Fragment #69 - A postcard from Inverness

Steve should be back today. I’m not walking home, I’m running home. On the way, my phone rings: Paul.
“Hey sister, how are you?”
“I can’t talk to you right now, Paul, I’m sorry. I have to go home as quick as I can.”
“Why? What’s the rush? Is everything ok?”
Nobody knows for Steve. I chose not to tell the others. I thought this is our problem, our crisis and it’s ours to solve.
“Yes and no. I’ll tell you later. Bye.” And I hang up.
Two minutes later, another phone call: Cameron this time. Geez, people, let me be!
“Yes!”
“Wow, relax, Princess, it’s just me.”
“Look Cameron, I’d love to discuss your personality, but just now, I can’t talk to you, so… I’ll call you later. Bye!”
I turn round the corner and climb up the stairs. In front of the door, I don’t know anymore. Is he there? What is his decision? Do I really want to know now? I realise that as long as I don’t go in, the doubt is allowed: Steve hasn’t spoken yet. But what if he’s also waiting behind the door, incapable of moving, by fear I would reject him? No, my choice is made, for long already. I open the door.
The flat is its usual self. There is nobody here. I’m so tensed I could light up a lamp just by touching it. I look everywhere. Nobody. Nowhere. I come back to the door. I close it, lay against it, and let myself fall on the floor. My hand lands on the mail. Mechanically, I take it, and start browsing it. Bill, newspaper, ad, and a postcard. A postcard? I look at it. It’s from Inverness. Who do I know in Inverness? Nobody… Oh my God! I turn the postcard and look at the signature. It’s from Steve! A few words only on it:

I love you. Don’t forget me. Steve