“Luna, I just want to be alone. I don’t want to talk about meaningful things. You more than anyone should understand that.”
Luna took in a big breath and let an absurdly long sigh.
“Is there a problem?” Owen asked.
“I don’t like people in my space when I’m not there.”
Owen tried to recall if he knew this about her. Had he ever been alone in her room? He knew she was anti-snooping, but those were different things, right?
“I’m just going to rest in your bed, on top of your covers.”
Luna was aware that denying the request might appear suspicious, so she reluctantly handed over her keys. “Take off your shoes and don’t touch anything.”
“You’re the best,” Owen said, kissing her on the forehead.
As Luna watched Owen jog back to the dorm, her gut twisted into a tight knot.
* * *
—
Owen had fully intended to nap. He removed his shoes and lay on top of Luna’s duvet. He closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would come. It did not. He sat upright and decided to study. He fished through his backpack for his French book and sat on the floor, translating a short passage about a trip to Greece. When his pen ran out of ink, he opened the drawers in Luna’s desk. He knew very well that he was searching for more than a pen, but in some part of his brain, he could still insist on the innocence of his trespass.
In the bottom drawer, Owen found an old Adidas shoebox. After checking that Luna’s door was locked, he removed the box from the drawer. He knelt on the floor next to the desk and opened the lid. Inside were a baggie of weed and a pipe. Owen returned the box to the drawer. After that, he fully committed to his search.
Owen understood that breaching Luna’s privacy was the kind of transgression she was unlikely to forgive. He could only manage one flimsy rationalization for his behavior, which was decidedly out of character: He told himself that he was worried for Luna’s safety. That was true, to a certain extent. But that wasn’t all of it. Owen knew that something had happened in Luna’s past. If he knew what it was, it might explain why she’d never told him.
Owen stood on a chair and rummaged through everything on the top shelf of her closet. He checked between the mattress and box spring. He peered under the bed and found two dusty pieces of luggage. Inside the smaller suitcase was an old cigar box that held about a half dozen letters, sent to Luna at a Colorado address.
The envelopes were all cleanly sliced open, which Owen experienced as a subconscious invitation. He chose a business-sized envelope at the top of the pile and removed the paper, which was folded in thirds. The letter was typed, with no return address, and postmarked November 2001.
Dear Ms. Grey,
I do not know if my letters have ever reached you. If they have, I wonder if they’ve meant something. If you’ve taken my advice and sought the help of the Lord. If you ask, if you pray, HE will forgive you. You were young and led astray by evil. I hope by now you have found your way back to the light.
I have prayed for my family and I have prayed for your family. Enough time has passed that I’ve found that I can forgive. I hope you can forgive yourself.
God bless,
Sharon Wells
Owen felt sweat beading on the back of his neck despite the chill in the room. One more letter, he told himself, and then he’d put the box away. As Owen searched the stack for a meatier envelope, the letter that would provide a full narrative, there was a quiet knock on the door.
He returned the letter to the cigar box, put it back in the suitcase, and slid it back under the bed. He got to his feet and scanned the room for anything askew.
“Luna, you in there?” a man’s voice said from the other side.
Ted, Owen thought. He couldn’t decide if he should remain mute or answer the door.
“Luna, I can hear you,” Ted said.
“Hey,” said Owen, swinging open the door.
“Hey,” said Ted, stepping back, startled. Annoyed. “I was looking for Luna.”
“She’s not here,” Owen said.
Ted was getting a bad vibe from Owen, but he wasn’t one to let a bad vibe stick. He opened his backpack and pulled out a brown bag wrapped around a bottle.
“Cesar went on a liquor run,” Ted said.
“Did Luna place an order?”
“Nah, she never has money for booze. I just thought I’d share.”
“That was nice of you,” Owen said.
Ted ignored Owen’s tone, which was guarded and unfriendly, and pretended not to notice the weird way that Owen was blocking the door.