by Mary Campisi
What would it be like if she and Pete lived here?
“Hey, sleepyhead. Plan to sleep all day?”
Pete stood in the doorway, long and lean, dressed in flannel and jeans. His gaze darted from the dip in the sheet that exposed a good portion of flesh, moved to her face. “You should have called me.” She eased out of bed, stretched, enjoying the way his eyes followed her as she slipped into her panties and bra, pulled on a T-shirt. Elissa had never quite understood the sexual control some women exercised over men, maybe because she didn’t think she was capable of it. She’d never felt overly sexual with Zachary, but with Pete, the push-pull of her sexuality wasn’t intentional or contrived. It just was.
“Come here,” he said, his voice rough, his expression unreadable. She moved toward him, placed her hands on his hips. He framed her face with his large hands, studied her. “The work’s done here. We’ll finish up today.”
“I know.”
“We can stay a while, or not, but whatever we decide to do, I need to be honest with you.”
“Yes?” Here it comes. He’s going to tell me he’s moving on…
He cleared his voice twice. “I don’t know about you, but for me, this pretending doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.”
Pete wasn’t pretending; he cared about her, and he was going to admit it. Oh, but she wanted to hug him so tight and cry, but she didn’t. Instead, she managed a serious “I know.”
He pulled her to him, buried his lips in her hair. “I think we’re going to have to talk about it.”
“Uh-huh.” Elissa closed her eyes, breathed in his scent, as the truth slipped out. She was falling in love with him. Could he find it in his heart to return that love?
The “talking” started later that afternoon, when Pete told her about Magdalena and the couples he’d observed. Of course, he didn’t know she knew about Magdalena, and he certainly didn’t know her connection to the heartache that almost happened there. How was she ever going to tell him about that? Or that she’d mailed the letter to Nate Desantro the day they drove into town? She’d have to tell him, but not yet.
“I’ve seen a lot of couples since I’ve been back in Magdalena. They’re not crazy rich, not by most people’s standards, at least not the ones I knew. But they’re happy and they seem content. Some of them have been together for decades, others just a few years.” They sat next to each other on the couch, his shoulder slung over hers, thighs touching, her head resting on his chest. “The ones our age are having kids, and they don’t seem put out by the extra mouths to feed or annoyed they’re giving up free time. Hell, they seem to enjoy it.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head, murmured, “Maybe that’s what real wealth is. You just have to find the right person to help you see that, and share it.”
Elissa tightened her hold around his waist, whispered, “I think you’re right.”
“I’d like to have more money, but I’d rather have the right person beside me, step by step, through good times and not so good ones. My mother told me Nate Desantro had a rough road with his mother-in-law. The damn lady tried to break up his marriage with some fake seduction thing. Can you imagine that? What kind of parent does that to her own daughter?”
That’s not what Mrs. Blacksworth had told her. She’d sworn Nate had been involved and he was the one to turn her daughter against her. “I’m sure there’s more to the story.”
“More? I doubt it unless you want to add psycho and witch to the mother-in-law’s name.”
Why would Mrs. Blacksworth lie to her? What was the point? Elissa wasn’t a relative; she would not have judged. “I’m sorry,” was all she could manage. She would have to tell Pete the truth, but not tonight. She’d tell him in the morning. And then she’d destroy the notebook.
“Look, I don’t want to talk about her or whatever lies she told. All I know is my mother said she tried to ruin good people, and my mother’s usually in the know about this stuff.” He laughed, sifted a hand through her hair. “She’s a little bit of a gossip. Drives my father crazy.”
“I’ll bet.” When Pete heard her story, he’d understand, wouldn’t he? He’d see that she’d believed a dying woman because she hadn’t thought such a person capable of causing harm on her deathbed.
“Okay, now I’m really done with that woman.” His voice gentled. “I want to talk about you and me.” He paused, added. “Us.”
Elissa sat up, hesitated. “Us?”
“Yeah. What I feel for you is real, not some pretend crap I made up to protect myself. I’d like to spend more time with you—” his eyes glittered, his voice dipped “—in the real world outside of the cabin. Will you come back to Magdalena with me? Meet my family?” A dull rose shot from his neck to his cheeks. “If you feel the same way, that is.”
“I do…feel the same way.” She stroked his cheek, kissed him. “I’ll come with you. Anywhere you want to go.”
“Let’s stay here a few more days, and then we’ll let the outside world bombard us, okay?”
“Uh-huh.” She clung to him, wished she hadn’t gotten involved with Mrs. Blacksworth’s agenda. But there was no going back now; she’d done it and the sooner she told Pete the truth, the sooner they could move forward. They’d get past this. They cared about one another. People who cared about one another stuck together and forgave each other’s missteps.
Didn’t they?
6
Pete rose early the next morning, made the coffee, and started gathering their belongings. He sure was going to miss this place, but sooner or later, he and Elissa had to step into the real world and it might as well be in Magdalena. The people there would study Elissa with a keen eye, draw conclusions they may or may not put to sound, but in the end, they’d accept her. That’s what small towns did. As long as she cared about him and didn’t hurt him. You could move from a small town and stay away for fifteen years, but the second you walked back in, it was as if you’d never left, like you were still one of them—which you were.
He grabbed the bag of yarn and knitting needles he’d spotted on the couch the first day. The needles stuck out, but when Pete tried to push them into the bag, he noticed a notebook blocking the way. Pete eased it from the bag, studied it. Had Elissa pasted the red rose on the cover? Was this some sort of sketch book? He could picture her as an artist, sketching flowers and people. He smiled, flipped the notebook open, expecting to see a pencil sketch of a rose.
He did not expect to see Gloria Blacksworth’s name scrawled along the top border or the name Magdalena written in the margins. What the hell? Pete sank onto the couch and began to read…
Forty minutes later, he closed the notebook, stared at the cover with the pasted rose. How could Elissa be capable of such cold-hearted cruelty? What did it mean? Had she copied pages from Gloria Blacksworth’s notebook and created her own?
Did she plan to continue the torment once she sent the final letter?
Was she blackmailing people?
Who could tell? He sure as hell couldn’t, not after reading the contents and the side notes she’d written. Damn her for pretending to be kind and caring, a human being with a conscience…
“Pete?”
The sweetness of her voice swept over him, almost made him wish he hadn’t opened the notebook and learned the harsh truth about her. But what was the point of prolonging what would turn out to be a bad ending? Had he really thought he might have a future with the woman? A stranger, no less, whose sob story wasn’t half as sickening as the drama inside the notebook. Elissa could have ended it all when the Blacksworth woman died, but she didn’t. Hell no, she carried on the legacy, as a favor to a friend.
“Pete?”
She stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing his flannel shirt, long legs bare, a hint of a smile on her lips. Fresh-faced, innocent, tempting. A seductress bent on destruction. He slid the notebook across the table. “Look what I found. A play-by-play book on how to destroy lives.”
The second she realized what it was, she lu
nged toward the table and snatched up the notebook. “You…you read this?”
He shrugged. “Twice.”
“I planned to tell you today.” The words spilled out in a rush of panic. “I didn’t know Mrs. Blacksworth was lying. I believed what she told me. I thought I was honoring a dead woman’s request by mailing the letters.”
That pissed him off. He pushed back the chair, stood. “You didn’t know she was lying? You thought these letters were normal? They could destroy lives!” Pete moved toward her, stopped when he was an arm’s length away. “This Blacksworth woman is the friend you were talking about, isn’t she? She sounds sick in the head, a pariah, a mental cancer that eats at you.”
She shook her head, inched her gaze back to his. “I didn’t know. I don’t think she was like that in the beginning.”
“Of course, she was like that.” How could he have thought this woman was special? She was worse than Heather; at least his old girlfriend had never tried to be anything other than the society girl she was. But Elissa? Hell, she’d acted like goodness was her middle name.
“You didn’t know her. She was all alone…and dying,” she stammered, her eyes bright. “I think she lost her way.”
Let the damn tears come. He would not be taken in by them or the crushed look on her beautiful face. “Your definition of friendship is twisted.”
“I believed her.” Her voice split open with sadness. “All she wanted was for me to mail the letters. How could I say no? She told me it was her duty to see them delivered, that fate would help the innocents involved.”
Was she serious? “That is such bullshit. How could you believe that crap? Look what she wrote about the MacGregors. Would a decent person expose a pregnancy? And Nate Desantro. Were you involved in that mess?” When she didn’t answer, anger fueled his next words. “Tell me, damn it.”
The tears spilled down her cheeks, to her chin, her neck, landed on the flannel shirt. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Her lips quivered, her shoulders shook. “I only wanted to honor my word.”
“Yeah, you did that, and who knows what damage you caused in the process. And what about Jack Finnegan?” He’d saved this one for last. According to her side notes, she hadn’t mailed the letter yet. Taking money didn’t sound like his father, but if he had done it, then the old man had a reason, a good one, and it shouldn’t be brought into the open. Period. “Answer me.”
She shook her head, sniffed. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone. I know you care about the people in this town…”
Those last words shot through him. “Sure, you do. Last night, when I told you about Magdalena and Nate, you never said a word. Did you think I wouldn’t care that you’d tried to torch the place where I grew up? Or did you think I’d never find out?”
“No.” More tears. “I didn’t know how to tell you about the Desantros because then you’d ask how…”
“Why not just lie? That’s what you’ve been doing all along, right?” The damn pain in his gut burned, shot through the rest of his body.
“That’s not true. I planned to tell you about the notebook today.”
“Ah, now isn’t that convenient?” Those hazel eyes poured tears, begged him to understand. Oh, he understood, he understood what it felt like to get played. Pete buried the hurt and said, “You’re gonna destroy this book. Right now, before any more harm comes to anyone.”
“I planned to burn it,” she said in a small voice.
“Sure you did. Tell me, was it a sudden burst of conscience that brought you to that decision?”
“No. I mailed the last letter the other day when we went to town.”
“Last letter?” There was only one letter that hadn’t been sent yet. He clenched his fists, waited for her response.
“The one about Jack Finnegan. I mailed it to Nate Desantro.”
“Damn you!” Pete grabbed the notebook and the pack of matches in the cupboard above the sink. “Get dressed.” He began tearing pages from the book as he made his way outside. When he reached the backyard, he dumped the book and the random pages in the trash bin, lit a match, and tossed it inside. “Burn, you bastard, burn.” Flames captured the pages, destroyed the words that could harm others. He glanced up, spotted Elissa staring at him from the kitchen window. How could he have been such a fool? She’d torched his heart, but only because he’d given her the opportunity and the ammunition to do it.
Pete blew out a sigh of disgust, looked away, and pulled out his cell phone. If he were lucky, he’d intercept the letter before it reached Nate and brought a shit storm to the Finnegans. He punched in his father’s number, waited.
“Hello?”
“Dad? Listen, there’s a letter coming to Nate from one of Gloria Blacksworth’s friends.” He paused, drew in a deep breath. “It’s about some money that went missing several years back.” The hitched breath on the other end of the line told him his father knew exactly what he was talking about. “You need to contact Nate and tell him not to open the letter.”
“Son, I’m sorry—”
“You gotta get that letter, Dad. Nate can’t read it.”
“I never wanted any of you kids to find out. It’s the worst decision I ever had to make in my life.” He paused, his voice cracking. “Steal from a friend or let one of our family be disgraced.”
“What are you talking about? Who would’ve been disgraced?” Was it one of Pete’s siblings? If it happened twenty-some years ago, it had to be an older kid. Which one? And what kind of trouble that involved three thousand dollars?
“I can’t say. It’s private and no matter all the years that’ve passed, this person wouldn’t survive the telling.” A deep sigh. “I’m just real sorry you had to learn that your old man isn’t as upstanding as he pretends to be.”
Pete pictured his father sitting in his favorite rocker, shoulders slumped, rough hands clasped together, his blue eyes a mix of pain and sadness. He cleared his throat, pushed out the words he’d known for years but had never spoken. “You’re the best person I know, Dad, and I’m proud you’re my father. I’m the one who’s sorry for acting like a shit all these years, taking the easy way out while you made tough choices for us. I’m not going to let this damn letter take you down or ruin your relationship with Nate. I’m going to fix this.”
“How, son? How can you fix a wrong you didn’t create? If anybody’s going to make amends, it’s got to be me. But I sure do appreciate the effort. Means a lot.” Long pause. “How’d you find out about the letter, son?”
Now there was the big question. Pete fumbled for an answer and settled on, “A woman.”
His father whistled through the line. “Damn, isn’t that always the way?”
“Sure looks like it.”
“I’ll see you when you finish up there, and don’t worry about me. This conversation with Nate has been a long time coming, and I’d just as soon be done with it than carry it on my back another twenty-some years. And, son?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be too hard on the woman.” Click.
Pete stared into the trash bin as the remnants of the notebook turned into charred bits of memories, their threat nothing more than black bits of ash. Don’t be too hard on the woman. Since when had his father softened on what constituted right and wrong? Back in the day, Jack Finnegan believed in black and white choices, no gray allowed. Still, this wasn’t about his father’s rules or beliefs. This was about Pete and what he’d thought Elissa stood for, who he believed she was, and worse, how incredibly wrong he’d been about both. Again.
“Pete?”
Elissa stood a few feet away, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her ski vest unzipped, hands gloveless. No hat. Hadn’t she told him she never went outside without layers of cold-weather gear? Yeah, she had, but maybe she’d even been lying about something as inconsequential as dressing for the weather. Who knew? Who cared? He shoved his hands in his back pockets, welcoming the chilly air that whipped through his open jacket. He sure d
idn’t care. Not. One. Bit. “What do you want?”
She inched closer, peered in the trash bin. “I’m glad you burned the notebook.”
How to respond to that? “I only wish I’d found it before you sent the last letter.”
“You know this Jack Finnegan, don’t you?”
“I know him.” He held her gaze and let the truth spill out. “He’s my father.”
“Your…father?”
The shock on her face gave him a small amount of satisfaction. So, she really hadn’t known who he was. Well, now she did. “He’s the man I told you about, remember? The one who gave me a hard time and pretty much kicked my lazy butt out of town? He’s also the best person I know, and your allegiance to that Blacksworth woman is going to hurt him. I don’t know how Nate Desantro’s going to take it, but it wasn’t your secret to tell.” Pete swore under his breath. “I am so damn tired of this conversation.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Save the ‘sorry’s’ and the tears. It’s too late for them. It only mattered when you could have told me the truth and didn’t.” Logic told him to stop here and let it go, but logic had vanished the second he met this woman. “Last night I told you I was from Magdalena, and I told you about the Desantros. You had to have figured I had a connection to them if I was fixing their cabin. And you never said a damn word.” He planted his hands on his hips, glared at her. “Nothing. You let me think you were some wounded angel dropped from the sky, unlike any I’d ever met before, and I was going to be the one to save you.” The laugh that spilled from him was cold, harsh, brittle. “But you’re no angel. You’re a woman without a conscience.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t say that.”
“You played me, didn’t you? From the very beginning.”
