Dear Bowie,

I think we both have some apologizing to do. Now, hear me out before you go and crumple this up and set it on fire and spend the next eight years ignoring me.

I’m sorry for a lot of things. Mostly, taking you to see your mom’s car and spinning my theories for you. You wanted me to open up more, share more, and I did it, but not in the best way.

My thirst for answers can block me from seeing the rest of the big picture. I’ve always needed to know the why and the how of things. Flaw or not, it’s served me well in my job. But I’ve never had a relationship to work my career around. You’re my first. Or, you were. Since you’re giving me the silent treatment, I’m not clear on the verb tense.

I became a cop because of Callie Kendall. Her disappearance still drives me to distraction. What happened? Where did she go? Is she still alive? The idea that we may never know was and still is unacceptable. How else can I pick it apart, put it in a neat little box, and then fit it onto a shelf? I never thought that doing so would hurt you so badly.

What I’m rambling on about, I guess, is that I shouldn’t have assumed that answers would be as valuable to you as they are to me. I thought if I gave you closure, you could move on.

As a cop, I’m not supposed to let my opinion factor into how I do my job. But I guess I do every single day in invisible, incremental ways. So I’m sorry that I never told you that I believe your father is innocent. I never thought for a minute that he had anything to do with Callie’s disappearance or murder. He may have had his flaws—his many, many flaws—but he wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. He also stood up and took responsibility for his mistakes.

You might also like to know that my father feels the same way. Ask him about the lamppost story…if you’re still speaking to him that is. Even though I kind of hope you’re not because that means you picked him over me again and I’m going to stop thinking about it before I get mad on top of my sad. Anyway, I’m going to Connelly today. I hope you understand. There are families, yours included, that deserve the truth.

Since this is a note and not face-to-face, I’m comfortable saying you also owe me an apology. You pushed me to share more of my work with you and when I did, you shut me out. I know, I know. I overshared in the most inappropriate and unforgivable way. I let my job stomp all over our relationship that I made you keep secret.

We need to face facts. We’re both really new at this and we don’t have great guidelines for what a good relationship is. Your parents sucked together. And mine are ridiculously perfect together, except for the fact that my dad can’t string six words together and my mom organizes secret town meetings behind his back to do God knows what.

My point is, if we’re in this, we need to find our own way. Forget your parents and mine. Forget Connelly and Callie. Please, let’s find a way to make us work.

Love,

Cassidy

P.S. In case you’re never speaking to me again, I didn’t get a chance to tell Jonah, but that Shelby character is a journalist and I think she’s angling to get close to you all through him. Steer clear.

P.P.S. Do you miss me?

P.P.P.S. It’s almost Christmas so here’s your gift. Spoiler alert: It’s pajamas.