Fortuity (Transcend 3)

Hug Mr. Hans for me.

Sincerely,

Morgan Hunt

The nanny. Reincarnation. Her teacher.

My head spins to the point of making me dizzy. I didn’t look up Morgan on social media right away because I needed a minute. I needed to grieve.

Now my curiosity has been thoroughly piqued, especially since I have not heard one word from Nate. Granted, I haven’t reached out to him either. Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I walk back out into the living room and sit next to Gabe again as he finishes his letter from Morgan.

“I’m going to follow her on social media.”

He tosses his letter aside—I assume after finishing it. “I wouldn’t. It’s all just a bunch of weird girls dancing and a few of her dad putting up a swing in the backyard. Oh … and a million pictures in her stories of her teacher. That’s really weird.” He grabs the remote and turns on the TV.

“Did you finish your homework yet?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Well, did you read for twenty minutes?”

“I read Morgan’s letter.”

I laugh. “Doesn’t count. Get your reading done and then you can play games.”

He tosses the remote next to Morgan’s letter and stands. “You sound like …” he doesn’t finish.

“Your mom?”

He turns and blinks a few times—nothing emotional, just a blank look followed by a single nod.

I smirk. “Good. Must mean I’m doing it right.”

After he shuts his bedroom door, probably to do shit on his phone instead of reading what he’s supposed to be reading, I request to follow Morgan on social media. Within seconds, she approves my requests and I can see her posts.

Gabe was right. There are a lot of dancing videos with a bunch of girls I’ve never seen. I stop on the photos of Nate putting up the tire swing. It looks like a beautiful wooded lot they have. The polar opposite of this beach house. I like the ocean view, but after living in Idaho for so many years, I became a bit partial to lots of trees.

I scan through the people following her, curious to see if Nate has an account because I know he would be following her if he did. I don’t see an account for him. Then I click on her story and a picture of her and her teacher together on the playground with the hashtag #bestteacherever.

Mrs. Calloway is beautiful and young. Maybe early thirties. I think back to Nate’s mom mentioning the nanny while talking about all that Nate had been through. Reincarnation? Wow … how did that never get brought up? Maybe the same way I never mentioned I hear my dead boyfriend’s voice. Which … I don’t know. He might be upset about the bracelet or simply has given up on me, or maybe he really does approve of my recent choices and therefore has nothing to say.

Now that I have their new address, I use my new stationary to write Nate a letter, but it doesn’t go so well. I can’t find the right words to start it beyond “Dear Nate,” and even that feels questionably too formal.

Dear Nate,

I miss you.

Too forward.

How’s it going?

Too generic.

Why haven’t you contacted me?

Too accusatory.

Saw photos of you putting up the tire swing, you look really hot.

Too horny.

Am I your only female pen pal?

Too desperate.

How’s your nanny? I hear she’s your best friend reincarnated. That’s cool.

Too much of a stalker.

All six wadded up pieces of paper land in the trash. I start over with the easy letter.

Dear Morgan,

The excitement in your words jumps off the page. Thank you for the letter. The tree swing looks fun, and your backyard is beautiful. A tree house would be amazing! I’d love to see more pictures of your new house.

Sounds like school is going well, and you have a great teacher. I bet Mrs. Calloway is just as excited to have you in her class as you are to have her as your teacher. I just followed you on social media. It brings a big smile to my face to see you so incredibly happy with so many friends. You are such an uplifting young lady. I knew kids would be drawn to you, except Candace, she sounds like trouble.

I bought Mr. Hans new socks at Costco. He says they suffocate his toes, so he’s gone back to his old socks with holes in them. I think he just misses his wife, and he knows she bought them for him.

Speaking of missing people, I miss you so much. Gabe won’t let me braid his hair or paint his nails. Don’t tell him I told you this, but he read your letter before anything else when he got home from soccer practice. Before a snack. Before playing video games. Whether he admits it or not (and he won’t because he’s a boy), he misses you too.

I’ll post some pics and video of Gabe playing soccer. So far he’s staying out of trouble at school, but I’ll keep you updated.