Dear Brady.

Do you remember Sea Isle? I’m sitting here eating a box of chocolate, but all I can smell is salt in the air and all I can taste is the grit of sand scraping over my teeth. I remember how your hair looked on fire from the neon lights at Charlie’s Fry Shack, and your laugh is a thousand little bells ringing in my ears. I can feel the exact temperature of your skin when you clutched my arm at sunset.

Do you remember the magician? That little girl next to you with the great big eyes and the breath caught in her throat? The amazement in her voice as the words of wonder came pouring out? And when she smacked her tiny hands together and delightful peals of laughter and applause came flooding from her like a tidal wave?

That’s how you make me feel every day. Amazed. Bewildered. Delighted. Charlie’s fries scalded my right hand, but I didn’t even notice because you were holding the left one. A woman was sawed in half as she lay suspended above the stage, but I didn’t care because there was one beside me suspending my heart.

I don’t know why I’m writing this instead of calling you or sending an email. Maybe it’s because when we go to New Hope tomorrow, I’ll finally know something you don’t. Maybe it’s because I can’t find my phone and the computer’s off. Or maybe it’s because you’ll be having a real bad day, and when this letter is delivered, it’ll be just what you need.

Love Partridge.

PS. You know I love you, right?