23
The misspellings could be deliberate, like the clumsy handwriting. I didn’t think so, though I couldn’t say why. The letters were big—masculine? Feminine? I could guess, but it would be only that. The sound of Noel’s car in the driveway interrupted my thoughts. Rising from my chair more quickly than I thought I was able, I tucked the letter away in a book in the living room, then threw the glove in the trash. I was still trying to wash the powdery rubbery smell from my hand when Noel walked in.
“What happened here?” she asked, as the kitchen door shut behind her.
I felt trapped. My heart pounded and my vision went dark from the top down. I leaned forward slightly until I could feel the reassuring solidity of the sink in front of me. When I spoke I could make out Noel’s figure again.
