The Letter

by Mary Crawford

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. I could go work for one of the big news stations in Portland — trust me they’ve asked. But nobody is a better reporter than you. I want to stick with the best.”

  “Thank you, Andre. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I guess I better get back to earning that title,” I say as I put my earbuds back in.

  Andre reaches out to stop me. “Not so fast. We have to talk. I don’t send you emails because I’m bored.”

  I take my earbuds out and lean back in my chair as I click on my in-box. “Okay, lay it on me. Did I suddenly win the lottery? Has my dad forgiven me for not becoming a dentist?”

  “Not that I know of — but those things would be great. Does the name Rocco Pierce mean anything to you?”

  I pull up my phone contacts and nothing comes up. I shake my head. “No, should it?”

  Andre looks dejected. “Crap! He’s been so persistent; I was hoping he was a contact for Marshall’s story. His name doesn’t sound familiar to me either.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask as I sit up and grab a pad of paper.

  “Well, I sent him the usual automated string of letters we send fans in case he is merely a crime story junkie. Usually, that appeases most people.”

  “But not him? Do we have a background check on this guy?”

  Andre nods. “He works out of Yamhill County. He’s a paramedic. By all accounts, he’s a normal dude with heroic tendencies. He received an award for volunteer work with homeless kids.”

  “Okay, sounds good to me. What set off your protective big brother radar? Does he look like a serial killer or something?”

  “Oh honey, he is a fine specimen of a man. He gives my boyfriend, Philip, a run for his money. He has very kind eyes — it’s not his looks that bother me. I’m worried because he doesn’t really want to correspond with me. He insists he needs to talk to you about a letter. When I asked him what the letter was regarding, he told me it was personal and confidential.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “You got any unsettled scores with old boyfriends?”

  I click my pen for a couple seconds before I shrug. “You know about the only controversial situations I was ever involved in. As far as I know, one guy is still the head of a news division and the other guy is still cooling his jets in jail.”

  A sympathetic look crosses Andre’s face. “How is Juliette doing?”

  “Better since she made it through JR’s first parole hearing. The creep pretty much screwed himself for future parole hearings when he told the parole board he would never apologize for hitting her so hard she lost the hearing in her left ear. He tried to intimidate me too— but I glared right back. I can’t believe I was ever his friend.”

  “Like I said, you are one of the most quietly intimidating people I know. You may be a tiny waif, but you’re tough. Your testimony helped put him away. He destroyed Juliette’s memories of that day, so she needed you. I wonder if this Rocco Pierce is related to her case?”

  I frown. “I hope not. I want to put the whole incident behind me. My best friend didn’t deserve to become partially deaf and have a permanent brain injury because my other former friend became jealous of her boyfriend.” I try to shake off my dark thoughts. “Andre, what do you think I should do about this?”

  Andre walks over to his desk and picks up a folder. He brings it over to me and places it in my hands. “Take this and read it. It’s all the correspondence I’ve had with the guy. It includes the background information Loralee was able to dig up on him. It won’t tell you everything, but maybe it’ll give you a sense of him. I can tell you he seems determined to talk to you. Maybe there’s a good reason.”

  A chill goes up my spine as I take the file from Andre. A sense of foreboding overtakes me. Suddenly it feels like this is the most important decision I’ll ever make.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ROCCO

  “MOM, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU went to all this effort. You know homemade macaroni and cheese is my favorite. It’s not even my birthday or anything. It’s a random Saturday afternoon.”

  “Nonsense, you know your dad likes it is much as you do. We’re just happy you’re here. It seems you’ve been working a lot of weekends lately. Your dad was wondering if you’d ever be free to go fishing again.”

  “We’ve had a couple of new hires recently. Things should slow down a bit soon.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I hold my finger up to my mom. “I’m sorry, I have to get this.”

  My parents’ voices fade in the background as I check my messages. My mom turns to my dad. “Remember when we didn’t answer the phone during meals, Rick?”

  “The technology is different these days, Veronica. Our son has an important job.”

  My eyes widen as I read the message. I’ve waited weeks for this to happen. Now that it has, I’m not sure what to say.

  “Rocco?” my mom interrupts my panicked musings. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I started to answer and then abruptly change my mind. “No, that’s not right. Everything is wrong with this situation. I have to figure out how to tell a perfect stranger they may die.”

  My dad sets down his fork. “That’s tragic, son. But, don’t you do something similar nearly every day?”

  “I suppose so. But for some reason this feels so much different. This woman is simply going about her life and I’m about to pull the rug out from under her and make everything she thought she knew about her life seem like a lie.”

  My mom draws in a sharp breath. “Oh my gosh, Rocco. Does this have anything to do with that very strange conversation we had several weeks ago?”

  Wearily, I nod.

  My mom takes a napkin and wipes the corner of her eyes. “Life is so unfair.”

  “Mom, I have no idea what to say,” I lament as the enormity of the task catches up with me.

  “The best you can do is be as honest as you can, while being compassionate. You can’t make the truth hurt any less.”

  “Thanks.” I set my napkin down on the table. “I need to go deal with this. I love you guys.”

  “We love you too. We’ll leave the door open for you in case you need a shoulder to cry on when you’re done.”

  “Depending on how it goes, you may have a deal.”

  I glance around the room my mom calls the den. It’s funny she calls it that, because it still bears a strong resemblance to my childhood room. The only concession she’s made to the reality that I’ve long ago grown up and moved away is a new roll-top desk and the appearance of her favorite sewing machine. I walk over to my ancient stereo and pop in my favorite Bob Seger CD as I try to calm my nerves.

  Finally, I calm down enough to sit down in the over-sized leather chair and reread the text message I received earlier.

  “What’s so important that you have to harass my assistant, but you can’t talk about in a text message?”

  “It’s difficult to explain,” I text back carefully. “I need to speak to you in person.”

  “I’m sorry. I cover the crime beat. For safety reasons, I don’t meet with fans. I’m sure you understand,” came her quick reply.

  “I’m sure you are a powerful writer, but this isn’t about your job. It’s much more personal.”

  “You know, you’re not helping your case here.”

  “I understand. I’m trying to be honest. I can give you the name of my supervisor at work. I’m not a bad guy. This is just something I can’t explain through a text message.”

  “Have we ever met before?”

  “I don’t think so,” I cringe as I type those words. I can feel any hope of meeting Mallory slip through my fingers.

  “Why do you feel this is so important if you don’t even know me?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do,” I answer candidly.

  “Kinda hung up on the whole right and wrong thing, aren’t you?” she responds with an eye roll emoji. “Even if I asked to talk to your b
oss, how do I know it’s not just one of your drinking buddies?”

  “I don’t have many of those. I’m a paramedic. It’s bad form to show up to a call drunk.”

  For several minutes, my phone is so silent; I’m afraid maybe my battery went dead. I shake my phone and hit the volume button just to confirm it still works. I take a long drink of my coffee and doodle aimlessly on a tablet of paper. I’m almost afraid to breathe for fear I’ll miss her text message.

  My phone beeps. I hold my breath as I check my phone. “Okay, let’s say I believe you. Is it okay if my friends are nearby when we meet? I would feel safer.”

  “Understood. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Do you know where the carousel is at the Riverfront Park in Salem?”

  “I do. I’ve taken my friend’s daughter there often. I can meet you there in about an hour.”

  “Sounds good. You better not be pulling some weird, sick joke on me,” she warns.

  Sighing, I text back, “Mallory, you have no idea how much I wish I was. I’ll see you in an hour. Wait … how will I know it’s you?”

  “I’ve got black hair and I’ll be wearing a bright red jacket,” she responds. “I might be short, but I’m hard to miss,” she texts a smiley face. “I’ll be sitting in the park benches by the gazebo.”

  “I look like a typical Oregon hipster. I’m wearing a Portland Timbers hockey jersey today. I am a slightly balding guy with a beard.”

  “This feels like we’re meeting for an over-the-top blind date or something,” Mallory texts.

  “I wish it were that simple.”

  “You have my Spidey senses as a reporter going crazy.”

  “Like I said, it’s complicated — I’ll explain more later. I just hope you don’t hate me when I’m done.”

  “Are you trying to talk yourself into a meeting or out of one? You’re scaring me!”

  “Mallory, I mean you no harm. Your friends can stay right by your side, I promise — I just need to talk to you.”

  “Hurry! Now I don’t want to wait to hear what you have to say. I’m dying of curiosity.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  As I put on my coat and stick my phone in my pocket, I wonder if there is a polite way to tell someone they may be dying of more than simple curiosity.

  My stomach turns slightly as I stride toward the gazebo. Mallory’s back is to me when I first approach. All the fancy words I rehearsed on the way over fly out of my head when she turns to watch my arrival. I try to read her expression as her friend elbows her and leans over and whispers something in her ear. All I can think about is how impossibly young she looks. I guess cancer doesn’t care.

  She brushes her jet-black hair out of her eyes after a gust of wind hits it. She squints and looks up at me. “You must be Rocco. I’m Mallory.” She extends her hand for me to shake and then gestures over at the guy standing protectively next to her. “This is Andre.”

  I politely shake her hand and attempt to hide my surprise as a weird warm shock seems to pass between the two of us. Mallory seems as startled as I am. She clears her throat and pulls her hand back. Andre is watching the interaction with fascination as he shakes my hand. “What’s with the cloak and dagger approach? Do you have something on the Marshall Todd case?”

  My eyes widen. “No! I wish. My older brother played ball against him in high school. Remy never believed he was guilty.”

  “So, why are you here? I’m certain I would remember you if we’d ever met.” Mallory looks ready to jump out of her skin as she carefully studies me.

  I quickly glance over at Andre as I decide how much to disclose. The way he’s holding her protectively close, it looks as if he’s her boyfriend, so I decide to forge ahead. “It’s a long story which doesn’t make much sense. It involves some confidential medical records. Did you recently have a medical test done in McMinnville?”

  Mallory sways a little on her feet and sits back down on the wooden park bench. She looks back and forth between Andre and me and nods. “Umm … yeah, I had a mammogram a few weeks ago.”

  “You good here, Mal?” Andre asks. “I don’t need to hear about your ta-tas. If this guy passes muster, I’ll go chill with Philip. He’s leaving town tomorrow to start another job.”

  Mallory waves him off. “I’m fine. Go!”

  Andre kisses her cheek and hugs her goodbye. “Be gentle with this guy — he seems nice.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  MALLORY

  I SNEAK A PEEK OVER Andre’s shoulder as he gives me a hug. This time, it’s Rocco who is watching our interaction with an amused expression. After Andre jogs off to meet Philip, Rocco comments, “Your boyfriend seems concerned about my well-being. Is there something I should know?”

  I bite back a snort of laughter. “Andre is not my boyfriend. Never has been. He’s my assistant. He keeps my business life running smoothly. Truth be told, he keeps my personal life on track too — but that’s not officially his job, he just does it because he’s awesome.”

  Rocco smiles, and it changes him from a merely interesting looking guy to devastatingly handsome. “Oh, I get it. He’s here to play the big brother role, right? Smart.”

  I grin. “For someone who is totally not related to me, you’d be surprised how often he steps into those shoes.” I stop and take a deep breath. “Okay, I think I’ve stalled enough. Tell me how in the world you could possibly know I had a mammogram.”

  Rocco’s expression grows instantly serious as he shrugs off a backpack he has slung over his shoulder. He pulls out a large manila envelope and hands over an accordion file.

  “A few weeks ago, I got this in the mail, out of the blue. I thought it was from HR. I’m a paramedic and sometimes I pick up extra hours by working medical transport for the hospital. I recently completed enough hours to qualify for class bump. I thought they were notifying me I got a pay raise. I was startled when it turned out to be your mammogram results. So, I read the report to see if I could figure out why I received the information.”

  I hold up my hand to stop him from talking. My brain is trying to catch up with his words. I am frantically scanning the file he gave me to try to make sense of it all. When I agreed to have this mammogram to settle Edna’s nerves, I didn’t even realize they were actually taking real pictures. I thought they simply went through the motions. I’m not even thirty! I’m decades away from actually needing a mammogram. As far as I know, I don’t have any family history of breast cancer. Then again when you’re adopted, your family history is whatever your social worker says it is. It may or may not be true.

  I look up at Rocco as I fight to maintain my composure. “I majored in English. I know what this says. Bear with me as I ask a really stupid question.” I pause to angrily wipe away tears. “Does this say what I think it says? Does this stupid piece of paper say I will die of cancer?”

  I jump when Rocco reaches out and takes both of my hands between his and forcefully answers, “No!” He squeezes my hands for emphasis before he continues. “That piece of paper says a lot of things — many of them are untrue. It doesn’t say you are going to die. Okay? It’s not over,” he insists as he focuses on my expression with laser intensity as if he can will this all to go away.

  “Are you saying I might not have cancer? This all might be one huge mistake?”

  He rolls his shoulder. “I suppose anything is possible. However, it’s unlikely since you actually had a mammogram recently.”

  I pause to reread the report again. “This is crazy! It says we’re married. I’ve never laid eyes on you before today. Why would they have your name on my medical records?”

  “I don’t know. Remember when I told you some of the report is fiction? There are a lot of things I don’t understand — starting with why you had a mammogram at your age. Did your doctor think you were at some special risk?”

  I shake my head in frustration. “No! It’s one of those stories that’s too weird to be believed.”

&nb
sp; Rocco leans back against the park bench. “It’s my day off. I’m in no hurry —”

  I smirk. “Well, it’s not as if I’ve got any secrets from you at this point anyway. My parents live on the East Coast where my dad’s a dentist. He was hoping I would go to dental school and take over his practice, so he and Mom could retire and live somewhere exotic like Paris. Unfortunately, all the stories he told me growing up didn’t inspire me to be a dentist — they just grossed me out. My favorite English teacher in high school used to be a newspaper reporter, so the bug hit early. My parents were profoundly disappointed that I didn’t want to carry on the family legacy. They practically disowned me over my decision, so I moved about as far away from Maine as I possibly could.”

  “I’m sorry. That sounds awful. My mom gets distressed if I don’t bring laundry over every week for her to do.”

  I burst out laughing. “Seriously? How old are you? Are you telling me you don’t know how to do your own laundry?”

  Rocco blushes bright red. “I didn’t say I didn’t know how to do my own laundry. I just have to talk my mom into allowing me to do it. The whole situation is awkward. I don’t want to hurt her feelings but she doesn’t want to let me grow up. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m twenty-six and my brother Remy is thirty-one.”

  “I shouldn’t tease you. I am in a similar quandary. It’s actually the reason why I’ve undergone several random medical tests recently,” I confess with the look of chagrin.

  Rocco raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I know there must be a story there somewhere.”

  “There is. I hope you weren’t kidding about not being in a hurry. This is a little convoluted. After I graduated from college, I got a great job. You know, the kind career offices like to tout as their finest success stories? I was chosen from hundreds of applicants. I really liked my job too —”

  “Why do I have this overwhelming hunch there is a huge but at the end of that sentence?”

  I sigh as I wrap my coat tighter around myself. “It was all going phenomenally well until the boss threatened to hire his niece for my position instead of me.”