Letters From The Ledge by Lynda Meyers

of his hands.
    She looked up at him and her eyes were tender, with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist given their limited history. She put her hand gently on his knee and bit her lip. Neither one of them spoke for a long moment. She just looked into his eyes and nodded. Even without words, it was the most meaningful conversation he’d had with anyone since–well, since Tess. He tried to swallow, but his mouth went dry and instead of Tess’s face, the words from her letter were running through his mind, capturing his every thought and bringing it right back to Sarah’s lips. He suddenly wanted to kiss her–more than anything he wanted to. But it wasn’t right. Not when she was grieving and he still couldn’t figure out where Tess ended and she began.
    “Why don’t you tell me about Stella?”
    Sarah smiled at him and nodded. “Ok, well–when my mom was pregnant with me, she had to be on bed rest a lot, so my dad thought she ought to have some company while she was home alone all day.”
    She was smiling at the memory and Brendan was astounded by her lack of pretense–the way her face hid nothing at all and her voice trailed up and down with the story.
    “So Stella became my mom’s companion, but once I was born, she wouldn’t leave my side. She slept on my bed my whole life.” Sarah sighed. “She was a great dog.”
    Brendan shook his head clear “Wait–what?”
    Sarah just kept right on talking. “My parents don’t believe in giving chemotherapy to dogs, so when she kept getting sicker, they just watched for signs that she was in pain and once they felt like it was too much for her, they took her to the vet and put her down.” The tears that had threatened earlier made their way down her cheeks in silent tribute. “That was yesterday. They took her while I was at school. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
    Brendan smiled and just kept shaking his head. A dog? He almost laughed out loud, but she was genuinely grieving and he couldn’t rightly laugh at her pain. Loss was loss, after all. Sudden impact, lack of closure, helplessness...
    He thought about the box he still hadn’t opened. Tess’s letter had done him in and he put it all away, but a morbid curiosity had taken over a small part of his grief and he wanted to know– needed to know now, what was in that box.
    She looked up at him and blinked, tears streaming down her face. “You must think I’m pretty stupid, crying over a dog.”
    “Hey, a friend is a friend, right?”
    “Yeah. And this friend saw me through kindergarten, the chicken-pox, and six moves in the last eight years.”
    “I’ve lived in the same apartment my whole life. I can’t imagine moving around that much. What kind of dog?”
    Sarah sniffed, drying her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “Border Terrier. Apparently when I was born she treated me like I was one of her pups. My parents tell some pre-tty hilarious stories about her. You remember Nana from Peter Pan?”
    Brendan nodded.
    “Ok so double it. She wouldn’t let anyone near me. My parents couldn’t even bring us to the park together because she wouldn’t let any of the other kids play with me!”
    She was laughing again, and he liked the sound of it. “I used to want a dog but my dad wouldn’t even discuss it.”
    “Dictator type?”
    Brendan’s jaw tightened. “You have no idea.”
    Sarah took a deep breath and blew it out all at once, leaning back on her hands and letting the breeze cool her tear-stained face. “So, I don’t want this to sound mean or anything, but… how is it you’ve lived in the same apartment your whole life and yet you don’t seem to have any friends?”
    Brendan was silent, but she didn’t back down. She just sat there, waiting for his answer.
    “My best friend died last year. She was seventeen too.”
    “Oh.” Sarah nodded. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I mean, it’s none of my–”
    “She jumped off the roof of her apartment building. Died on