Mikayla and Tristan walked to class together and even sat with each other for lunch. It felt weird to go from solo boy to having an instant buddy, but Mikayla was pretty cool. Her sense of humor was quirky and her down-to-earth, no-fuss nature was easy to be around. Tristan could see her becoming a good friend.

Tristan pulled out Helena’s letter a few times throughout the day, rereading it during free period and again just before he biked home. He’d have it memorized in a few days, of that he was sure. It was nice having her voice in his head, and he’d already started thinking about how he was going to reply. He wanted to tell her that he’d fulfill those dreams…but he wanted to promise her something a little more too.

Skeletal dreams and wishes started to take shape in his mind, and he knew he’d cling to them until they became reality.

Turning onto Booth Street, Tristan cycled a little harder. Once again his tires squealed to a stop when he saw a taxi on the curb in front of Helena’s castle. The trunk was open, the back door ajar.

He jumped off his bike just as Sylvie walked through the gate dragging a large suitcase behind her.

“You’re leaving already?” He leaned his bike against the tall fence and ran to her side.

She passed the suitcase to the driver and gave Tristan a sad smile. “I have to get back.”

“But you only just got here.”

“I know.” She nodded.

“Is everything okay?”

She nodded again but didn’t say anything.

Tristan bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to grab her shoulders and give them a shake.

Tell me the truth!

He wanted to yell at her, drop to his knees and beg her to take him to England too. But that would be futile.

Fighting frustration, he licked his lips and desperately tried to draw out the conversation. “What’s going to happen to the house?”

“It’s staying in the family for now. Beatrice can’t face the idea of selling it. The packers came this morning and boxed up most of their things. They’ll be shipped to England, and there’ll be no need for us to return.”

“Oh.” Tristan swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

Sliding his hand into his back pocket, he touched the letter, reminding himself not to fall apart. Helena was with him. Everything would be okay.

“Listen, I must go. I need to get to the airport in time for my flight.” She stepped towards the cab.

Tristan reached for her arm before he could stop himself. “Wait!”

“I can’t tell you where she is.”

“I know. I just… Can you give me a minute. I want to write her a note.”

Sylvie closed her eyes. “If my sister finds out…”

“Please. Just a note.” He yanked off his backpack and scrambled inside for a pen.

Ripping out the last page of his English book, he used his teeth to uncap his pen and quickly scribbled a note.

Sweet Helena…my guiding light…

I don’t have time to say everything I want, but you need to know that I’ll carry your heart with the greatest care. I’ll honor your requests and I won’t let you down.

Just know that you carry my heart too. I don’t even know when I gave it to you really. It could have been the day I met you. It could have been that time you rewrote Romeo and Juliet for me. Or maybe you took it in pieces…until the entire thing was yours.

All I can tell you is that I’m happy for you to look after it for me, but rest assured that a man can’t live without his heart for too long, and he’ll search the earth to find it again.

Never give up hope.

Forever yours,

Tristan

Folding the note in half, he passed it over with shaking hands, hoping Sylvie wouldn’t read it and decide not to pass it along.

“Promise me you’ll give it to her,” he croaked.

She let out a wispy sigh as she tucked the note into her pocket. “All right.”

Her nod was stiff, but her blue eyes told him she would.

“Thank you.”

He swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling large and prickly.

“She’ll be okay, Tristan. She’s surrounded by people who love her.”

He bobbed his head and stepped back to give the woman room to leave. Standing on the curb, he watched the taxi drive away until it’d turned off Booth Street and disappeared around the corner.

For a moment he felt completely empty, the soul-shattering darkness edging in and trying to remind him of what he didn’t have.

But then he pulled out the letter. Gently unfolding it, he leaned against the fence and slowly reread each word. Like savoring a decadent chocolate cake, he soaked in each line, reminding himself of everything he hadn’t lost.

He was going to live an amazing life.

And whether he found his heart again or not, at least he knew he’d never be alone.

Tucking the letter back into his pocket, he collected his bike and headed for the house.

He had a story to write.