Dear Sadie,

September 7
She’s Gone

September 11
Just two words were all that was on the page. It took about two seconds for me to realize what I had read, and then to grab my car keys. I didn’t bring any of my things, I didn’t stop long enough to tell my aunt that I was leaving. All I did was race out to my car. I wasn’t thinking, not about me, anyway. The only thing on my mind was Bentley. Bentley, Bentley, Bentley. His name raced through my mind as I peeled out of the bed and breakfast parking lot. His name was all that I saw as the fall leaves crunched under my tires. Sadie was gone. It didn’t make any sense.

I had prepared my self for this moment, I had tried at least. But those two words killed me. Tears streamed down my face as I thought of Bentley waking up in the morning, him walking over to his sister’s bed, seeing her completely vacant, and then him scrambling to find a piece of paper. I knew the first thing he did was write to me. Maybe he didn’t send it right away, but I knew that he wrote me first.

I was driving down the twists and turns of the mountain at a dangerous speed. I knew I wasn’t being safe, I couldn’t see anything through the wall of tears, and all I could hear was my blood pounding in my ears. So I didn’t see that I had merged into the oncoming traffic lane, I didn’t hear the truck honk its horn until it was almost too late. I swerved out of the way and jerked my Ford Wrangler to the side of the road. I snatched the keys from the ignition before letting out the breath I had been holding.

I needed to calm down. But how could I? Sadie was dead. Bentley couldn’t have been taking this very well at all. But neither was I. I couldn’t drive the four hours to San Francisco like this, I’d never make it. I took another deep breath and wiped away the tears on my face with the back of my hand. I then very slowly put the keys back in, and made a U-turn.
I hadn’t gotten very far from the B and B, luckily. I parked in front of the building and walked up the wooden steps in what seemed like slow motion. When I walked inside my aunt was waiting by the door.

“I knew you’d be back,” was all she said before taking my arm gently and leading me back outside and over to her small car that was sitting next to mine.
“Your things are already in the trunk, and I made you something to eat.” When I didn’t do anything she sighed and then said “Well go one, get in. I’ll drive you.”
I only nodded before getting in. She didn’t explain how she knew what was going on, and I didn’t ask.

The whole trip down was in silence, we only stopped once and that was for gas. When we were almost in city limits, my aunt finally spoke.

“You dropped this,” she then took one hand off the wheel and pulled out Bentley’s letter from the pocket on the apron she seemed to never take off.

“How come you never asked about what I was doing?” my words were barely audible, my throat was dry and could feel another round of tears coming on.

“Because it wasn’t about me,” and that was that.

>
When we arrived in San Francisco, it felt as if I were in a time warp. The smell of pine needles and wildflowers were gone and replaced by smog and the sound of traffic. Oh how I’d missed this place. My aunt had offered to take me home first, but I told her I wanted to go directly to Bentley’s. It then occurred to me that I had no idea if he was even going to be home. It had been four days since Sadie had passed, according to the date on his letter. Four days was enough time to arrange a burial if you really wanted to. What if they were at her funeral? Or what if he was still at the hospital? I had no idea, so I went with my instinct, he’d be home.

It was easy enough finding Bentley’s house, I knew San Francisco like the back of my hand. I had my aunt drop me off at the beginning of his street. She said she’d go pay a visit to my mom and drove off with a wave.

Despite the fact that it was September, it was unusually cold. So I wrapped my sweater tighter around me before pulling out Bentley’s last letter. I double-checked that I was on the right street, and then checked the house number one more time, even though I had memorized it on the way down.

I had no idea what I was going to say to him, or what I should say. I tried to think of how I was going to say hello to him, but as I got closer and closer to his house, I lost the words one by one. When I passed the small curve of the street, my feet stopped.

I knew it was him without even thinking twice about it. He was taller than I imagined, but he had golden-blond hair, just like he said Mercedes had. I had expected him to be a mess, but he was wearing a pair of jeans and a plaid button-up long sleeved shirt. He was standing outside his mailbox, just standing. His hands were resting on top of the black metal, and his head was hanging down.

I didn’t want to disturb him, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I started walking and eventually the sound of my shoes scuffing the sidewalk got his attention. He looked at me, and there was only a second of confusion before his green eyes glowed with just a little bit of light. His face broke into a small smile and he walked the rest of the way to me.

I had been wrong earlier when I said I wouldn’t be able to stop talking. I was at a loss of words. I couldn’t believe it was him. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. I wonder if I matched what he had pictured in mind. Did he see me with my dark brown hair, my light blue eyes? Or was he picturing something entirely different? I didn’t know.

“You came,” he said quietly, not taking his eyes off of me.

“Yeah, the second I opened the letter,” I was surprised my words had even managed to come out of my mouth.

He looked away from me, focused on the clouds, and swallowed “I was just getting ready to check for your letter. I couldn’t get myself to open the mailbox, though.” He looked away from the sky and focused back on me, his eyes were starting to tear up.

I dared myself to be brave, and then I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into a hug. He didn’t hesitate before hugging me back and saying, “Dear Sadie, you’re better than a letter.”

“Dear Bentley, you’re my best friend. P.S., I’m not going anywhere.”

He laughed lightly and broke the hug, but didn’t take a step back.

“P.S., I won’t let you go.” his voice cracked a little and then he hugged me again and finally let his tears fall. Before I knew it I was crying, too. I was crying for Mercedes, I was crying for Bentley, and I was crying for me.

I had started the summer looking for an adventure, and that’s exactly what I found. I found a summer’s worth of letters, and became a boy’s Dear Reader. And somewhere there was a little girl named Mercedes, who was thanking me.