Come Back to Me

by Chris Paynter

  Again, silence.

  “Sal?”

  “Okay, okay.” Sally’s voice was full of resignation, but she didn’t sound happy. “As long as we have an agreement that you keep working on your Barker manuscript and meet your deadline for book nine. I’ll present it to Stanley & Schilling. I’m not sure what they’ll think. You need to be prepared for the possibility that they’ll say no.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Let me ask you this. Can you write both? Are you sure you can separate the two in your mind?”

  Angie wanted to say she could write Derek Barker novels in her sleep, but refrained. “I’ll be fine. Trust me on this.”

  “All right. I have to go. A cop pulled up and is getting out of his car and headed toward me. I’m sure he thinks I’m having car problems. I’m off on the shoulder.”

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  The last sound Angie heard was the whir of Sally’s car window and a muffled, “No, officer, I’m fine. Trying to do the safe thing and pull off while talking on this—”

  The line went dead. Angie snapped her phone shut and watched the seagulls scuffle over more scraps, her mind making plans. Once she got home, she’d dedicate only so much time for Derek Barker. She’d then work on the lesbian manuscript. But the lesbian novel wouldn’t be a mystery—it’d be a romance.

  She just didn’t know the ending yet.

  * * *

  Lehigh University, Fall 1998

  “Hey, Angie, isn’t that Meryl McClain down there?”

  Jacqueline’s words made Angie’s stomach drop. She avoided showing up anywhere near where she thought Meryl might be. Based on what Mr. McClain had said the one and only time Angie had seen him, she was sure he’d made it clear to Meryl to stay as far away from Angie as possible.

  They were at the men’s basketball game where Lehigh battled their arch rival, Lafayette. Angie lost her concentration on the tough, physical play below them and scanned the seats in Stabler Arena.

  She spotted Meryl five rows below. Dressed in the brown and white colors of Lehigh, Meryl had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She seemed to be searching for someone in the crowd. Her head swiveled first to the left and then the right. Then, she turned in Angie’s direction. They stared at each other, and the sound of the ball hitting the floor below faded into the background.

  A silent plea radiated from Meryl’s eyes. Angie sensed a current of emotion between them, but the tall, dark-haired man beside Meryl snapped the spell when he put his lips to her ear. He draped his arm around Meryl’s shoulders and pulled her close.

  Angie felt faint. She couldn’t watch this. She slumped into her seat.

  “Hey, you okay, Angie?”

  Angie shook her head.

  Jacqueline bent down. “Let’s get some air.” She helped Angie to her feet, grabbed their jackets, and led her up the stairs to the concourse above.

  When they reached the top, Angie leaned against the concrete wall to catch her breath.

  “I’m so sorry, Angie. I shouldn’t have pointed her out.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Angie bolted toward the exit to the outside.

  “Angie! Wait. I’m sorry.”

  Angie slowed to let Jacqueline catch up with her. Although it was bitter cold outside, Angie didn’t feel it despite the fact she only wore a sweatshirt and jeans.

  Jacqueline held out her jacket. “Put this on.”

  Angie tugged on the jacket.

  “I know it’s rough. I didn’t see the guy beside her when I pointed her out.”

  More fans trickled out of the arena. Lehigh had been up by seventeen when they left with five minutes remaining in the game. Apparently, some fans were getting a jump on the crowd.

  Two tall figures approached them from a distance. Oh God. It was them. Angie froze. Her feet felt rooted to the spot.

  Jacqueline noticed them, too. “Hey, let’s go.”

  Angie couldn’t move.

  The guy still had his arm draped over Meryl’s shoulders. Meryl stared at the ground while she walked, but she raised her head as they drew near. Closer and closer they came. They were within a few feet when Meryl pulled free from his arm and stopped.

  “Angie,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Okay. You?”

  “I’m doing okay.”

  The young man standing beside Meryl was handsome. Why wouldn’t he be? Hadn’t Meryl told her that her father insisted on only the best for his daughter? And Angie most certainly wasn’t it.

  “This is Stan. Stan Alberson.”

  Angie recognized the last name and speculated he was a direct offspring of the Alberson Shipping family from Philadelphia. Yes, only the best for Channing McClain’s daughter.

  “Stan, this is my… my friend, Angie Cantinnini.” Meryl’s face flushed.

  To hear Meryl stumble in her speech to refer to Angie as a “friend” was almost too much for Angie to bear.

  “Hi. Very nice to meet you.” Stan extended his hand.

  Angie took it. She felt like her body was there but her mind was floating away. She stumbled through her introduction of Jacqueline.

  Jacqueline stared at Meryl while she shook Stan’s hand.

  “Well, we’d better get going if we want to meet up with the others at the pizza parlor,” Stan said. He linked his arm with Meryl’s to lead her away. “Nice meeting you both.”

  They turned to leave, but Angie spoke, more loudly than she’d intended. “Are you happy, Meryl?”

  Meryl turned around. Shadows, cast from the bright overhead lights illuminating the parking lot, cloaked her face. But Angie saw the pain there.

  Stan furrowed his brow at the question.

  “Yes,” Meryl whispered. “I’m happy.” The look in her eyes spoke another answer, one she couldn’t or wouldn’t say aloud.

  The words cut through Angie like a knife. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad.” She was certain her own expression said otherwise, as well.

  “Are you? Happy, I mean?” Meryl asked in a shaky voice.

  Angie wanted to scream at Meryl, to wake her up from the stupor she seemed to be in, to wake them both up from this horrible nightmare that now constituted their lives. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  Meryl gasped and her eyes filled with tears.

  Angie turned and hastened toward home. With each step, she felt a piece of her innocence slipping away.

  Chapter 12

  New York City, Present Day

  Meryl rode the elevator up to the forty-second floor with her mind on her work and the interviews scheduled in the upcoming weeks. She’d taken down some notes of what she wanted to ask John Grisham and planned to go over them when she got into her office.

  “Good morning, Wade,” she said as she passed his desk.

  He hustled after her and handed her a message. “This was waiting when I arrived.”

  Meryl unlocked her office door and glanced at the note. She raised her eyebrows. Thom Pratters wanted to see her at eight. She checked her watch. She had twenty minutes.

  She took time to drink a cup of coffee and gather herself for the trip upstairs. Early meetings on Monday mornings were often a bad sign.

  Ten minutes later, she stood outside Pratters’s office, took a deep breath, and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Meryl entered, surprised to find a vaguely familiar woman sitting in one of the plush chairs in front of Pratters’s massive desk.

  “Meryl. I’m glad you could make it on short notice,” Pratters said. He gestured to the chair beside the woman. He shook Meryl’s hand, and she took her seat.

  “This is Glenda Tilden.” Pratters nodded at the petite brunette beside Meryl. “She’s with the marketing department. She’s the one who ensures we stay on good terms with author agents. This concerns Zach England. Glenda has what we’d call a scoop in our line of business. I’ll let her explain it to you. Glenda?”

  “I have a source who works
in Chicago in the mailroom of the office building that houses Sally Copelman’s agency.” Glenda paused for what appeared to be dramatic effect.

  “Yes?”

  Glenda seemed disappointed with Meryl’s reaction.

  “Sally Copelman. You know? Zach England’s agent.”

  “Oh, right.” Meryl mentally kicked herself for not catching the name.

  Glenda brightened at Meryl’s recognition.

  “My source started working there just a few months ago, but has already noticed a pattern. Sally sends and receives quite a bit of mail to and from a post office box in Key West.” Again, Glenda paused.

  Just get on with it, Meryl thought.

  “The last correspondence occurred right before England’s latest release.”

  Meryl pieced together the implications. “You think England might live in Key West?”

  “Bingo,” Pratters said. “Copelman doesn’t have many clients, and if England’s one of them, that explains why. I would think she’s made enough off of him, or her to last a lifetime.”

  “That makes sense,” Meryl murmured. She had speculated England could be a woman, but an unbidden image of England sitting on a houseboat, pounding out a novel on his old Corona materialized in her imagination. He had shaggy hair, a scruffy mustache, and looked like… Jimmy Buffett? She suppressed a laugh.

  “We want you to fly down there as soon possible,” Pratters said. “Rearrange whatever you have on your schedule in the near future and leave for Key West. We need to keep this hush-hush. I don’t want another paper or reporter catching wind of this. If we confirm it is England, and England’s a woman, this would hit the literary world like a firestorm.” His face lit up at the possibility.

  “I do have some interviews scheduled these next couple of weeks.”

  “Which you can reschedule,” he said with a note of finality.

  “Yes. Which I can reschedule.”

  “Good. I’ll let you return to your office to make arrangements.” Pratters stood. “Glenda, thank you for coming to me with this.”

  Glenda stood and took his outstretched hand. “You’re welcome, sir.” She left.

  Meryl rose to leave.

  “Good luck, Meryl. You’ll have one hell of a story if this pans out. Our purchasing department will take care of your travel arrangements. Have your assistant give them a call this afternoon.”

  * * *

  “When are you leaving for Florida?” Rhonda asked.

  “Pratters wants me down there by the end of next week.”

  Meryl brought their glasses of wine to the couch and handed one to Rhonda.

  “Thank you. I need this after a week of dealing with my boss at the magazine. Thank God it’s Friday.”

  “Owen still being difficult?” Meryl sat down, tucked both legs under her, and leaned her elbow on the back of the couch.

  “When isn’t Owen difficult? And does advertising have to be so cutthroat?”

  “I think you know the answer to that one.”

  “Let’s talk about you. I sure as hell don’t want to talk about the latest run-in with my twenty-six-year-old boss. Are you excited about the possibility of getting the scoop of a lifetime?”

  “To tell you the truth, I never thought a scoop would be something I’d need to worry about as a book reviewer. That word conjures up Woodward and Bernstein for me, not some author hermit making millions in Key West.”

  Rhonda slapped Meryl on the thigh.

  “You need to accept this will create a huge buzz worldwide, not only with the Banner or your U.S. audience. I mean, can you imagine a woman being this successful writing as a man with a character like Derek Barker? You might even get a book offer out of it. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “I have no desire to write books, only to review them.”

  They enjoyed their wine in silence. At length, Rhonda spoke.

  “How you doing aside from work?”

  “Meaning…”

  “Dating. When’s the last time you went out on a date?”

  Meryl groaned. “I’m not into meeting anyone new these days. I just started this job—”

  “Which is no excuse.” Rhonda pointed at her with the hand that held her wineglass as she brought it to her mouth.

  “Okay, how about this. The last date I went out on was a disaster, and I don’t want to repeat that anytime soon.”

  “Remind me. Was that Gloria the Groper?”

  “Yes, it was. She had her hand halfway up my thigh, heading for the promised land. In public, mind you.”

  “Oh, girl, you can’t let that one lousy date ruin someone else’s chances, and you know it.”

  “No, I don’t know it, and I don’t want you setting me up with anyone if that’s where this is headed.”

  “What makes you think I’m trying to set you up on a date?”

  “Because I’ve heard this line of questioning before, and because you’re my best friend, and I have a pretty good idea how you think. I’m fine. Malachi and I are fine. We don’t need anyone else.”

  At the mention of his name, Malachi moseyed over from where he’d been lying in the chair by the couch. He wasted no time in nesting in Meryl’s lap.

  “You can’t give up on love,” Rhonda said. “She’s not going to ride in on her white horse and swoop you off your feet.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  “Damn it, Rhonda, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “This is where I play one of my best friend cards and say, yes, you do. Angie’s gone from your life. We had this discussion the other night. She’s not coming back.”

  “Are you trying to cheer me up? Because you’re doing a lousy job of it.” Meryl heard the defensiveness in her voice.

  “I hate to see you waste your life because you think an old flame will reenter your world.”

  “She’s not an old flame. She’s the only flame.”

  “How do you know, if you’re not willing to give other women a chance?”

  “I have. Don’t you remember the relationship with Cheryl?”

  “Hell, that wasn’t a relationship. That was a dictatorship, and you were the conquered country. That woman had you so confused, you couldn’t tell which end was up.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “You’re telling me you’ll let a year-long relationship, and again, I use that term loosely, with a wacko ruin your chances at love?”

  “No. I’m telling you I’m happy alone.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?” Meryl’s cheeks burned with anger.

  “You heard me. Bullshit. No one’s happy alone unless you’re Mother Teresa. And you’re no Mother Teresa.”

  “I’m not even Catholic.”

  “Quit trying to wiggle out of this. I’ve watched you since Columbia. You’ll never give another woman a chance unless it’s Angie.”

  Meryl drained the rest of her wine and set the glass on the coffee table, which caused Malachi to jump down with a huff.

  “Drop it, Rhonda.” Meryl glared at her.

  “No. I won’t drop it. We need to get this out tonight. I’m tired of dancing around the subject. You’re my best friend and—”

  “You’re pushing it.”

  Rhonda pursed her lips. “Oh, so now I’m not you’re best friend?”

  Meryl sighed and stared at the ceiling before continuing. “Have I ever told you about my wedding day?”

  Rhonda gave a quick head shake. “Where did that come from?”

  “I try not to remember that day, but I want to tell you about it right now. Maybe you’ll understand a little better about my holding out for Angie.”

  “All right. Hit me. This has to be one hell of a story.”

  “Fine. Stan and I married in the summer of 1999.”

  “Before we even get into this story of yours, remind me again why you gave in to your father’s wishes.”

  Meryl looked down at her hands.

  “I t
hought there wasn’t a chance with Angie and me after my father’s interference. Remember that. I thought there wasn’t another woman for me. And Stan? I was twenty-one, and I was tired of fighting my family.”

  “But—”

  Meryl raised her head. “I was young and foolish, Rhonda. Young and foolish.”

  “Okay. Let’s hear about your wedding day.”

  Meryl sank back into the cushions of the couch. She closed her eyes and pictured a sunny day eleven years ago that couldn’t have been any darker for her.

  “Of course my parents—especially my father—insisted on a huge wedding. He wanted it to be the social event of the year for Mount Lebanon and the upper crust of Pittsburgh. The wedding dress was beyond expensive.”

  “How expensive?” Rhonda leaned forward with obvious interest.

  “Let’s put it this way. Giorgio Armani designed it.”

  “Which doesn’t tell me much.”

  “How about this. He came to our home to take measurements and go over designs.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “Only the best for Daddy’s little girl.” Meryl couldn’t hide her bitterness. “There were over 300 people at the church. There were members of the wedding party I’d never even met before. I felt like I was in a movie with extras.”

  “That must have been bizarre.”

  “The whole thing was surreal. I don’t remember saying my vows. I don’t remember the kiss. I don’t remember walking down the aisle again. I do remember the doors opening and our stepping into the bright sunshine. It was blinding at first. But after a few seconds, I adjusted to it. And that’s when I saw her.”

  “She was there?”

  “She was across the street about a half a block away, standing beside her car.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I stopped dead in my tracks. We were about to step down the stairs into the limo, but I couldn’t move.”

  “And?”

  “I touched my hand to my heart and held it up to her. Unfortunately, my father had noticed her, too. He ordered the security guards over. She got into her car just as my father was pushing me into the limo. I moved to the window to try to see what was going on, but by then, Stan was in the backseat and we pulled away.”