Shirley
She didn’t say it - not fully. Jean began to utter my real name, but only managed the beginning before the rest got caught in her throat. It’s as if she had an epiphany midway through, realizing who had been the one to call her and likely still stood off camera.
Shir. That’s all she’d said. Not Shirley. Shir could easily be mistaken for “sure.” And I want to think that’s exactly how Keith has interpreted the sound as I sneak a glance over at him, meeting his calm expression. Nothing in his eyes suggests that he knows the clipped word she’d breathed is actually my nickname.
So I shift my eyes back to Jean, keeping my shoulders relaxed as I hold her gaze. Everything in me tries to communicate with her through our simple stares, praying that years of friendship can make her hear
