The Secret Sharers
Anyone could see that Kennedy had had too much to drink, but lucky for Kennedy, nobody was around. She felt comfortable, she felt confident, she felt inspired, but as she planned her tasks for the morning there came a knock at the door of her apartment; an unexpected package from a long-forgotten friend, and as her hand shook drawing the sharp blade along the tape, unfolding the parcel like a present, her mind sobered and calmed, brimming with curiosity as thoughts pushed out the false-confidence of her morning stupor, carefully extracting a hand-sewn book of notes. Halfway through, it seemed like a meaningless jumble of off-thoughts, ideas, and wish-tos, but the turn came with a series of unsent letters and confessions, followed by private analyses of daily events – like a diary. While it took days for her to confirm, the impression made clear at a second glance was that this was the work of a life at end, confided in the only person he ever trusted, the only person he ever felt could understand him without question, without judgment. Kennedy’s only wish was that she could ever trust someone the way Trevor trusted her.