Grandma Ruth: I THOUGHT IT LOOKED CHEERFUL.
Byron: It is visually overwhelming.
I laughed.
Visually overwhelming.
That was exactly what it was.
Without thinking, I downloaded the flyer. Five minutes later I’d straightened the alignment, cleaned up the typography, adjusted the colors, replaced the clip art, and exported a cleaner version.
It was a professional reflex. Nothing more.
I stared at the file. I absolutely should not send it. I didn’t know these people. I was still planning to leave the chat.
Eventually.
Probably.
Maybe after one more day.
Or one more conversation.
My thumb hovered over the upload button. Then, before I could overthink it, I attached the revised file.
Sloane: I hope you don’t mind. I fixed a few things that were making it harder to read.
I immediately regretted every decision that had led me to this moment.
SLOANE
HOW FAST CAN A WOLF HIT A MAILBOX
For several seconds after I sent the revised garage sale flyer, the group chat went completely silent.
This was impressive because
THE PACK had not been silent once in the twenty-four hours since I had been added. Even between midnight and six in the morning, somebody had posted a weather warning, a recipe, and a photograph of a frog sitting inside a boot.
The silence felt deliberate.
Thirty-seven people had seen my message.
Nobody responded.
I stared at the screen and immediately understood that I’d made a poor choice. I had unknowingly entered a private family conversation, remained there for nearly an entire day without identifying myself, downloaded one of their files, edited it, and then casually announced that I had fixed it.
There were crimes with less supporting evidence.
I opened the group information and found the option to leave again.
Before I could press it, a message appeared.
Patty: Who are you?
Trevor: WAIT THAT LOOKS SO MUCH BETTER
Julie: Oh my goodness, that’s beautiful.
Karen: The apostrophe is correct now.
Grandma Ruth: WELL.
The typing bubble vanished, then returned. Vanished again.
Grandma Ruth: LOANY!
I frowned.
Grandma Ruth: IT’S GOOD TO HAVE YOU BACK!
The chat exploded.
Trevor: HOLD ON THAT’S LOANY???
Mason: I thought Loany lived in Wyoming.
Patty: No she was in Arizona.
Byron: Her last known location was New Mexico.
Karen: She should have identified herself immediately. We’ve not seen her in years!
Julie: Welcome back, sweetheart!
Grandpa Alfonse: My thumb remained suspended above the leave button.
Loany.
The name was close enough to mine that a minor clerical error seemed possible. Maybe Grandma Ruth had entered the wrong contact by one digit and accidentally landed on me.
That explanation was far more reasonable than anything else that had happened in the chat.
I started typing.
Sloane: I think there may have been a mistake
–
Grandma Ruth responded before I could finish my not-well-thought-out response.
Grandma Ruth: I KNEW YOU’D COME AROUND EVENTUALLY.
I deleted my sentence.
Mason: Did she leave?
Trevor: she’s typing
Karen: Everyone stop sending messages so she can answer.
Trevor: u first
Karen: Type normally.
Trevor: I am communicating in the accepted dialect of my gEnErAtioN.
Byron: You spelled “what” as “wat” earlier.
Trevor: language evolves. Git w/ the program.
Grandma Ruth: THE LAST TIME WE HEARD FROM OL’ LONER WAS MONTHS AGO IN THE OLD GROUP CHAT. IF I
RECALL CORRECTLY, SHE GAVE US A WHOPPING THUMBS UP. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN?
I should have left. Should have apologized, removed myself from the chat, and never thought about this again. Instead, I scrolled upward, searching the chat for any prior reference to Loany. The search returned with absolutely nothing.
Sloane: Sorry. I don’t go by Loany anymore.
It wasn’t a lie. I had never gone by Loany, which meant I currently did not go by it.
Grandma Ruth: I NEVER LIKED THAT NICKNAME ANYWAY.
Trevor: YOU started it
Grandma Ruth: I DID NOT.
Hilary: You absolutely did.
Based on the way everyone else stopped interrupting after Hilary spoke, I deduced that she must be an important member of the family.
Grandma Ruth: I CALLED HER LONE WOLF. YOU KNOW THAT GIRL CAN’T STAY IN ONE SPOT FOR LONG. AND SHE CERTAINLY HAS KEPT HER DISTANCE.
Patty: Which became Loner.
Mason: Which became Loany.
Grandma Ruth: THAT WAS TREVOR.
Trevor: I was twelve and a linguistic pioneer.
I stared at the screen.
Lone Wolf?
More text messages came through, explaining bits and pieces of Loany’s life, though no one could agree on all of the details since she hadn’t been seen in eight years. From what I could piece together, Loany had always been the ghost of the family – the edgy, eccentric stepcousin from an exiled branch who intentionally kept her face out of photos, changed her number regularly, and never stayed in one state long enough to leave a paper trail.
She was an almost offensively convenient identity. Nobody expected her to speak much, nobody had seen her face in nearly a decade, and half the family couldn’t even agree on which state she had last occupied.
Julie: Where have you been lately, Sloane?
My stomach clenched.
There was still time to explain. I could tell them Grandma Ruth had entered the wrong number. Everyone would laugh, someone would apologize, and I would return to my quiet, solitary life with the knowledge that somewhere in the world, a family required an encrypted messaging app to debate different biscuit recipes.
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