Eighty-seven

"Dear wife." I pause to allow the laughter bubbling in my throat to spill out. Throwing a glance at Brandon sitting ramrod straight, nails digging into the steering wheel while we wait for the light to turn green, I chuckle. He is too stiff. "This is so formal," I say and he mutters an inaudible reply. My hand moves to his shoulder. "Relax, it's just a letter."

"Is it?"

That didn't come out the way intended but I nod. My eyes return to the sheet of paper in my hand, settle on the font in black ink. I would have loved it handwritten but the line at the top right corner shows he printed it from his email. The date on top tells me it is about a month old. I clear my throat to continue reading out loud and my voice breaks.

"I miss you. Everyday." There is a fluttering in my chest like butterflies are rousing from their nap, I don't look to him when I murmur, "Then why didn't you call or text me?" 

"