The Letters Left Unsent

Chapter Seven

Present Day – Late Morning

Jack dragged the paint roller over the porch siding in long, uneven strokes. He wasn’t even looking at the grain—just pushing color around, trying to quiet the buzz in his chest.

“You know you’re supposed to paint the house, not punish it, right?” Nate called from behind him, leaning against the front gate with a bottle of Gatorade in hand.

Jack grunted. “You want it done right, pick up a brush.”

Nate just laughed. “Yeah, not a chance. I know better than to mess with your rhythm when you’re stewing.”

Jack didn’t answer. He kept rolling the paint until the silence felt too tight.

“I saw Emma this morning.”

Nate straightened, but his face didn’t shift the way Jack thought it might.

“Yeah? At the bookstore?”

Jack blinked. “How’d you—?”

“C’mon, man. Her grandmother just died.” Nate stepped closer, voice even. “The woman who raised her. You really didn’t think she’d come back?”

Jack looked away. “I don’t know what I thought. I guess I figured she’d… I don’t know. Stay in Pasco. Send someone else to handle things.”

Nate gave him a look. “You serious? That’s not who she is. She ran, yeah. But she always showed up when it counted. She was bound to come home for this.”

Jack set the roller down harder than he meant to, paint spattering his boots. “Well, she’s here now. And I had no idea what to say to her.”

“What did you say?”

Jack hesitated. “Nothing helpful. I think I said something like, ‘You always were good at walking away.’”

Nate winced. “Jesus, man.”

“Yeah.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “It just came out.”

They stood in the silence that followed, a cicada droning somewhere in the oaks nearby.

“Look,” Nate finally said, “I get it. You’ve been carrying this thing for years. All those letters you never sent, all that ‘what if’ crap eating holes in your ribs. But she’s here. That means something.”

Jack didn’t move. “Not if she’s just going to leave again.”

Nate didn’t argue. Just walked over, picked up the roller, and handed it back to him. “Then figure out what you want before she goes. Because if you don’t say something this time, you don’t get to complain when she walks.”

Jack nodded once, but he didn’t look up.

He just went back to painting, each stroke slower now. More careful. Like maybe if he fixed something on the outside, he wouldn’t have to face what was broken inside.

Jack leaned his forearm against the porch post, staring out past the trees lining the edge of the yard.

“You said something earlier,” he said slowly. “‘She always showed up when it counted.’ What did you mean by that?”

Nate didn’t answer right away. He popped the cap off his Gatorade and took a long drink before speaking.

“I mean,” he said, voice quieter now, “I think you forget how people show up in different ways.”

Jack turned to look at him, brow furrowed.

“You remember the funeral?” Nate asked. “Your folks’?”

“Not much,” Jack admitted. “It’s mostly a blur. I remember the service starting late. I was standing with Lilly the whole time. People kept hugging me. Talking too much. Talking too soft.”

Nate nodded. “Yeah, well… I think she was there. Emma.”

Jack’s heart knocked into his ribs. “What do you mean, you think?”

Nate gave a small shrug. “I saw someone near the back. Kept their head down the whole time. Didn’t talk to anyone. But when the service ended, I could’ve sworn it was her walking out before anyone else moved. Real quick. Like she didn’t want to be seen.”

Jack stared at him.

Nate took another sip of his Gatorade and leaned his back against the railing. “After the service, I saw your aunt—Sheryl, right?—talking to someone just outside the chapel doors. Kind of tucked into the shadow near the side walkway. I didn’t think much of it then, but later… I wondered if it was Emma.”

Jack looked over sharply. “My aunt?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Sheryl hugged her. Real tight, like she knew her. Whoever it was, she left fast. Before most people were even filing out.”

Jack went still. He hadn’t even noticed his aunt talking to anyone that day. But then again, he hadn’t noticed much of anything.

“I thought she didn’t come,” he said, more to himself than to Nate.

“Maybe that’s how she wanted it,” Nate said. “Or maybe she just couldn’t handle more than being there quietly. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t.”

Jack’s grip on the paintbrush slackened. He looked at the wall, but didn’t move.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “If she came to the funeral… why didn’t she say something? Why not come up to me?”

Nate looked up from the trim he was edging. “Maybe she thought you didn’t want to see her. You two didn’t exactly part on great terms.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well… She still should’ve said something. Anything.”

Nate wiped sweat off his brow with his sleeve. “You ever think maybe she was dealing with more than just you?”

Jack shot him a look.

“I’m not saying you didn’t matter,” Nate added. “I’m saying that fight—the one that blew everything up between you two—that wasn’t just about you and her. Not really.”

Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t want to go back there. He remembered the fight. The words flung like knives. The way she looked at him like he’d just confirmed every bad thing she already believed about the world.

Nate kept going anyway. “Her mom had shown back up around then, right?”

Jack stiffened. “Yeah. Few weeks before. Emma didn’t talk about it much.”

“Of course not. Her mom wrecked her. Came in acting like she wanted a second chance, then stirred up every wound Emma had worked so hard to bury. Told her everything she was doing was wrong. That she’d end up just like her. Then left. Again.”

Jack remembered Emma’s eyes the night they fought—haunted, guarded, angry.

“She pushed me away,” he said.

“She was trying to protect herself,” Nate countered. “She didn’t want to become her mom, Jack. Didn’t want to drag you down with her.”

Jack let out a harsh breath and sank down on the porch step.

“I thought she left because she didn’t love me anymore.”

“Pretty sure that’s the last reason she left.”

Jack raked a hand through his hair, his voice low. “And I had to go tell her she was good at walking away. This morning .”

Nate winced. “Damn.”

“Yeah. I just—saw her standing there, like a ghost, and all the old stuff came rushing back.”

Nate tossed a screwdriver onto the deck and sat down beside him.

“Look, man. I don’t know what Emma’s thinking. But she came back. That’s not nothing.”

Jack stared out at the trees. “You said she was at the funeral?”

“I didn’t see her directly,” Nate said. “But after the service, I saw your Aunt Sheryl talking to someone off to the side. Real quiet. She hugged her like she meant it. The girl left before most people even got up from their seats. I didn’t put it together until now, but… I think it was Emma.”

Jack’s throat went tight. “She didn’t want me to know.”

“Maybe she thought you’d hate her for being there.”

“She left town, but she didn’t forget you,” Nate said. “And maybe now’s your shot to find out why.”

Jack let the words settle like dust. He thought of the years he’d spent believing she abandoned him. The fight. The silence. The echo of her absence everywhere he went.

Nate didn’t push. Just waited.

“I’ve gotta talk to her,” Jack said finally, rubbing the back of his neck.

Nate raised a brow. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” Jack admitted. “But I don’t think I can keep pretending like none of it happened. Like she never mattered.”

He stood slowly and looked out across the street where the truck was parked, Lilly’s backpack and book spilling out in the back seat. His throat tightened again—not with anger this time, but something quieter. More afraid.

“You mind watching Lilly for a bit?” Jack asked. “Just while I go talk to Emma?”

Nate blinked, surprised. “Yeah, man. Of course. You sure she’s not gonna bolt the second you show up?”

“I’m not,” Jack said honestly. “But I can’t let her walk away again without trying to understand why she left in the first place.”

Nate gave a low whistle and nodded. “You got guts, Bennett. Or something like it.”

Jack cracked half a smile. “Something like it.”

He turned toward the truck, already running through what he might say—how he’d even begin.

“You think she’s still at the house?” Nate asked.

Jack nodded. “She’s probably knee-deep in memory by now. That place holds more of us than we ever knew.”

Nate picked up Lilly’s book and gave a small wave. “Go. I’ve got her.”

Jack hesitated a moment longer, then headed for the truck—heart pounding, words half-formed, and every step pulling him closer to a past he thought he’d buried for good.