by Mary Manners
That train of thought was interrupted as Jack remembered the letter Mike had handed him that morning. He stepped from the shower and toweled off just enough to tug on a pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt before padding back to the laundry. Grabbing a handful of flannel, he fished the folded manila envelope from the chest pocket of his work shirt.
He lifted the paper to his nose. Mike was right. A quick sniff brought a wave of memories.
Vanilla and peaches…
Jack studied the envelope. It was postmarked Mill’s Landing, but the handwriting wasn’t Misty’s. He’d recognize her writing anywhere. They’d certainly passed enough notes during school classes…Calculus, English composition…Anatomy and Physiology was especially entertaining.
Jack shoved the memories aside. There was no return address…just his name and the location of his apartment here in California. Along the bottom, in bold letters, was scrawled “IMPORTANT.”
He was in no mood for a mystery, especially after the stress-ridden day he’d just tackled. Resentment bubbled in his gut like molten lava, chasing hunger from his belly. He’d force himself to eat anyway, even if it was nothing more than a leftover sub from yesterday’s lunch. The day had been crazy; he’d nearly lost a landscaping truck—and its inexperienced driver—to the ridge. Disaster was thwarted only by the grace of God.
Jack reached into the corner cabinet and fished for a bottle of ibuprofen. Three capsules might take the edge off his headache. He shook them into his palm, tossed them down his throat. Thirst nagged at him, and he rummaged through the refrigerator for a can of soda. He popped the top and chugged the can half-empty while leaning against the counter.
His thirst satisfied, he ran a hand through unruly damp hair, slipped into a chair and dropped the letter on the table. He’d tucked the letter aside for nearly a dozen hours. Another ten minutes, while he scarfed down a turkey and Swiss sub and some caffeine, wouldn’t hurt.
But the envelope was like a magnet with supernatural forces. He unfolded the clasp and tore open the flap. Inside, he found a sheet of copy paper, scrawled with a quick note—succinct and to the point.
Jack,
I’m selling the apartment complex and found this letter wedged behind one of the dressers while I was cleaning. Thought about opening it, to see if it was important after all this time, but that just didn’t feel right. So, I’m forwarding it. I figured you’d like to have it. Better late than never, right? Hope life is good.
Larry Jansen.
Larry Jansen—his old, potbellied landlord from grad school days.
Another envelope, smaller…like a card, slipped out. Jack’s name was printed across the front, and the flourish of writing—the way she slanted her T’s and floated the dots above the I’s—was unmistakable.
Misty.
He grabbed a knife, slit the seam. Tucked into the envelope he found a slip of flowered stationary that held the faint scent of Misty’s perfume. With trembling hands, Jack unfolded the paper. He forced back an oath as the date caught his eye…
A bite of sandwich lodged in Jack’s throat. He gulped soda, forcing the sandwich down as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He couldn’t wrap his brain around it as he scanned the curlicues of blue ink. Emotions pounded like a platoon of sledgehammers.
Six years—almost seven—had passed since the letter was written, if the date was correct. That was before he came to California, before things officially ended with Misty. They’d been in love—the head-over-heels kind. Then he got the offer here, and everything changed. She didn’t want to leave Mill’s Landing, and he couldn’t possibly stay. He’d wanted to marry her—had asked more than once—but that would only work if they were together in California. Her stubbornness only served to gouge a deeper crevasse. A lifelong friendship that had blossomed into love…slow and easy…suddenly turned tense and cool and distant. Jack fumbled over words while Misty cried and withdrew. Though he tried, he couldn’t make it right again.
So, he left—and stayed away—to avoid hurting her more. Better a quick piercing by a nail gun than the long, jagged slash of a skill saw. He hoped she’d come to her senses…hoped he’d get a phone call from her admitting the terrible mistake she’d made to let him go and that she was on her way to him. He even considered a road trip back to Mill’s Landing to try to coax her to him once again. After all, the move had been sudden. Maybe he had been more than a little pushy when he sprang it on her, expecting her to drop everything to follow him.
But those hopes were dashed when he heard through the grapevine she was pregnant. The child must belong to Spence Tucker; since he’d also heard she’d wasted no time in moving on to date his best friend. The news had caused such a surge of rage that Jack lobbed his cell phone into the seething waters of the Pacific. He’d purchased a new phone—requested a new number, assuring Misty would never place a call to him again—and became more determined than ever to banish all memory of her from his life.
Now, this. Jack fought the urge to crumple the letter and stuff it back into the envelope before tossing it into the trash. Did he really need this…or want to reopen the wound that had taken years to heal—if it truly had healed, of which he wasn’t sure.
Not sure at all.
His heart sparred with his head. Toss it—read it—toss it, you stubborn fool.
Dear Jack…
The handwriting was smudged, the paper stained. Had Misty been crying while she wrote? He pictured her baby blues—huge, round, and swimming with tears.
I know you’re planning to leave in the morning, but there’s something we really need to talk about. It’s important…more than important—it’s absolutely vital.
I’ve hurt you with the things I said about never moving to California, even if it means losing you—losing us. I know this offer is the one you’ve been dreaming of all your life. I can’t hold you back from the dreams you’ve worked so hard for—it would just be wrong. But I don’t want to go, either, for so many reasons.
I love Mill’s Landing, and I thought you did, too. My family is here...everyone I love. My mom needs me now, since Dad…
We made a pact long ago to never keep secrets from one another, and I wanted to tell you this last week, but I thought it best to know—I needed to know—for sure before I said anything. The doctor confirmed today and it’s for real—you need to know, Jack—that you’re going to be a daddy.
Soda spewed from Jack’s mouth and backwashed to his nose, setting his sinuses on fire. He coughed, sputtered, and waited for the rush of optic stars to clear. Maybe he’d read wrong. Maybe he was hallucinating—the stress was finally getting to him. Or maybe Mike was in the wings, pranking him.
Mike liked a good joke as much as the next guy…but not like this. Uh uh. Jack found the words once more.
You’re going to be a daddy...
His fingers gripped the letter like a vice. Suddenly the room sweltered, despite a nip of early-spring breeze that whispered through the open window above the sink. He struggled to breathe as he continued to scan the print.
I know this is a huge shock…something neither one of us expected. But it’s a blessing, too. I know you love me, and I love you, Jack—so much that sometimes I wake up just aching inside with the thought of you. We’ve been together our whole lives, and I’ve missed you this week. It’s made me realize what’s most important.
You asked me to marry you, and my answer is yes. I want to be your wife, Jack. I hope you still feel the same.
No matter what I said about never leaving Mill’s Landing, about not moving to California, this changes everything. It’s not just about me anymore—or you. I’m sure now that my place, and our child’s place, is with you—forever and wherever that may be.
Let’s talk this out. Please, before you leave. We have to make this right for the baby—for us.
Meet me at the Landing, beneath the willows, at six. I’ll be waiting for you.
I love you, Jack.
Misty
&nb
sp; The room began to sway, and the letter slipped from Jack’s fingers as he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. Suddenly, he’d tumbled from a cliff, strapped into a construction truck. The truck spun and crashed along rocks to a bottomless crevasse. His gut clenched, and the sandwich threatened to come back up, bringing the soda with it. Jack stumbled to the sink, the room listing. Chills crawled across his skin, and sweat dampened the small of his back.
You’re going to be a daddy…
The words echoed like a tsunami through his head. Jack thought of the date on Misty’s letter. Almost seven years ago…
No, I am a daddy. Unless something happened after I left. Unless…
His brain shifted, began to calculate. She wouldn’t…Misty would never…
Jack turned on the faucet and dipped his head beneath to draw a cool sip of water, forcing back the bile and chills. He got a handle on things, grabbed his cell phone and speed-dialed as he stumbled toward the bedroom.
“Hey, Boss.” Mike’s voice slipped over the line. “You miss me already?”
“I need a favor.”
“Hit me with it, my friend.”
“I need you to cover at the jobsite for me for a few days, make sure the landscapers don’t end up diving from a cliff and that the punch-out details stay on schedule as planned.”
The playfulness fled from Mike’s voice. “You OK, Jack?”
“I don’t know. I need to get to Mill’s Landing now—tonight.”
“Does this have anything to do with that letter you got today?” Concern now, full-on, filled Mike’s tone. It reminded Jack once more of why he’d gone into business with him—why he trusted Mike like no other.
“It has everything to do with the letter.”
“Then go take care of it, and I’ll handle things here. No worries.”
“Right…no worries.” Jack tossed what was left of his sandwich into the trash and dumped the remainder of soda down the sink drain. “Thanks Mike. I’ll touch base as soon as things settle.”
Jack disconnected and dialed information for the airlines. As he waited to be transferred, he grabbed a duffel bag from the closet shelf, tossed it onto the bed, and began lobbing clothes into it. A few pairs of jeans, a couple of T-shirts, a handful of essentials rounded things out. He rushed to the bathroom and, with a quick, one-arm sweep, emptied the shelf of toiletries into the bag.
Within eight minutes, he was packed and booked on the next direct flight out of Palm Springs and straight to Mill’s Landing.
3
“Mama, I need help.” Allie snuggled beneath the blankets and scrunched her nose at Misty. The scent of strawberry shampoo and grape bubble bath filled the room. “We’re doing a project in art.”
“What kind of project?”
“Family trees. Mrs. Barnett said my tree is too small. It has to be bigger, with more branches.”
“Oh?” The comment smarted, but Misty covered her displeasure with a half-smile as she selected a picture book from the shelf and slipped onto the bedside. “Who do you have so far?”
“You and Grandma.”
“We can add Grandpa.” Misty didn’t have any siblings, so aunts and uncles weren’t an option. “Remember the pictures I showed you of him?”
“Uh huh. Now he’s in heaven with the angels, right.”
“That’s right.” Misty tucked the blankets beneath Allie’s chin and swept a lock of hair, still damp from a bath, from her forehead. “He loved you very much.”
“What about my daddy?”
The question startled Misty speechless. She could manage nothing more than a slight nod and a pitiful gurgle. Memories welled up, carrying with them a hurricane of resentment. The storm raged through her belly, seething her insides. “Um…well.”
He lives in California. He ran when he found out I was pregnant. No letters, no phone calls—nothing.
“I told Mrs. Barnett that God is my daddy,” Allie continued, “but she said I need an earth daddy—a real daddy—too.”
Misty sputtered, drew a painful breath. “Is…that so?”
“Uh huh. And everyone else has a daddy ’cept for me.” Allie snuggled her baby doll to her chest. “Why don’t I have a daddy?”
“You do have a daddy.”
“Where is he, Mama? Why don’t I ever see him?”
“It’s complicated, Allie.”
“Doesn’t he want to see me?”
“I…” Misty forced tears back. “Honey, oh my…” She fumbled with the picture book, her fingers trembling. “He lives very far away…in California.”
“Why doesn’t he like it here?”
“I didn’t say that.” She stumbled over the words. “He does…did like it.”
“It’s OK, Mama.” Allie shrugged. “But what should I tell Mrs. Barnett?”
“I’ll speak with Mrs. Barnett.” Though her lips felt like thin slabs of concrete, Misty forced them into a smile. She steadied her voice…and her hands. “And we’ll talk more about this tomorrow. But, for now, how about a story?”
“OK.”
Misty climbed into the bed beside Allie and they snuggled together. Though her mind raced, Misty managed to read with enthusiasm until Allie slipped asleep. Thankfully, it didn’t take long—not even a full story. The child was worn out from a sunshine-filled afternoon of swinging and sliding at the park on the Landing.
Misty had used the playground time to snap a bevy of additional photos for the Parks and Rec Web-design, as well. She should download them to her laptop tonight and get them posted, finish the project. But Allie’s questions nudged all thoughts of work from her mind.
“Why don’t I have a daddy?”
The words brought fresh tears to Misty’s eyes. Her mother had warned her this day would come. They’d rehashed the conversation—again—just last week as Misty paced the impeccably clean tile floor of her mother’s kitchen.
“Put aside your pride, Misty,” Her mom had nudged. “Contact Jack again and talk to him about Allie. How hard can it be? With the Internet, you can find anyone today. He has a right—”
“He didn’t want her six years ago, Mom.” Locating him wasn’t the hard part—she could figure that out within five minutes. It was the What-Comes-Next part that terrified Misty—and kept her from making the first move. She’d done that once and been shot down—crashed and burned miserably, and had the emotional scars to prove it. “What do you think has changed?”
“Who knows?” Her mother slipped a tea kettle beneath the faucet and filled it before setting it to boil as Misty continued to pace. “Look, sweetheart, you two were best friends long before you became something…more. That’s pretty special, in my opinion. How will you ever know his reasons for leaving—and staying gone—if you continue down this stubborn path?”
“I’m doing fine on my own, Mom.” Misty stopped pacing to delve into a cabinet for two flowered tea-cups and matching saucers. “Allie is fine, too.”
“You have done a wonderful job, Misty, and Allie is fine—for now, yes.” Her mom selected a tea bag from an assortment in a small wicker basket on the counter, tore the wrapper, and plopped it into her cup. “There’s no doubt you’re a fantastic mother, and you make me proud every day. But Allie has a father, too. And a month from now, a year, when she begins to ask questions—what then, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know.” Misty crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. “Maybe she won’t ask.”
“Oh, she will. I’ll promise you that.” Misty’s mother sighed and pulled her close for a hug, enfolding her in a cloud of perfume. “It’s not going to go away, honey. This is just a bear in the closet. Eventually you’ll have to open the door—”
“And shoot it, right?”
“That would just lead to a bigger mess, and more explaining.”
The buzz of her cell phone drew Misty back to the present. She checked caller ID, then connected with her most cheerful voice.
“Mr. Tucker, how are you?” Though they�
��d gone to school together…had even taken in a movie together once—only once—Misty took pains to remind him their present conversations were purely business.
“Please…Spence.” He cleared his throat. “I know it’s getting late, but I just left a City Commission meeting and the topic of the new Website came up. I wondered how things are going.”
“Moving right along, Spence.” Misty made a point to emphasize his name. She would be thrilled to get this project done for more than just the paycheck. Spence Tucker was becoming bolder in his advances, and Misty had seriously-mixed feelings about that. He was nice enough, sure, and she had made the mistake of going out with him that one time after Jack left. She could see how some women might be swept off their feet by his rich brown eyes and tall, muscular stature. She just wasn’t one of them. A night at the movies had been more than enough to pound the nail into that coffin. “I fully expect to wrap things up in another day or so.”
“I was thinking we could get together and discuss the project…over dinner tomorrow.” He paused for a moment. “I know a nice Italian restaurant on the river—”
“I’d like to, but I’ll be working.” She cut him off as tactfully as possible, keeping her voice light and steady. “I promised you—as well as the Commission—that I’d be done by the deadline.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to extend things a day or two.” His voice was smooth, coaxing. “After all, you need to eat, Misty.”
“A promise is a promise, and I plan to keep mine.” Misty crossed to the sink, turned on the faucet, and let the water run cold before filling a glass. “Let’s set up a time to meet at your office.”
“Oh, my office is still under renovation.” He paused slightly. “How about we get together on Saturday morning, say nine o’clock, at Anderson’s coffee shop right across the street from my office, instead?”
