Dear Sully

by Jill Cox

  From the looks of it, a friend you loved as much as (or maybe more than) the Addison girls.

  “Well, aren’t you gorgeous,” the curvy blonde said into your shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much that I hate you with my whole heart.” She smiled primly at me over your shoulder, then pushed away from you, stretching out her hand in my direction. “Hello. I’m Emma. And you are?”

  “Pete.” I reached for Emma’s hand. “Pete Russell. Nice to meet you, Emma.”

  “Hello, Pete,” Emma said, squeezing my hand as she shot you a not-so-subtle look. “Well, my goodness, it’s nice to finally meet you as well.”

  There was something in the way that Emma said finally that made me realize she didn’t need any further explanation of who I was. But you simply met her gaze and smiled.

  “How’s life, Ems?”

  “Grand,” she said warmly. “I was really hoping I’d see you tonight. I’ve missed you loads. Or maybe I’ve just missed the way you always left my tea kettle turned the wrong way, you weird lefty.” Emma turned to face me. “Sorry. Meredith and I were flatmates in Galway earlier this year.”

  Now look, I’ll admit that any normal person would’ve known right away who Emma was, but I was still riding high on cow meat and pheromones. Sully and I are back together on a snowy, Irish Christmas Eve! Woo hoo! But who is this blond girl and why is she ruining Sully’s chill?

  “Did you?” I sing-songed like a complete chucklehead. “I’ve never been to Galway, but I hear it’s nice. Lots of festivals. Buskers on every corner. Claddagh rings. Yep. That’s all I know.”

  I don’t know if you know this, Sully, but you and Emma both looked at me like I’d morphed into a three-headed dragon. Suddenly, I felt like an intruder on a very private club.

  “So,” you said, turning to Emma. “Is… everyone else home for Christmas, too?”

  Her lip twitched. “Um… not this year, no. Maeve and Adam took the twins down to Cork to visit his family. And my brother lives in Donegal now. With his wife.”

  “His…” You choked on the word. “Your brother got married?”

  Emma nodded. “They eloped earlier this month. He bought back the rights for The Long Walk and Time to Go from County Down Press. Hannah quit her job in London, and they’ve moved up north to start over again, all shiny fresh and new. He’s hoping to write cozy mysteries now.”

  No lie, Sully – I thought you might vomit right there in the church courtyard. Emma stepped beside you, wrapping her arm around your waist as she fixed me with a bright smile and distracted me just long enough to let you catch your breath. “So, Pete, are you staying in Ireland long?”

  “Until Epiphany.” I looked at you, then back at Emma. “I, uh… I go to school in Paris.”

  “Do you really?” Emma’s expression brightened as she squeezed your waist. “Hear that, love? Maybe you should join him. I hear Paris has inspired a best-seller or two. What do you say?”

  You turned in to Emma, wrapping your arms around her as you curved your head into her hair. “I love you,” you said, choking back a sob. “You know that, right?”

  Emma’s eyes brimmed with tears as she hugged you back. “And I love you. I always will, no matter what.”

  The two of you clung to each other for so long that my throat clenched up. When Emma finally pulled away, her eyes twinkled through the tears.

  “This bloke had better be worth my broken heart.” She tilted her head in my direction, patting your cheek. “Not that I blame you. Tell me, do they put growth hormones in your food in America? I’ve never seen someone as wide across the shoulders as this fellow. At least, not in real life. And those teeth, my word! Somebody comes from a long line of healthy genes.”

  And just like that, the two of you were laughing. I hadn’t heard you laugh like that since your brother died, which is how I finally realized who Emma was: Jack’s sister. And that quip about her broken heart? When you and Jack cut ties, you lost his sister too.

  Until that moment, standing there in the snow, I’d never quite realized how far out my bad choices rippled. Here’s hoping I never forget the pit in my stomach that night.

  Your parents headed upstairs a few minutes after we returned to the Juniper House that night, so I decided to set up It’s A Wonderful Life on the living room TV. “I’ll fix us some tea,” you said, a grimace-like smile plastered on your lips.

  I stood numbly in front of the TV for a full ten minutes, my brain scrambling for what to say next. When the tea kettle whined its lazy whistle, I walked into the kitchen to find you leaning against the kitchen sink, your back to the doorway. I laid a hand on your shoulder. “You okay?”

  Every muscle in your back seized, Sully, and a tiny noise escaped you – a controlled sob. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me right now.”

  My first instinct was to run out the door, up the hill to the highway, and hitch a quick ride to the Shannon airport, because hello! Why were you freaking out about Jack?

  But you see, Emotionally-Educated Pete was much wiser than College-Educated Pete, and he knew it was perfectly healthy and normal to grieve your dreams. Even after you’d moved on.

  So I turned you around to face me and took your face in my hands. “Listen to me for a second. I love you. Not because you’re hot, which you are, and not because you’re talented either, even though you are my superior in every way. I love you because when I’m with you, my soul feels easy. Even in the hard times. Did you know that?”

  “No.” You lifted your eyes to mine and smiled. “Do you know I love you too?”

  “I do. So, look, now that we’re both clear on that issue, why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I promise nothing you could say to me right now could change the way I feel.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Uh, yes. I do. But if you don’t want to tell me, why don’t you pick someone else, and I’ll pretend to be that person. Go on.”

  “Like who?” You frowned. “Oprah?”

  “Oprah, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Chris Pratt… whomever you like.”

  You looked up at me with a crooked smile. “What about Pete Russell?”

  “Really? That guy?”

  “He smells nice. And I like his hair or whatever.” You watched me for a long moment, then sighed. “Okay, okay. So, my blonde friend tonight? That’s Jack’s sister.”

  “Emma?”

  Without another word, you took my hand and led me back to the living room bookcase, pulling a leather-bound book from the shelves. You handed it to me, and when I opened to the front page, I found a silhouette of a young woman bouncing along a row of buildings as the snow fell around her. The sky was midnight blue, and leafless trees glittered with Christmas lights.

  “The Long Walk,” I read out loud. “Hold up, Sully… is this redhead on the cover you?”

  You nodded grimly. “Jack wrote this novel at the same time I was polishing up Night and Day. We, um… we sat in O’Connor’s Pub every day for a month, for hours and hours on end.”

  “It only took him a month to write a full novel?”

  You took the book from my hands. “Jack gave me this copy that day you saw us together on Inishmore. It was… you know, like a parting gift. I guess now it’s the only one in the world.”

  I watched you staring at the cover, and after a moment, I finally understood why you’d been acting so weird all day.

  The streets on the cover were decorated for Christmas.

  You met Jack on Christmas Eve.

  Man, Sully. A lot can happen in a year, can’t it?

  I scratched my neck and met your gaze. “Um… so, why is this the only copy?”

  “That’s what Emma meant earlier: The Long Walk will never be published, because Jack bought back all the rights to his books. With all the foreign deals Michael had already negotiated, Jack must’ve spent at least fifty thousand euros to make both of his books disappear.”

  “Wait, what? Why would he tank his own career li
ke that?”

  You lifted your eyes to mine. “For Hannah. He did it for his wife.”

  I blinked at you for a few moments, because suddenly, I understood what you meant. Jack loved this Hannah person so much he didn’t want your story out in the world. And as much as that obviously stung your heart, I wanted to hug the man. Because the truth is, Sully, I think he did it for us as well.

  “I would do that for you, Pete,” you said, slipping your arms around my waist. “If you asked me to tear up every single contract I’ve signed this year and pay them all back, I would do it. I mean, I might need a tiny loan, because I’ve been living on my advance, but I’d do it, I swear. All you have to do is ask.”

  I lowered my forehead to yours. “No way,” I smiled. “I’ve already booked my tickets for every stop on the Meredith Sullivan Victory Tour next October and I’ve ordered a different color #TeamAllie shirt for each stop. That’s a lot of cotton we’d waste.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m serious, too. I want you to publish Night and Day. Luke plus Allie forever.”

  I stepped back and stuck my fist out for you to bump knuckles. And you smiled – so big and bright that I half-believed I’d dreamed the rest. Then you bumped my knuckles with yours. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Luke plus Allie forever, divided by zero, times infinity.”

  “You can’t divide by zero. That’s basic math.”

  “I know that. It’s a metaphor. Like, no one can divide them? Get it?”

  “What’s a metaphor?”

  You sighed, Sully, and I scooped you into what I hope was the greatest Christmas kiss you’ve ever known. Because the truth was, I understood how razor-close we were to the edge that night. And I made myself a promise as my lips touched yours that I would never lose you again.

  See also: that diamond ring on your finger, Mrs. Russell.

  Auld Lang Syne

  The rest of that week was perfect like Venice. Your parents drove us through the Burren and over to the Rock of Cashel a couple of days after that. The weather stayed so cold that the snow never melted, and oh man, sister. My insides were reduced to molten goo from all the love.

  Fun fact, Sully: do you know that you have the best phone manners of any person I’ve ever met? If someone told me you’d arrived here fully formed in a time machine from the fifties, I would believe them. Because while some people I know check their phone every two seconds even when it’s not buzzing, you rarely check it even when it is.

  So imagine my concern on New Year’s Eve afternoon when you not only looked at your phone during tea time, you actually swiped open a notification. We were in the parlor, and your dad was knee-deep in an anecdote about the Irish parliament. For the next thirty seconds, I tried to split my attention evenly between the two of you. But then your face drained of color.

  “Everything okay?” I muttered.

  “Hmm?” You glanced at me quickly without meeting my eye, then returned your gaze to your phone. “Oh, um… yeah. It’s nothing, just some minor formatting crisis at Reardon. You wouldn’t believe how many times this has happened already.”

  Listen, I may not be a published author like that last guy you dated, but everyone on the planet knows the publishing world shuts down in December. And yeah, maybe that’s a little like saying school teachers only work until three o’clock, but still – it was New Year’s Eve.

  And a Saturday.

  Your mom turned her attention to our side of the room. “Are you feeling well, love?”

  “I’m fine,” you smiled, though it looked a little like a sneer. “No worries.”

  Molly set her teacup down on the table beside her. “White cheeses,” she tutted, shooting me a sympathetic look. “I blame that cheddar company up the road from us in Oregon. She refused to eat anything but cheddar growing up, and now… well, you might want to move over to this side of the room, dear.”

  “Mother!” You groaned, and you have no idea how hard I had to fight to keep my chill that day, Sully, because NO. WAY. Your mom had just warned me you might fart.

  Why yes, Pete Russell, I thought. Welcome to the family.

  Hold on, hold on, STOP. Just one minute. You know I am sitting here laughing so hard that I’m crying, right? If you don’t believe me, check out that tear stain a couple of lines up. My stomach hurts. Oh wait – maybe it’s the fromage blanc I had for breakfast.

  I just fell out of my chair.

  Now wait, before you make the obvious joke – that the French verb peter means “to pass zee gas” – I’m already ahead of you. Do you think Liz Russell forgot that nonsense when she named me Peter? No way – my whole identity is a double entendre. My first diaper in life was a blowout. I can prove it to you! My dad documented it photographically.

  “I have to take care of something upstairs in my apartment,” you said, sliding your phone back in your pocket. “Pete, can you, um… you know, entertain yourself until dinner?”

  “Sure he can,” Jamie chirped as he got to his feet. “Would you like to pop over to Ennistymon with me, Pete? The shops will be closed tomorrow and we don’t want to run out of toilet paper if Meredith is…”

  “DAD!” You bellowed and ran out of the room, letting the back door bang behind you.

  Your mom and dad laughed so hard that I had to join them, Sully. It would have been rude not to. I love you. Not as much as I love white cheese, but you’re a close second.

  FINE. FINE. I’ll get back to the story.

  You stayed up in the garage apartment until we had dinner that night with your parents, and afterward, you asked me to go on a drive with you. Dude, I was freaking nervous. Could you tell? I felt certain you were going to break up with me, although I couldn’t imagine why.

  Apart from the fart jokes, obviously.

  Though it was barely eight o’clock, night had settled over Doolin town. We passed Fisherstreet, winding our way up a rocky back road up to Doonagore Castle. Suddenly you turned left, then five-point turned the car back around. The entire Doolin coastline spread out below us from whatever driveway we’d just blocked. Even from that distance, we could see the sea sparkling in the moonlight.

  You handed me your phone. “Open it. The code’s 1-0-0-8.”

  “One thousand eight? Is that some important date in Irish history?”

  You smiled timidly. “October 8th. That’s the day we danced in the Tuileries junior year.”

  I wanted to kiss you so badly in that moment, but I held it together and tapped in your code. There on the screen was an e-mail from kbeauchamp@centrelafayette.fr.

  “Read it,” you said into the silence between us. “Read it, and tell me what you think.”

  Without arguing, I did what you said – or at least, I tried. I had to read it three times to make sure I was understanding correctly, because my blood was thundering so loudly in my head that I had a hard time deciphering the letters on the screen. They said:

  Mademoiselle Sullivan,

  I’m so pleased that you’ve considered my offer of part-time employment beginning 9 January. You will shadow Danielle for the rest of the academic year, and in June, if things go as planned, you will become my assistant. I’m afraid I can’t pay you very much from January through May, but Marie-France de Clavéry has offered to house you rent-free through the end of the school year as a thank you to Danielle and me for our decades-long friendship.

  I wish you and Pete the very happiest New Year together. Please don’t hesitate to contact me should you have further questions as you make your final decision. I look forward to your reply.

  Meilleurs voeux pour une très belle année,

  Kathy Beauchamp

  A strange sort of muffled sob escaped me, and just like that, gigantic tears began to tumble down my face. “Is this for real? Did Kathy just offer you a job in Paris?”

  “Yes.” Your expectant smile faltered. “Hey! Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not crying.” I shoved the tears off my cheeks. “The car heater just
irritates my eyes.”

  You laughed, Sully. That low, rumbling laugh you make when you think I’m super cute. You reached across the space between us and cupped your left hand under my jaw, brushing a stray tear that I missed. “You want me to fill in the blanks here?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I half-sniffed, half-laughed. “That would be nice.”

  “Okay, when I came to Paris this fall for the anniversary shindig, Madame Beauchamp asked me to arrive three hours early. She took me to breakfast and explained that Danielle wants to retire at the end of this year. At first, I just thought she was shooting the breeze with me.”

  “Really? Does that seem like something she would do?”

  “Well, no, but you know I’m slow on the uptake sometimes,” you smiled sheepishly, playing with a curl behind my ear. “She did finally spell it out for me and asked about my book schedule, like how many hours a week I usually devote to revisions, how often I travel to the States for scheduled events – things of that nature. So I pulled out my planner –”

  “Of course you did.”

  You pinched my cheek playfully. “Mock all you want, but Kathy Beauchamp appreciated my organizational skills. After she glanced through my spring commitments, she said my schedule seems reasonable and that there’s no need to rush my decision. We’ve talked several times since October, and this morning, I e-mailed to let her know I was interested in the job, but that I needed to speak to you first. When I went up to my apartment earlier, I crafted a preliminary response.”

  “It took you two hours to write a response? Really?”

  “Listen up, Judgy McJudgerson. Unlike you, I never use my French anymore, and this was important.” Your eyes searched mine for a few seconds, like you didn’t know if you should ask the question on the tip of your tongue: What do you think, Pete? But I already knew my answer.

  I leaned across the car to kiss you, breaking the silence between us. “I am one hundred percent on board with this plan,” I said against your lips. “Let’s go back to your place and start packing your things right now.”