“I think I hear something coming from over there.” She points at the sheds out left, a five-minute walk from us. “Let’s go check. Anyway, I know how that is. For the first two years in college, the dorms were full, so I got a partly subsidized house off-campus. The place was huge, but it was on this farm that was really far away from civilization. People got their mail maybe once a week. We were constantly late on bill payments. So we ended up having to rent a P.O. box on campus, but those were broken in to all the time because parents were sending their kids money and lots of valuable things. It was a nightmare.”

She’s babbling. I don’t care about her P.O. box.

About her former house.

About dorms and random people’s parents, and I definitely couldn’t give a toss about what bills she paid eight years ago.

“Finally,” she continues, undeterred, “I decided to redirect all my mail to my mom’s house. You know how I feel about her, but I just couldn’t risk it. I was already drowning in debt. I didn’t need unpaid bills with interest on top. Plus, she offered to pay for the entire thing and took care of it herself, so that was a bonus. Here, let’s go this way.” She stops, pointing behind the barn. “I think that’s where I heard the noise coming from.”

I follow her, frowning. I believe my views about her verbal diarrhea have changed.

“So you got your mail redirected to New Jersey,” I say, controlling the level of interest apparent in my voice.

“Yeah. Living in the middle of nowhere is bad for mail, dude.”

“Since when?”

“Like, three months after I moved out? Something like that.”

“Huh.” I’m keeping it bored, though my mind is screaming WHAT. THE. FECK. All in capitals.

Pieces of the puzzle seem to be falling into place, but the overall picture is all wonky and wrong. Different from what I thought. It doesn’t paint Rory as the villain and me the hopeless protagonist.

“The house was neat, though. I shared it with eight other girls. One of them was my best friend, Summer. I don’t remember if I told you about her. She became an actress in an off-Broadw—”

“That means your mam opened your letters for you,” I interrupt, my brain threatening to melt now.

She is still bouncing and shivering. I could put her out of my misery by touching her—getting her hot and bothered has never been an issue—but being rejected by her would crush me.

“Yeah. But I didn’t get letters letters, you know. Just…bills and stuff. I was starting to build my credit. I couldn’t afford late payments.” She messes with her camera, which is attached to a strap on her neck.