I didn’t know where they’d gone.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I wrote her a real letter.
On paper.
With a pen.
I explained everything I’d heard in Uncle Roger’s garage.
I told her I hadn’t sent the cruel message.
I told her I’d loved her throughout the silence and hadn’t understood why she stopped speaking to me.
Then I added something important.
“If you don’t want to hear from me, I’ll respect that. But I couldn’t let you keep believing I wrote those words.”
I mailed it to her parents’ former address, hoping their mail would be forwarded.
Two weeks later, the envelope came back.
A yellow postal sticker covered the corner.
RETURN TO SENDER.
NO FORWARDING ADDRESS.
I sat in my car holding it for nearly an hour.
Then I placed it in the glove compartment.
I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.
A few days later, I visited Woody Ledbetter.
He was in his workshop repairing a concrete mixer.
I told him I wanted to leave town.
He didn’t ask why.
Everybody had heard what happened at Uncle Roger’s.
Woody wiped his hands on a rag.
Then picked up his phone.
He called his brother-in-law, Fenton Hargus, who operated a concrete crew in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
“He shows up,” Woody said. “He works. Doesn’t complain much. You’ll like him.”
Then he handed me Fenton’s number.
That was all.
I packed my belongings into the Buick.
Mom stood on the porch while I loaded the last bag.
“You’ll be back by Christmas,” she said.
I looked toward her.