And then when we fell apart again, I’d get pitying looks from the whole world, not just those who knew the first time. Of course it wouldn’t last, they’d say. She wasn’t cut out for his life. What did he see in her anyway?
Abruptly, I sat up. Dammit.
Breakfast smelled really good. I quickly dressed in cargo pants and a lightweight black tee and trotted downstairs.
Mrs. Weaton, my elderly tenant, who I might add had her own kitchen in her own cottage, was bustling about my kitchen clucking and muttering under her breath. She caught sight of me, and her lined face creased up in a smile. “Hi, Love!” she crowed and gave me a quick one-armed squeeze as she held the spatula in the other.
I looked over and saw Joey at the kitchen table bent over a laptop and papers, deep in concentration.
“Uh, hi.” I hugged her back, her lavender scent comforting me, and smiled at her eccentric make-up. “Not that I don’t love being woken with the smell of coffee and bacon, but what are you doing here?”
“Aw, sugar, you just sit your cute bee-hind down on that there seat, and I’ll tell you all about it. First grab yourself a coffee.” She motioned to the pot.
“Morning, Joey,” I greeted.
“Morning,” he mumbled but didn’t look up. The movie last night had been awkwardly tense between my brother and Jazz. Eventually, Jazz had begged tiredness from her drive and said goodnight. Joey watched her leaving, a brooding expression on his face, his thumb brushing his bottom lip over and over.
I’d refrained from saying a word.
I headed to the coffee. There was a large white envelope with Keri Ann scrawled on the front of it propped up against the sugar bowl. “What’s this,” I asked Mrs. Weaton, picking it up.
“Oh, it’s just a letter from Jack.”
“What?” The smile slid off my face.
“What?” asked Joey, his head snapping up.
I frowned at him.
“I know,” Mrs. Weaton crowed. “Had to give the boy an envelope! You young people should all have your own stationary. How can you possibly correspond when you don’t own even an envelope?”
“How … when …?” I didn’t know what to ask first.
“Yesterday evening. I was back a bit late from my Wednesday afternoon Canasta. So I told him to leave it on the porch. He saw Joey and Jazzy’s car there so didn’t want to disturb you. Then when I woke up this morning and saw you hadn’t taken it inside, I thought I’d bring it in for you.”
She transferred the bacon out onto an old newspaper, then she sighed and opened the oven, bathing the kitchen in a hot waft of cinnamon and treacle. “That boy.”
My stomach growled, drowning out the thumping of my heart, as I fingered the envelope nervously. I finished making my coffee then carried it over to the table. “What about him?”
“Well, dear. It’s obvious how he feels about you. I could tell right from the beginning. And I’m just over here to make sure you read his letter and hear what he has to say for himself.”
“Please,” snorted Joey. “I’d say he’s had his chance to tell Keri Ann how he feels, and I think we all got the message loud and clear last time.”
My throat closed.
“Sorry,” Joey said quickly. “But you’re not seriously going to read it are you?”
Mrs. Weaton carried a plate of bacon and Heart Attack Cake, which was like a pound cake that was twice baked with butter, syrup, local pecans, and cinnamon, and plopped everything on the table in front of Joey and me. The breakfast of champions.
I slid the letter to the side and helped myself to the offerings. “Since when were you on his side?” I asked Mrs. Weaton, deciding to pretend Joey wasn’t there. “You do remember how miserable I was, right?” I thought I may as well throw Joey a bone.
“Sweetie. At my age you gather a wisdom about life and about love. You get to see your mistakes and regrets in all their nekkid glory. And it ain’t pretty.” She huffed. “I can promise you this—you’ll wish you gave him a second chance. That boy is in love. He may not even realize it yet, but when he does, I don’t believe there is anything he wouldn’t do for you. You don’t just toss that away when it comes around. It may not ever come again.”
Joey had nothing to offer, for once. He got up and left the kitchen.
I bit into the delicious cake, but at Mrs. Weaton’s words, its decadence got lost on me.
“Well, he told me he is. In love with me,” I said, softly, lest Joey still be in earshot. “But I told him if he meant it, he would leave me alone. And he sure didn’t do that. He showed up at work night before last.” I shook my head. “How can he possibly be in love with me? He hardly knows me!” I dropped the fork back on my plate with a clang and pushed it away. How dare he just come back here and tip my life upside down again?
I lunged for the letter, intent on ripping it to shreds in my irritation. And fear. I was scared it would change my mind.
Mrs. Weaton surprised me by whipping it off the table with her bony and liver-spotted hand before my fingers had landed. “No, you don’t!”
“Damn. You’re fast!” I said, shocked, as we looked at each other wide-eyed. Then I snorted, and we both erupted into laughter.
“Well, that was some welcome comic relief, it was beginning to get rather maudlin around here.” Mrs. Weaton sniffed in mock disapproval.
“Sorry,” I offered. “I wouldn’t really have ripped it up. I guess I’m still so mad at him. How could he be gone for so long without a word if he really feels the way he says he does? And truly? What the hell, sorry, kind of a relationship am I going to have with a movie-star?”
“Well, have you asked him?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I mean, I meant to, or at least, we’ve tried to talk, but … I wouldn’t listen.”
I tried to piece together all the snippets of his explanations I remembered. “He said …” I paused, wondering how much to share. “He said he had to stay away to protect me, and he said he hasn’t … ahem, … you know.” My cheeks heated as I cleared my throat. “Since me.”
“I should hope not!” she said, looking incensed. “But, I know how you young ones are these days. I suppose that is something. Well,” she continued, “I’m not saying you forgive him right away, or even believe everything he says, but, honey, you at least need to get all the facts.” She slid the letter over to me. “You don’t want any regrets over this. Trust me, I know. Now, eat. Then, go read.”
I took a big gulp of coffee and chewed my way through four pieces of bacon and half the cake slice. It really was deliciously vile. When I was done, I hugged Mrs. Weaton and went up to the attic.
I sought out my little reading nook I’d created as a young girl. Ripping open the large envelope, I expected to find a letter. Albeit a long one based on the thickness of the envelope. Instead, I pulled out a folded sheaf of white pages tied with an aged and faded red string. The pages had clearly been torn from a lined book and were filled with Jack’s scrawl that I recognized from the grocery lists he used to leave.
As I sank down onto the old mattress and pillows, my heart thudded heavily. The pages were dated. It really was a journal or diary of sorts. Why on earth would he share his private thoughts with me? I sifted through the pages dating from January through to last month. I began seeing snatches of my name, and I quickly folded the pages back up and held them against my chest, exhaling a long breath. Did I really want to do this?