I knew why she couldn’t believe it. Typically, I never did things outside the box. My comfort zone was insanely comfortable to me. My plain wardrobe of T-shirts and jeans and my minimally decorated room were evidence of my efforts to fit into a “normal” mode. That’s why I loved Zoe so much. She was everything I wasn’t. I most certainly didn’t bring letters intended for Heaven back to the family that lost them. Who did that? But I had to. There was no way around it. My gut was on fire with the thought of this family. The woman, the guy, the young boy. That young boy who wrote this letter. Maybe to his brother? Whoever he was to him, he deserved to have that letter back so he could give it a proper send off. So he could get it to where it belonged.
Zoe was staring intently at my ceiling. “Are you ever going to take those plastic stars down?” She wrinkled her nose.
“My mom put them up.” I felt a twinge in my heart.
Zoe sat up again. “Right, sorry.”
She cast me a sympathetic grin.
Zoe was probably the only person who knew everything about me. She saw firsthand how devastated I was after my mom died. It was weeks before I left the house. There was no one I could talk to — not even her. She would come over and sit on my bed and ramble on and on about meaningless things that were going on at school, and I would sit on my bed and listen. When I would break down crying in the middle of one of her stories, she would just lean my head against her shoulder, letting me cry for as long as I needed to. On my first day back to school, she walked me to and from all of my classes to make sure I was okay. Our friendship strengthened as she supported me, and she never pushed me to talk about my feelings or anything; she was always just there for me. I loved her for that.
“So anyway, the letter,” Zoe said. “What do think you’re going to do? I mean, just find this family somehow, knock on their door, and be like, ‘Hi, here’s your letter for Heaven! Don’t ask how I got it.’ And the person on the other side will say, ‘Oh great, thanks so much! Come back again if you ever want to intrude on our lives again!’ I mean, come on Marissa, I just don’t feel like you’ve thought this through.”
She was right; I hadn’t thought about what the confrontation at the door might seem like. But I didn’t care. I knew if I had lost a letter I would want it back. Something inside me couldn’t let this kid think his letter safely traveled off to the heavens when it was actually sitting in my bedroom. Along with the torn balloon. I crushed the shiny foil between my hands. “I don’t care,” I said softly enough that I felt I had to repeat it. “I don’t care.”
Zoe positioned herself so she was facing me directly. Her brown eyes peered at me. They twinkled in the corners the same as they always did right before she was going to say something that would surprise me. She blew the section of black bangs that had fallen into her eyes out of her way, and then she took in a deep breath. “Then I’m going to help you. What was the name on the grave?”
“Bobby Carter.” My heart skipped at least two beats when his name fell from my lips.
The color in Zoe’s face began to drain, “Oh!” Her hands flew over her mouth.
“What?” Now the twinkle in her eyes was almost glowing. I was afraid of what she would say next.
She closed her eyes briefly, and then spoke. “I know him.”
Chapter Three
I knew I had heard her but wasn’t sure my brain processed the words correctly. There was no way she actually just said that. Was there?
“What do you mean you know him?” I asked.
Zoe pulled her shoulder-length black hair into a high ponytail. “I don’t like ‘know him,’ but I think I know him. I mean, I know his story. You know?”
Again, I could hear her speaking, but I wasn’t following. “Can you please explain yourself in English? Clearly this time.”
She bounced off my bed and went to my desk, grabbing my laptop. “Okay,” she said, returning to sit close to me, and opened up the laptop. “Put your password in, and I’ll show you.”
Without hesitation, I typed in my password, which was kind of stupid because she could’ve done it herself. Best friends — no secrets. Then I proceeded to watch her open up the Internet and type in the search bar: BOBBY CARTER ACCIDENT MOUNT VIEW NEW HAMPSHIRE. Half a second later, we were staring at several links that matched our search criteria. I started to feel itchy all over as she clicked open a blog post about the incident, and I read along as she read out loud.
Young boy dies after dirt bike, car accident
Mount View, New Hampshire — On Monday April 6, 2012, eleven-year-old Robert (Bobby) Carter was pronounced dead after sustaining injuries from a motorcycle accident. Bobby had been riding dirt bikes with some family and friends. The group took some trails found in the wooded area bordered by Country and Wilton Streets. This is a well-known area for off-roaders and dirt bikers to ride. There is a street, Kramer Street, that the bikes will cross to access the other wooded area. Kramer Street hardly sees any traffic as it is a dead end and there are no houses on the surrounding areas. According to reports, Bobby crossed Kramer
