SIXTEEN
The few days that followed Eric's departure felt like decades. The seat beside her at fellowship was empty.
Beth didn’t open her bible. Didn’t need to. The verses weren’t for her today. At Bible club, his absence took the chair across from her. Nobody else sat there.
At Scothbury High, she talked less, did more, she was at every club– even at church, anything to hide the fact that she felt out if place without his presence.l
The messages came.
TELEGRAM: ARRIVED PINEBRIDGE. COLD HERE. MISS FELLOWSHIP.
TELEGRAM: THINKING OF HOME.
Home. Not her. Not Beth.
She read it three times. The answer wasn’t there.
She replied– she had to anyway.
TELEGRAM: FELLOWSHIP FINE. DON'T FORGET TO STUDY OVER THERE.
Sunsets at the grassy clay mound was worse. She went, anyway– alone, sat where he gave her Book Girl. The grass was colder. The wind didn’t whistle. It cut.
She didn’t cry. Crying was for maybe. This was not maybe.
She took out the book.
No words. Just sketches.
Pages of her.
Her on the mound. Her at fellowship. Her laughing.
Her, her, her — but not his...
Beth closed it and pressed it to her chest. She wanted to scream, wanted to tell the voice that “Thinking of home” wasn’t enough. That home meant her name and he wasn’t saying it– But she didn’t.
So she sat.
Listened for the voice– silence.
