Her eyes are are wide with confusion as we sit on my steps, the July air still warm despite the late hour. Our shift ended a few minutes ago.
My last shift.
I can hardly believe it.
“Can you at least explain why you’re leaving? When you’ll be back?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you. I’m not even sure where I’m going, yet.”
“Maybe if you told me what was going on, I could help.” Her gaze sweeps over my face. “Maybe we could figure it out, so you don’t have to bolt.”
“My past is starting to catch up with me, Carly. It’s as simple as that. I have to start moving again before it does.”
“I didn’t peg you for an outlaw on the run.” She laughs, but there’s a sad edge to it. “What’d you do? Rob a bank?”
I force a grin. “That would make a much better story.”
“Have you told Isaac you’re leaving, yet?”
“He wasn’t here tonight, so I’m going to swing by tomorrow afternoon to see him, then catch the evening bus out of town.”
“Tomorrow’s the Fourth! At least stay for the fireworks.”
A pang of regret jolts through my system. I’ve been looking forward to the festival since I first heard about it. Carly and I were planning to go together to watch the music by the river with a few of her college friends.
“I wish I could come,” I murmur. “Trust me… I don’t want to leave. Nashville has been the closest thing to a real home that I’ve ever had. Your friendship has been a huge part of that.”
“Stop, you’re going to make me cry. And this mascara costs thirty bucks a tube.”
“That’s highway robbery.”
“Tell me about it.” We both laugh through our tears. When she speaks again, her voice cracks with emotion. “So… this is goodbye?”
“I guess so,” I murmur, blinking away tears. “Thank you.”
“For what? I didn’t do a thing.”
“For showing me the ropes here. For always cheering me up. For being my spirit guide.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that, Felicity. I’m your friend.” Digging around in her purse, she yanks out a pen, scrawls a series of numbers on a gum wrapper, and extends it out to me. “I know you don’t do the cellphone thing, so we have to go old school. This is my number. You ever need help, call. I’m there. No questions asked.”
My fingers close around the wrapper. My heart twists painfully. “Carly…”
“And, for the record,” she adds, trying not to cry. “I think I’d make an excellent getaway driver in a bank heist. Sure, my sedan tops out at about fifty miles per hour… but I know all the best shortcuts through the city.”
This time, I don’t have to force a grin. The one that spreads across my face is entirely real.
* * *
It doesn’t takelong to pack the following morning. I don’t have much. My guitar, my clothes, the few possessions I’ve accumulated since I first got here, and the fat envelope of bills beneath my loose floorboard. I tuck a some twenties into my bra, just in case —my spirit guide would be so proud— and shove the rest of my money down to the depths of my backpack for safe keeping. In the process, I accidentally knock my songwriting notebook to the floor. Bending to retrieve it, I go still when my eyes catch on an unfamiliar scribble of ink on the last page. Strange, it doesn’t look like my handwriting…
My heart lurches to a stop. I forgot all about Ryder’s letter — the one he said he left the night he dropped off my guitar. Trembling from head to toe, I pull the notebook into my lap and start to read.
It’s not a letter at all.
It’s a song.
A song he wrote for me.