This really is ridiculous, he thought every time her memory came to mind. His brain turned over her image and the spontaneity of her personality a little too often for his comfort. Sitting on the back patio, book splayed open on the ground next to him, he closed his eyes and tried again to figure out why he gave a damn.
Afterall, he doesn't know her. All he knows is what she tells him in her letters and they both know that's edited bullshit she makes up. He knows because he edits too. In this world, you don't just say what you mean, right? Eventually, she's going to corner him into telling her the truth and perhaps that's what keeps his mind going around.
Besides, Candace is a good woman. She writes too and has good intentions. She calls a little too often, but that's okay. She's interested. However, he couldn't commit to Candace despite her outspoken commitment to him. He had to figure out why that was too.
There's nothing wrong with Candace save the fact that she's.....she's....well, pretty ordinary. She was typical Midwest, homegrown, Bible belt normal. Maybe that was what was plaguing him and not this woman he met only briefly at a stupid cocktail hour party months ago.
He didn't really know much at this point other than her letters were starting to become a reliable and expressly meaningful part of his everyday existence. Perhaps what he wondered was what she thought too?
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