by Rachel Hauck
“He shouldn’t have stolen the letter,” Oliver said.
“Oliver, I appreciate what you’ve done, but—”
“Chloe,” Dad said. “Let go. It’s okay to love again. We can fly to Boston and—”
“And do what?” She flicked the dew from the corner of her eyes. “Beg him to love me because his ancestor loved mine?”
“Well, no, but we can show him the letter and—”
“Dad, I’ve told him I love him. I even wrote him that letter. He’s never responded. Oliver, it was nice to meet you, and I’m glad to know more of my family history, but this changes nothing. Hamilton and Esther never made it, and frankly, neither will Jesse and I.”
JESSE
For three days, an earthquake rumbled through his entire being. His insides shook while working out, eating breakfast, and during his morning reading.
The Brants taught him their formula for forgiveness by pointing him to a cross. A cruel, ugly, brutal cross.
“If you want to move on, Jesse, look to the Cross.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s where forgiveness begins.”
Then Mrs. Brant began a song and broke the fallow ground of Jesse’s existence.
They prayed over him. Forgave him. And at last accepted his ten-thousand-dollar donation to the Loxley Brant Scholarship fund.
The following Monday, Dan popped his head in the door of Jesse’s DiamondBros office. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?” Could he see the shaking? Hear his roaring pulse? Jesse was on the verge of making a doctor appointment. Something was wrong. Or perhaps, yes, perhaps for the first time in his life something was truly right.
Dan sat in the chair beside Jesse’s desk. “You seem different.”
He made a face. “How?” But he was different. He was free. A redeemed man without guilt or shame.
Last night he had his first contact from someone in LA other than Jeremiah. Smitty texted.
Next time you’re in town I’ll take you to church.
“You just do.” Dan leaned forward. “We have a new client this afternoon, remember? They’re on their way up. Pam is setting up lunch in the conference room. But before we go in and give them a song and dance about your genius, I have to ask, are you happy here?”
Jesse gave his big brother the little-brother stink eye. “Yes, and stop asking or I won’t come to your stupid meeting.”
“Now that’s the little brother I know and love.” Dan headed for the door. “You coming?”
“Right behind you.” Jesse collected his data and research, his phone pinging just as he headed out. A text from Jeremiah.
Sent you a link to a rough cut of the ending scene. What do you think?
Jesse glanced at his watch, then rounded his desk and sat in front of his computer. He didn’t have enough time to watch the whole thing, but he could fast-forward, get a feel for what Jer had done.
And see Chloe.
He clicked on the link and South Carolina, 1781 splashed across his screen.
“Jesse.” Pam entered, waving an envelope. “You’re not going to believe this, but I found a letter addressed to you. I checked the postmark. It came for you when I was on vacation, or I’d have given it to you.”
“Vacation?” He hit pause and reached for the envelope. “Wasn’t that over two months ago?”
“Guess what temp agency we’re never using again? That girl, I’m telling you, she’d walk into the wall if you told her it was a door.”
Jesse examined the envelope. “It’s from Bel Air.” And the Daschle estate was the return address.
“One of your Hollywood friends?” Pam came around the desk to read over his shoulder and kill him with her perfume. She’d been vying for an invitation to Bound by Love’s premiere since he arrived.
“Probably.” He sat back, pressing the letter facedown on his desk. “Close the door on your way out, Pam. Tell Dan to start lunch without me. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Darn it. How am I ever going to meet Clive Boston if you don’t let me in on what’s going on?”
“Trust me, the only Boston you want to know is this one.” He pointed out the window to the sunlight glinting off steel and glass.
When he was alone, he set the letter on his desk. He didn’t have time to read it, though his every heartbeat declared o-pen-it, o-pen-it. But he wanted to read it when he had time. Not on his way to a meeting. And there was the clip Jeremiah had sent.
On impulse, not letting reason have its way, he clicked play, then tore open the letter.
Chloe had written the letter by hand on cream-colored stationery.
Dear Jesse,
On the screen, the movie played. Jesse aimed the light remote at the sensor and dimmed the overhead lights, letter still in hand, burning his fingertips.
He’d been in half a dozen romcoms, two dozen commercials, but nothing compared to the experience of seeing his story come to life on the screen.
Rough cut or not, Jesse embraced the wonder and beauty of it all.
Chris Painter ran across the battlefield as Hamilton, rifle in one hand, yelling commands to his fellow militiamen.
As the battle raged, the camera panned to Chloe-slash-Esther, running toward the fight, stopping to watch from behind a tree.
Jesse hit pause, his throat thick with emotion. He loved her. Dang it. He loved her. With a glance at the letter, he hit play again. Yeah, he was going to be late to Dan’s meeting.
The scene cut to a redcoat firing and Hamilton reeling with the blast, gripping his shoulder as he fell.
Esther dashed onto the battlefield, screaming his name, unaware that Hamilton’s rival and enemy, Lieutenant Borland, rode toward her, pistol aimed. Jeremiah cut to a plume of smoke, and though the sound effects had yet to be added, the redcoat fell from his horse.
Esther fell to her knees next to Hamilton, declaring she loved him. Jesse was captivated.
When Esther picked up Hamilton’s dagger and charged a redcoat, Jesse stood, shooting his chair backward into the window.
“Death, you cannot have me!” She flew through the air about to ram the dagger into the man’s chest before a shot was fired and she collapsed.
The camera hovered over her as she lay so calm and still.
Unbelievable. Jesse paced around his desk, then sat, then stood, running his hand through his gelled hair. Was that in the rewrite or did it just happen? He rewound the scene, putting every ounce of his imagination on the battlefield with Chloe.
She charged the redcoat, screaming, “Death, you cannot have me.” She collapsed, “dying” with beauty.
“Chloe Daschle, you are amazing.”
In the face of disappointment and adversity, she put her shoulder to the wheel and went to work. What did he do? Walk off. Let his emotions, his past, dictate his future.
Well, that ended today.
The camera panned away from Esther on the ground and faded to black. Jesse exhaled, pulling his chair forward, taking a seat, trying to take it all in.
His office lights flickered on as Dan barged into the room. “What are you doing? We’re waiting. They want to meet you. Paul started his sales pitch, but I need you for the technical magic show.”
“She’s incredible, Dan. Incredible.”
“Who?”
“Chloe Daschle.” Upon his confession, the internal quaking he’d endured for three days ceased, and his heart filled with wonder. “She’s incredible. In the face of adversity, she delivered the best dying scene ever.”
Death, you cannot have me?
“Jesse, what’s going on? You’re watching a movie? You told me you were all in here.”
“I am, I am. But I still have a movie coming out.” He glanced down at the screen as the black gave way to light.
“Jesse, let’s go.” Dan reached for the mouse, but Jesse slapped his hand away.
“Hold on.”
Hamilton walked into a hazy, cold sunrise, a limp Esther in his arms. The camer
a shifted, and the viewer was inside a house, zooming in on Esther’s books, then peering out a window to see children playing in the yard.
“Dan, Jess, what in the world?” Paul burst into the office with no subtle amount of anger. “Clevon is starting to think you two have abandoned them.”
“Shh!” Jesse held up his hand. Clevon could wait.
Esther ran from the barn, arms flailing, laughing, pointing, falling into Hamilton’s arms, a big rooster chasing her. The children ran to Hamilton, clinging to his leg.
Wait. This was the first day. He was Hamilton. Not Chris. And this was his idea. To use the B-roll as a way for Esther to live. He’d said it to Raymond off the cuff.
The shot panned to the American flag with thirteen stars. It flapped against a blue sky as credits began to roll.
“Yaw!” Jesse shot from his chair with abandon. “She lived. She lived. You son of a gun, Jeremiah Gonda, you’re a genius!”
“Who lives? Dan, can we please get to our client?” Paul was not amused.
“She lived. Don’t you get it? She lived. Ha-ha! And that’s me in the final scene as Hamilton. Not Chris Painter.” In an instant, Jesse understood all roads led to his salvation. And the journey began with Chloe Daschle.
He hugged his brother, then a very stiff and formal Paul.
“I’m going back to the meeting before we lose one of our potentially biggest accounts. Dan?” Paul left without looking back.
“On my way.” Dan turned to Jesse. “I’m glad she lived. I assume you mean some character. But right now I need you, all of you, in that conference room.”
“Yeah, okay.” Was he smiling? Because his face hurt. “Let me make a quick call.” It was 9:30 a.m. in California. Perfect.
“Call after the meeting.” Dan pressed his fingers to his forehead. His telltale sign of frustration.
“Yeah, okay. sure.” Jesse tucked his phone into his pocket and took a glance at Chloe’s letter. Raymond must have told Jeremiah his idea. There was no other explanation. “You’re right, I need to be present with you.” Jesse grabbed the air with his fist. Today he could literally catch the wind.
“Thank you.” Dan paused as Jesse met him at the door. “Where are your notes? The white paper?” He pointed to the cream envelope in Jesse’s hand. “Don’t think this is going to cut it.”
“Ah, right.” Jesse returned to his desk. “I’ll be right there.”
Tucking his laptop under his arm, Jesse headed to conference room A, pulling out Chloe’s letter on the way. She’d texted him several times after he left LA, but when he got a Boston address, he cut off his LA phone service in exchange for one paid for by DiamondBros. If he was going to make life in Boston work . . .
Dear Jesse,
. . . I never had a chance to thank you for defending me to Zarzour.
. . . suggested I write to you at your brother’s company.
. . . an old-fashioned letter. Ironic, since a letter started our relationship. Ha!
. . . I knew there was something special about you.
. . . Since you walked off the set . . . can’t stop thinking about you.
. . . I think I love you.
. . . I have no idea if you’ll ever read this.
Affectionately yours,
Chloe
He stopped in the middle of the office’s main thoroughfare. To his left, a row of windows overlooked the city. To his right, developers and coders tap-tapped on their devices trying to break technological barriers.
She loved him. She loved him! The June sun shot a ray of light at his feet.
Dan poked his head from the conference room. “You coming?”
“No. I’m not,” Jesse said. “I’m sorry but, Dan, I have to go.” He dashed into his office, dropped his laptop on the desk, and snatched up his truck keys. “She loves me.” He laughed. “I love her.” With each confession, the scales of the past fell off and his heart stretched, awakening from a long, long sleep. “I’ve got to go . . .”
But Dan blocked his exit. “Is this about Chloe?”
“I love her, Dan. And she loves me.” He waved the letter under his brother’s nose. “She sent this two months ago. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking.”
“Want to know what I’m thinking?”
“I already know.”
“That we went after a huge client because of the technology and design idea you developed. Chloe can love you after this meeting. Two more hours isn’t going to make a difference. We need your brain and charisma in there. We lose this deal without you.”
“Really?” Jesse pushed past Dan into the hall. “Because you had this client on the hook way before me. You’re the man, Dan. You have the skill, the talent, and the reputation. Have you ever talked to Shantel Hannah? She’s brilliant. Sixty percent of what I put together came from her. She could easily take my place.”
“Jesse, if you leave . . .” Dan shook his head, hands propped on his waist, sorrow in his eyes. “You’re not coming back. I mean it. Paul will go crazy over this. And you’ve signed a noncompete. You cannot work at any other tech company for three years. Think about what you’re doing. Think!”
“Think?” Ha-ha. “For once, big brother, I am thinking. This time with my heart and not my head.”
30
CHLOE
June
You see, love stories never worked for her. She never got the guy. In life or on screen. Instead, she died. She was, as Variety claimed, “the queen of the death scene.”
If she didn’t know before Bound by Love, she knew it now. But then Claude brought her the indelible Faith Freeman.
Stargazer might change her career. Not her love life.
However, the appearance of Oliver Hanson and the knowledge she was Esther Longfellow Hobart’s descendant also changed nothing about her love life. Hamilton and Esther’s love story may linger forever without resolve.
Chloe was not the answer to their longing. Nor was Jesse. The notion was too preposterous to entertain.
Unrequited love was just that—unrequited. Perhaps it would find satisfaction and justice in the next life.
Dad tried for a few days to entice her to fly with him to Boston. He had business there. But she refused. How much rejection could a girl endure? Not when she’d just begun to hope a little. Let her dreams breathe.
She woke up this morning determined to do something . . . different? No, the same.
It’s just You and me, Jesus.
She wasn’t morbid or depressed. She just needed to figure out a plan for the next fifty, sixty years that did not include a longing for the intimacy of marriage. Kate was right. She should aim to be some sort of grande dame of film.
Maybe after the Claude Durand film she would move to London, audition for plays. There was something peaceful and anchoring about playing the same role night after night. In the meantime, she’d enjoy her summer. Memorize the entire Stargazer script.
She was sunning by the pool, reading, when Jeremiah called.
“Can you come to the house in an hour?”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I want to show you some of the edits.”
She showered and dressed, dropped the top of her ’64 Mustang convertible, and drove the short mile to the Gondas’.
When she rang the bell, Jeremiah opened with three of his seven children clinging to him, baby Eva no longer a baby but a budding, beautiful little girl.
Judah rode his back like a monkey, and Elianna gripped his ankle. Jer dragged her over the marble tile as he led Chloe to his screening room.
“Welcome to the circus.” He laughed.
“Apparently they’ve missed you.” Chloe shook Judah’s hand and tousled Elianna’s golden curls.
“Not as much as I’ve missed them. The shoot in New Zealand went over by a month, but we got it done.”
“A blockbuster?”
Jer grinned back at her, setting Eva down. “Big blockbuster. It was a pain but a lot of fun. Chris was amaz
ing. Pilar?” He called over an intercom. “Can you get the children?”
The nanny appeared and peeled the children from their father, promising them a trip to the park.
The oldest, Ezra, appeared in the doorway, ball glove in hand. “I thought we were going to practice.”
“We are. Right after I talk with Chloe. Say hi to Miss Daschle.”
He muttered a sorrowful greeting, shoulders slumped, and disappeared.
Jer called after him, “Buddy, I’ll only be an hour. Get Avner and Daniel to play for now. And find Liel. She’ll want to play.”
“Jer, if you need to play with you kids—”
“I have the rest of the day and all next month. They’re fine.” Jeremiah nudged Chloe toward an oversized, leather theater chair. “Laura wanted to be here, but she’s meeting her agent. She’s up for a part she really wants. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m good. So, is this the rough cut of the film? I’m excited to see it.”
He sat beside her. “Feels a bit like déjà vu, doesn’t it?”
She smiled, rocking back in the chair. “A little. Ten months ago I was begging you for the part of Esther. Here we are with the movie shot and—”
“Almost in the can. Sharon Lee’s been working night and day. I owe her.” Jer aimed a remote, and the room dimmed as the projector shot a beam against the screen. “I don’t have the complete cut yet, but I wanted you to see this.”
“Hey, what do you think about me playing Faith Freeman in Claude Durand’s Stargazer?”
“Do it. It’s perfect for you.”
“He said without a thought.”
Jeremiah cast her a sideways glance. “If you want to change your career, then change it. Playing a superhero? There’s no way you’re dying. That’s a role even Greg Zarzour can’t touch.”
“Other than killing the project.”
“Are you kidding? People are already forming fan clubs for this film. I hope you like Comic Con, because it’s going to become a permanent part of your life.”
“I’m more curious why Claude picked Chloe Daschle for the lead.”
