I hope you can forgive me. I know what I decided to do was sudden, impulsive, and completely unlike me, but I swear to it, it was something I had to do. Do you understand? I had to do it.
I’d have called to tell you all of this, but I don’t get anything remotely resembling a cellular signal up here. My odometer says we’re some twelve or fifteen miles out of Saint John, New Brunswick. Teague says Loch Lomond—the lake itself—is only a few miles west. I’m just hoping it’s someplace safe. He says it is. Promised me it is. He hasn’t lead me wrong yet, even though I know that you think he has.
I hope that you decided not to go to the city. Something’s about to happen, something connected to that damn asteroid, and I just feel like it’s better that you’re with everyone at the university. Something—not someone—tells me that. I know you stopped believing her and believing yourself, but please, just believe me in this. The interview isn’t that important. If you walk away from her—from all of it—now, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.
However long that’s going to be remains to be seen.
We drove for days to get here—twenty-some odd hours of actual driving time. It’s beautiful, majestic, and I can feel the power here. I can feel it, Thom, in ways I never dreamed were possible, even when we were little kids, talking about those weird dreams I had growing up, the ones where I’d see his face, the memories from another life. I know you don’t want to talk to anyone about any of it, but you need to. If it’s not me and it’s not her, talk to Jameson. I think he’ll understand better than any of your other friends.
I just wish you’d tell me
I think if you stay at the university, you’ll be safe from what’s coming, but I can’t be sure. Teague said that Phelan was on his way to all of you up there, but I don’t know when that was going to happen or if he’ll make it there in time. I know you’ve never met him and you’re probably not very inclined to meet him, but please, for my sake, give him the benefit of the doubt and listen to what he has to say.
Even if you’re just going to decide to do whatever you’re going to do anyway.
I’m worried about you, Thom. A lot of people are worried about you. But you don’t need to worry about me because I’m safe and in love and…
I’m married, Thom. We got married. I was going to tell you on the phone, but I couldn’t find the words. I choked on them when I tried to tell you. This is easier, somehow. Much easier. I guess because I won’t have to hear the pain in your voice when you ask me why I’d do something like that.
I did it because it felt right, because it was right, and our souls were already bound across time and space…so why not, right? I know you think he’s crazy, but he’s not—no more than I am, no more than you are. He just knows more than we do, remembers more than we do, and I love him. That’s the most important part. Regardless of anything else, I love him with every bit and fragment of my heart. He’s good for me, and I think Mom and Dad would have agreed. Your parents like him, even if they think he’s a little strange.
I know, that’s not much incentive to like him. But he likes you (god only knows why) and he’s only met you once. He says I should be patient, that you’ll come around eventually.
He knows how badly I want your approval, though. He knows how close we are, and he understand how important this is to me. I just keep hoping against hope that this letter won’t reach you too late, that somehow I’ll find out that you’re okay with…everything…before something really bad happens.
And something really bad is about to happen. Otherwise, Teague and I wouldn’t be here. He’d be there, and I’d be in the city, and we’d both be starting to teach again in a couple weeks.
Everything would be normal in my life for once. Can you believe how amazing that would have been?
There’s so much I wish I could tell you, so much I wish you’d understand, believe if I told you. But if I fill this letter up with all of that, you’ll just throw it away. You’d hate me for it, and I can’t live with that.
I love you, Thom. Write to me soon. I’ll try to call when I go to Saint John for the last of our supplies.