Page 14 of Possibly Texas

Definitely love letters. Somewhat spicy love letters.

“They never arrive with a return address,” Sofia explained. “They’re always addressed to ‘Shirlene.’ I’m hoping Shirlene will eventually show up to claim them. Maybe she can make heads or tails of everything. Right now—well, they’re just up there waiting.”

“Should you have even opened them?” I asked.

Wasn’t that, like, a federal crime? Opening people’s mail?

“Oh,” Sofia waved me off, giving me a nudge on my shoulder, “they’re not sealed when they arrive. They’re just slipped through the mail slot like that.”

I looked closely at the letters. None of them seemed to have ever had a fold crease. Someone had been writing love letters to Shirlene and had simply been sliding the page into the mail slot—hoping Sofia would help them find their owner.

Odd.

“When I say they’re addressed to ‘Shirlene,’ I mean the opening lines of each letter,” Sofia continued. “But so far, we haven’t been able to figure out who she is or where she may be. I guess we’ve all just been enjoying reading about the love this person has for her.”

“Oh.”

“I want to meet the woman who inspires such devotion.” Sofia sighed dreamily.

“Yeah,” I said, “uh, it seems like the guy who wrote the letters is, uh, obsessed.”

“Or gal.” Sofia nudged me.

I turned to find her winking at me.

I smiled. “Yeah. I guess ‘or gal.’ But isn’t there a signature at the bottom of the letters?”

A quick scan of the letter in front of me, then the letters on either side of it told me that the sender intended to keep their identity private. Sofia saw me looking for the answer to my question, so she didn’t bother responding.

“One day,” she was sighing dreamily again, “we’ll all know who Shirlene and her mystery admirer are—and hopefully they’ll fall madly in love.”

“Maybe.”

I didn’t know what else could be said about the letter, Shirlene, or her mystery guy-slash-gal. So, I held the letters up and jiggled them at Sofia once more. With a nod of my head, which she returned, I headed for the door. When I stepped outside into the warm June air, and I was closing the door behind myself, I glanced over my shoulder to see Sofia still staring up at the wall wistfully.

People get so caught up in love stories. I thought. Especially unrequited love stories.

The people of Possibly were getting stranger and stranger. Everywhere I went in the tiny little town I seemed to encounter another person who didn’t quite have their head screwed tightly onto their neck. My mom used to describe flighty or airheaded people as being “a taco short of a fiesta platter,” and the people of Possibly were helping me to better understand that saying.

I probably should text or call Mom later.

“EMMMMMM-ILLLLLLLLL-EEEEEEEE!”

I clenched up at the sound of a guy screaming from the direction of the creek. I turned just in time to see the same teenage guy from the day before standing on the handrail of the wooden bridge, his arms spread out wide. Then he was falling backwards.

What is going on here?

My eyes darted around, looking for any other person who might have just witnessed the insane teenager jump off of the bridge for the second time in two days. A flash of neon green caught my attention and I realized that Levi Lee was in front of Starbuck’s again, pretending to be the hull. When he noticed that I was looking over at him, he began to wave happily. Or, it looked like a happy wave—arm held aloft, swinging about lazily.

Levi Lee must have realized that he had broken character once again, because he suddenly stopped, froze in place, then dropped his arm to his side.

“Shit.” His voice drifted over from the pirate ship.

“Sorry!” I hollered back.

“It’s all right! I’ll get the hang of this!”

Quickly, I gave him an encouraging wave before glancing over at the bridge. There was no point in checking on the teenager. Obviously, Levi Lee had seen the events unfold as well, and he didn’t seem concerned. Besides, the teenager was becoming a pro at jumping off the bridge. He was probably fine.