So talking to her wasn't a possibility. He couldn't get closure that way.
It was similar to the situation with me and Christophe. I couldn't talk to him because he wouldn't see me, and even if I could I wouldn't be able to trust what he said.
Putting it in those terms to myself helped me understand his frustration even more, and I said, "I guess what you need is to talk to her without talking to her."
He nodded slowly. "But how?"
"What about some sort of assault hotline?" I said, thinking out loud. "You could call there and tell them what happened and say you're sorry."
His forehead creased. "I could. Do you think it would help?"
Before I could answer, he said, "Actually, it might. But I wouldn't just call." He paused. "How much have you and Rosanna talked about your pasts?"
I blinked, surprised by the change of direction, then realized what he was trying to dance around. "I know what happened to her in university."
He nodded. "Didn't want to spill it if you didn't. But since she told me I've been thinking about doing something to support a hotline like the one she said she called. So I think you're right. I'll call, and tell them, and then make a donation. Set things right at least a little bit."
I hoped the hotline worker would understand what Jake was doing and why. I did, and I thought it was wonderful. It wouldn't help Jennifer directly, but it would make life easier for another Jennifer and I thought it might help ease Jake's guilt as well. He'd lived with it long enough. Time to find a way to free himself.
Chapter Forty-Two
I went into work the next morning feeling nervous and excited for Jake, but one look at his glum face told me he hadn't made the call I knew he wanted so badly to make.
I gave him a small but reassuring smile and a nod, and he said, "Want to grab a quick cappuccino? I could use the boost this morning."
Naturally, I agreed, and almost before we were entirely out the door he said, "I didn't call."
"I can tell. What happened?"
He shrugged. "I tried twice and the line was busy both times, and after gearing myself up two times I couldn't face a third."
I nodded. "Makes sense. That's terrible, though, that the line is always busy." I could see in my mind's eye some poor woman calling again and again, desperate for help, and never getting through.
"Definitely." He sighed. "Maybe I should just send them a letter or something."
That felt wrong to me. Far easier to commit things to paper than to speak them to a listener. That was why Mike had been able to write about the abuse he'd suffered in such detail but couldn't share it with his therapist. "Do you think that would work as well, or is saying it out loud part of what you need to do?"
He shot me a look, nearly a glare. "Are you asking me whether I need to say, 'I might have raped a woman and I don't know and it's killing me' out loud?"
I couldn't answer. I couldn't breathe. The passion and pain in his voice seemed to have sucked all the oxygen out of the air.
He stepped off the sidewalk out of the way of the morning rush and stopped walking. "God, Alexa, how did I survive without you? You're right, I do need to say it." He turned to me and his eyes widened. "Are you okay?"
I nodded but I still couldn't speak.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry, honey, you shouldn't have to hear that. Can I give you a hug? Would that help?"
I didn't think he'd meant to call me 'honey', since the endearment had tumbled out among the rest of his rush of words, but I loved it. I nodded, and he pulled me close.
After a few deep breaths, I felt better. "I'm okay," I said into his chest. "Really. I felt bad for you, not me."
His arms tightened around me. "You're incredible, Alexa."
I silently savored the warmth of his embrace for as long as I felt I could, then said, "Well, of course. I am the carpet princess."
He laughed. "You're the carpet queen now, and don't you forget it."
I laughed too, and we stepped back from each other and began walking again toward the coffee shop.
At the door he stopped and drew me aside out of the way of the steady stream of caffeine-craving customers. "Thank you," he said, his eyes intent on mine. "Thank you for not hating me."
I stared at him. "I couldn't possibly--"
"You could, and I'm so glad you don't."
Since I again couldn't speak, I hugged him hard. He squeezed me tight, resting his cheek against the top of my head, and I wondered whether Christophe felt even half as guilty about his actual crime as Jake did about his potential one.
*****
After work, Jake and I went out for dinner, at which we discussed karaoke and Stella and everything else under the sun except the phone call I knew he still wanted to make, and had a wonderful time.
When he took me home, as we hugged he said, "I'm going to call tonight. I'll keep trying until I get through, even if I have to stay up all night. And then I'll tell them what happened and find out how to make a donation, and then I'll get off the phone so I'm not hogging their lines."
I leaned back and smiled at him. "I'm sure they won't mind. Good luck. And let me know how it goes."
"You got it."
We hugged again then said our goodbyes, and he headed off down the sidewalk as I headed into my building. I couldn't resist turning to watch him go, and he was looking back at me. We grinned at each other and waved, and I went on into the building and over to the mailboxes with my grin still present.
It crumbled, though, when I opened a large packet from my parents on the elevator to find a note and an envelope inside. From the New York Department of Correction. With Christophe's handwriting on the front.
I stuffed that back unopened into the larger envelope, feeling sick even to touch it, and fished out the note.
Alexa,
This came to us, so I guess Christophe doesn't have your address in Toronto. I hope he's written something to give you the peace we wanted you to find here with us.
Take care.
Love, Mom
No, of course Christophe didn't have my address in Toronto. I didn't want him to have my parents' address either but he'd been there a few times and he had a great memory so there was nothing I could do to stop him writing to me through them.
The elevator stopped at my floor, and I made my way to my apartment as quietly as I could because I didn't want to see Jillian. I'd tell her about the letter once I knew more about it, but for right now I wanted to be by myself.
I got in safely and scooped up Stella for a hug. She cuddled into me for a few seconds, purring wildly, but then began wriggling to get away.
"I know, you're hungry." I set her down and began getting out her food. "But I will want more hugs later, okay?" I sighed. "I'll need more later."
She made no promises, but I fed her anyhow and then took myself and a glass of water and Christophe's letter to the couch.
When I'd drunk all the water, I still hadn't done more than stare at the envelope, which I'd placed on the seat beside me but not touching me. It almost seemed to be pulsing, or ticking like a time bomb.
It could well be a time bomb, really. I had no idea what he'd said in it, but no matter what his words would stick to me and embed themselves in me like shrapnel.
If he was apologetic and begged my forgiveness, I would feel like I needed to give it even though I didn't want to. If he told me it was all my fault, that wouldn't be much fun either. He could try to explain himself, but I didn't see how that would help me. He'd clearly thought he had the right to take my body in whatever way he saw fit, and to brand it so I wouldn't share myself with anyone else, and no amount of explanation would make that okay.
No matter what he'd written, it would hurt me to read it.
Stella came over and jumped up into my lap. She settled down and began purring, and I stroked her back and stared at the letter some more.
I could ask Jake for advice, or even Jillian. As an attorney, she might have an idea
what a convicted criminal would have sent to me. But of course she didn't know Christophe so it would be a guess at best.
David might have a better answer, since he did know him, but I hadn't yet answered his letter and contacting him just for this didn't seem right. Besides, he hadn't anticipated the assault either so he couldn't be trusted as a Christophe-predictor.
Jake, I knew, would come over and sit with me while I read it, and then hug me after to help me recover, and that seemed like my best option.
Then I thought of another one, so obvious it hadn't even occurred to me.
I could not read it.
I'd felt that Jake needed to say his words out loud because writing a letter to the hotline was a bit of a copout. Wasn't what Christophe had done even more of a copout?
I had gone to the prison to see him, and he'd refused to talk to me then. But now he'd sent a letter, and when I read it I'd get his side of the story and not be able to do anything but silently accept it.
I drew the letter a little closer and checked the postmark. Yes, he had sent it after I went to see him. So he'd let me make all that effort for nothing and had then decided to write to me.
Perhaps his letter contained an apology for that.
Sure, and perhaps it contained a million bucks. But I doubted it.
More importantly, I didn't need whatever he'd sent.
I didn't care.
What Christophe said and thought was irrelevant to me now. He had set out to break me, to control me even from beyond his grave, and for the two years after the attack I had let him have that control. Yes, I'd been out walking around and he'd been in prison, but in his thoughts and his heart he'd had more freedom than he'd allowed me. More freedom than I'd taken back from him.
Things had changed, though. Moving to Toronto, cutting my hair, finding ways to dress that felt like me without revealing the tattoos... I would never be fully free of what he'd done to me but I didn't feel like it defined me any more. I had freedom because I had chosen to do what I wanted to do, not because Christophe had allowed it or I'd taken it from him. It was about me, not him.
And then there was Jake, and even Howard. Though my relationship with Howard hadn't worked out, I had been able to start one. I wasn't there yet with Jake but I felt like I would be someday. Once I got over my trust issues, I'd be ready for that. I had made huge progress and I'd be able to make even more.
But reading Christophe's letter wouldn't help me even the tiniest bit with that, unless he happened to hit the perfect note of apology and guilt, and I knew better than to expect he'd have even tried to do that. No, his letter had been written for his sake, not mine.
But I would act for my own sake, not his.
I pulled Stella to my chest and hugged her tight, rubbing my cheek against her impossibly soft fur and listening to her purr. My poor little abused girl, who'd decided she could trust me. Then I set her down and took the envelope to the kitchen, picking up my candle lighter on the way.
I paused for a second, holding the letter over the kitchen sink, to listen to myself. Was this really what I wanted to do? I wouldn't be able to go back.
I told myself, "Yes," a thousand times in that second, so I went ahead. I flicked the lighter and smiled at its flame, then set the letter ablaze.
I held onto it for as long as I could, watching the paper curl and blacken and hearing it crackle, then dropped it into the sink. When it had burned to ash, I turned on the water and washed the remnants down the drain. I considered dumping bleach down on top of them but decided that was overkill. The letter was gone, and I'd never felt happier or more lighthearted.
Only one task left to complete. I started up my laptop and sent an email.
Dear Mom,
I got the envelope you sent. I have destroyed the letter. If he sends anything else, please send it back marked 'Addressee Unknown'.
I love you, and I'd like to come for a visit in a few weeks, once the book I'm editing is done, if that's okay with you.
Alexa
A visit would be fine now, since I'd moved past everything I'd been afraid to see at their place. And it wasn't a lie, what I wanted her to write. The Alexa Christophe had known didn't exist any more.
Chapter Forty-Three
I didn't call Jake Thursday night, because I didn't want to bother him if he was gearing himself up to call the hotline, and he didn't contact me either. I did invite Jillian over, though, and when I told her how I'd dealt with Christophe's letter she squealed and hugged me and told me how proud she was of me, and it made me feel even better than I already did.
I wanted to share the news with Jake too, though, so I hurried to the office the next morning in the hopes he'd be early as well. When I got there the main room was empty, which disappointed me until Rhonda stuck her head out of her office and said, "Good, it's you. Jake is in the conference room and he asked me to send you down when you get here."
I nodded, thrilled that he was there and in a private place so we could talk but trying not to show it since she'd wonder at such excitement for such a small piece of news, and she glanced at her watch and said, "Mike called and said he'll be here in fifteen minutes or so. I'll get you if you're not back by then."
After smiling and thanking her, I went off to the conference room, walking as fast as I could without running.
When I opened the door, Jake jumped out of his chair and grinned at me. "Look! Look at these!"
I looked where he was pointing, though I wanted to keep looking at him because the delight on his face was so lovely, and saw a series of computer-printed photographs taped to the whiteboard. I went closer and realized they were of a sculpture.
His sculpture, the woman with a bird on each upturned palm.
His finished sculpture.
The woman's face was present now, in gorgeous detail. She had high cheekbones like Kate's and a faintly smiling mouth that reminded me of Rosanna's expression when she was deep in concentration, and I thought her eyes looked like mine. Glowing with love and happiness, those eyes were fixed on the bird she held at the height of her face. The other bird was looking up at her, and somehow it managed to have the same blissful expression in its tiny beady clay eyes.
I turned back to him, ecstatic. "You finished it! When? It's beautiful."
He threw his arms open and I threw myself into them. "Last night," he said, squeezing me tight. "After the call."
He'd made the call. I leaned back enough in his embrace so I could see him. "How did it go?"
"It was tough," he admitted. "I couldn't make myself do it until one in the morning because..."
"Because it was tough?" I supplied.
He chuckled and pulled me back against him. "Exactly. But I did do it, and the hotline lady was great and she thanked me for calling and for donating, and when I got off the phone I looked over at the sculpture and immediately saw how it needed to look and I went right to it."
"At one o'clock?"
He laughed. "Yup. I've had only two hours of sleep and I've never felt better."
I wound my arms further around his waist and pressed my cheek to his chest. "I'm so happy for you. And we're a good pair today because I can't remember ever feeling better either."
"Oh?"
"I got a letter from Christophe last night."
Jake stiffened in my arms. "Are you okay? What did he say?"
I laughed with pure joy. "I have no idea. I burned it."
He laughed too as he relaxed. "Really?"
"I just didn't care what he said. It doesn't matter any more. He doesn't matter."
Jake held me so close I felt like we were one person. "That absolutely makes my day, Alexa. And I was having a pretty good one already."
I shut my eyes and let myself melt into him. Hugging him had always felt wonderful, but now there was an electricity between us too, new and delicious. "Good. You deserve it."
I felt his cheek come to rest against my hair. "That'd be you."
I'd never felt so good in
someone's arms, somehow strong and safe and comfortable and alive all at once, and I burrowed in even more, wanting to be still closer to him. "Maybe it's both of us."
"Deal," he murmured, then we held each other in silence until an "Oh, sorry" made us spring apart.
Rhonda stood in the doorway, beaming at me. "I didn't mean to interrupt, Alexa, but Mike is on the phone wondering if you want him to bring you a coffee."
I already had more energy than a thousand coffees could have given me from the wonderful events of the day, but I said, "Tell him sure, and thanks."
She looked to Jake. "He said he'd buy for whoever's here."
Jake laughed. "Well, I am here, so yes, count me in."
"Good enough." She started to leave, then smiled and said, "As you were."
We chuckled, and once she headed down the hall I turned to Jake and held out my arms. "Gotta do what the boss says, right?"
He made his eyes big and serious. "No question."
We stayed locked together until we heard Mike arrive with our drinks, and I could have stayed forever.
*****
Mike and I had a great morning together. He'd made new changes to his book, taking it to another level of honesty, but when I suggested again that he could make the Max character gay he said, "I see why you say that. I've always seen it. But no, I can't go that far yet. Maybe in the next book."
I smiled at him. "Thanks for telling me the truth." My smile widened. "And for talking about your next book. I'd love to edit it."
He chuckled. "It's nothing but a pile of notes right now. But when it's ready... trust me, I won't accept anyone but you as my editor. Now, can I take you out for lunch to celebrate this book before we shove it aside for the next one?"
"Definitely," I said, knowing we'd have fun, but when we got back into the main room Jake said, "Alexa, want to join me for lunch?"
Wishing I didn't have to turn him down, I said, "Mike's already booked me, sorry."
Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13) Page 73
