“No job that lasted.”
“And Dad would’ve followed you.”
Wade shook his head even though she could not see him.
“I could’ve done something.”
“You did.”
“You bought the ticket.”
“You kept my secret.”
Wade looked at the postcard drawer.
“For thirty years.”
“Too long.”
“Yeah.”
Emily laughed quietly.
“Maybe.”
Then her voice became serious.
“I should have written again.”
Wade did not let her take the blame.
“You were seventeen.”
“So were you once.”
“Not when you left.”
“You weren’t as old as you thought.”
That hit harder than he expected.
Wade asked:
“Why did you stop writing?”
Emily hesitated.
“I got scared.”
“Of Dad?”
“Yes.”
“And of you finding me.”
Wade nodded.
“That’s fair.”
“No.”
Emily’s answer surprised him.
“It was fair then.”
“Not forever.”
Wade said nothing.
Emily continued.
“When the investigator found me, I had a husband.”
“A son.”
“A job.”
“I had spent years building a life that felt completely separate from Tennessee.”
“I thought seeing you would pull everything backward.”
“Then more years passed.”
“And eventually I didn’t know how to start either.”
Wade smiled sadly.
“So we both got scared.”
“Apparently.”
He touched the bird tattoo.
“You know the folded wing?”
“Yes.”
“I told Sophie the bird wanted to go somewhere I was too scared to go.”
Emily whispered:
“Who’s Sophie?”
Wade told her.
The pharmacy.
The cane.
The truck.
The viral video.
The strange little girl who could dismantle thirty years of excuses with one question.
Emily laughed until Wade heard her crying.
“She sounds terrifying.”
“She is.”
Another silence.
Then Wade asked the question he had never allowed himself to ask.
“Do you want to see me?”
Emily did not answer immediately.
Every old fear returned.
Then:
“Yes.”
Wade looked upward.
His mechanics pretended to be extremely interested in tools.
“When?”
Emily laughed.
“You waited thirty years.”
“You can survive two weeks.”
Those two weeks were worse than the thirty years.
Wade cleaned his house.
Then cleaned it again.
Bought a new shirt.
Returned it.
Bought another.
Considered shaving his beard.
His mechanic threatened to call police if he did.
Sophie heard about the meeting three days before.
She stood inside the motorcycle shop tracing the textured wings on her cane.
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Wade frowned.
“Why good?”
“You told me being scared made you move fast.”
“No.”
“That was a truck.”
“Still.”
He crossed his arms.
“What if she sees me and regrets coming?”
Sophie shrugged.
“Then she can tell you.”
“What if she’s angry?”