“Do you like New York?” he asked.
“I’m not from here. I’m from Chicago. I moved here at eighteen when my parents told me they’d done what they were legally obligated to do for me,” she answered as she turned toward him. “It was exactly what I had hoped it would be—a place to both find and lose myself. You know?”
He didn’t like to interrupt her when she was talking because he figured, eventually, the memories and recollections were going to keep pushing until she remembered right up to the night that landed her in the hospital. Shoulder checking quickly, he switched lanes then turned down the soft beat of the music to encourage her to continue.
“The one thing I hadn’t counted on was it being so expensive. Funny how naive we can be about the cost of milk and cereal.” Her voice became lighter as she played with the seam of her pant leg. “I got a job as a waitress. I didn’t mind it. It was a chance to meet people, get a little piece of their story. I worked at a few diners just outside of Manhattan.”
Josh parked in front of the Post Office and when he turned off the car, he caught a glimpse of Alessa frowning. He reached over and steadied her fidgeting fingers by putting his hand over hers. Probably not the best idea since he could feel the warmth of her leg. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m not sure. It seems clear, and then it feels fuzzy, and now I just feel tired.” She groaned. He hated the edge of frustration he caught in her voice.
“Don’t push yourself so hard.” He didn’t know if he was stalling for her benefit or his.
She gave a half smile that didn’t come close to reaching her deep, warm eyes before turning her head toward the post office building.
“This looks like it could be the first post office, ever,” she joked, but the strain in her voice remained. Josh squeezed her hand, jumped out of his seat and made his way around the car just as she pushed open her door.
“It was built in the early 1900s, but it’s been restored since then. The outside hasn’t changed much, but the inside is modern.”
She clutched her tiny purse—one she’d found in the bag of things Amanda gave her—to her chest as they walked toward the worn brick structure. “I like the brick front.” She hesitated when they reached the three cement steps leading to double glass doors.
“Alessa?”
“I’m scared I’ll find something I don’t want to know.”
He started up the stairs with the intention of holding the door for her, but he came back to her side instead. “Whatever it is, nothing or everything, it’ll be okay.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because I learned the hard way you can come back from anything. Even when you think you can’t.”
Her shoulders straightened, and her lips firmed. He noted the compassion and understanding in her eyes, which calmed the storm in his chest. He took the steps again and held the door for her. They moved through the brightly lit, starkly white interior that smelled like fresh flowers and Lysol wipes. Toward the back of the store, a rather beset, older woman with glasses perched so far down on her nose it was a wonder they didn’t slip off, stood behind the mail counter arguing with a man who was at least a foot taller than her.
“And I’m tellin’ you, your package ain’t here so you can just haul your grumpy butt down here again tomorrow and check. It ain’t my fault,” she growled.
The man shook his head and walked away mumbling about “customer service” and “retirement.” She shook her head, didn’t adjust her glasses one bit, and eyed Josh and Alessa as they tentatively approached.
“Well, get up here. I don’t bite. That guy was a—”
“Careful, Ms. Cane,” said a man, clearly the Postmaster, from where he stood behind a second, further recessed counter, going through papers. He sighed heavily and shook his head, glanced briefly at Alessa and Josh. The woman looked back at him and he muttered, “Customer service does matter. You cannot talk to customers like that.” Though he kept his voice low, it was clear that the man was exasperated with the other employee. He moved around the counter, and nodded politely at Josh and Alessa. Turning back to Ms. Cane, before walking away, he gave a half smile.
“Could you help this couple without scaring them?” he asked, a hint of humor lacing his voice.
The white-haired warrior, who barely came up to the Postmaster’s shoulders looked them up and down. “Sure I can. They look like they have manners,” she answered with a deceptively sweet smile. Moving a little closer, Josh noted her nametag read “Honey-Lou.” She caught him eyeing it.
“And yes, that’s my real name. ‘Cause I’m sweet like honey.” She winked. Alessa laughed and though Josh could still feel her nerves because he was standing close to her, the laugh was light.
“Wondered if I’d see you here again,” Honey-Lou commented. Alessa blanched, and Josh put his arm around her, pulled her close.
“You know me?” Alessa stepped closer to the counter.
“Well not really, I suppose, but I was here when you got your PO Box. You’ve got a face most people wouldn’t forget, but for me it was the eyes. Don’t like seeing fear in a woman’s eyes so I remember you well enough. Looks like you ran into a couple walls since we met.”
She leaned on the counter as much as she could given her short stature. Alessa looked up at Josh, some of that fear present in her eyes.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
“You okay?” Honey-Lou asked at the same time.
Alessa moved as close as she could to the counter, her body touching it and leaned toward the woman. “I don’t remember anything. Well, anything recent. I don’t remember getting the PO Box or why,” she shared in a low, even tone.
Josh could tell she was trying to be matter of fact, but her voice wavered a bit. The woman’s face showed immediate concern, and she pushed the glasses up her nose only to have them slide halfway down again. “Do you remember me?”
“Not at all. And I don’t think I would have forgotten you,” Alessa said. Josh knew she had meant it kindly, but the woman gave a bark of laughter and straightened.
“Don’t suppose you would. Now then, if you don’t remember anything, who is this fine young man standing beside you?”
Alessa blushed visibly, but Josh could hardly tease her when he felt heat creeping up his own neck.
“I’m Josh Parker, ma’am,” he answered, offering his hand.
“Josh Parker. You holding this girl hostage?”
“What? No! Of course not,” he sputtered, looked at Alessa and saw her worry had turned to laughter. She patted his hand and glanced back at Honey-Lou.
“Nah. He was my doctor, but he fell for me. You’d think he was the one that hit his head,” she joked.
Josh didn’t see the humor in it. “Alessa,” he scolded lightly. “Why can’t you see yourself the way I see you?” The way her gaze softened when he asked made his heart clutch hard. She turned away and directed her attention to Honey-Lou. Josh glanced around to be sure no one was waiting.
“I agree with him. Even with those fading bruises, it’s easy to see you’ve got the kind of beauty that shines from the inside out. Prettiest kind, if you ask me. And I thought so first time we met. Now, what can I do to help you?”
“I—uh . . . I don’t have a key. Just the PO Box on my license.”
Honey-Lou nodded, opened a drawer in front of her, and began rooting around. She barely acknowledged the license Alessa had lay down on the counter. A moment later, Honey-Lou pulled out an envelope with the number of Alessa’s box on it and handed it over.
“I’m not surprised you have back up keys, but do you usually just give them out?” Josh asked. The store was becoming increasingly hotter the longer they stood there. He had the urge to ditch his jacket, but he hoped they wouldn’t be here much longer.
“Course not. But, she’s got her ID right here, plus, like I said, I remember you so I know you ain’t lying.” She split her look between them. Alessa nodded, and Honey-Lou was kind enou
gh to make herself busy while they moved over to the metal boxes that lined one whole wall of the back area.
Alessa tucked her purse under her arm, key in hand and put it into the small, narrow box. She didn’t turn the key, and Josh looked at her questioningly.
“I might not be who you think I am. Who I think I am. But who I am with you? Who I feel like when I’m with you? That’s who I want to be.” Her eyes filled with tears.
She tore his heart to shreds while at the same time mending the broken pieces it was left in after Laura. He stroked his hand down her hair, leaned in, and kissed her forehead lightly, not sure he could get words past the lump in his throat.
Alessa turned the key slowly, and his gaze followed the movement, his heart beating heavy. He wanted time to speed up. She expelled a deep, gusty sigh when she pulled the door open and saw only one envelope within the narrow box. When she hesitated, he reached in and took it out for her. She closed the door and locked it. They stood staring at the everyday envelope, her name, Alessandra Matthews and her PO Box on the front in perfectly printed letters. She took the envelope from his hands, turned it slowly to inspect at the back. A woman’s name, Margie Matthews, and address were written in the same neat print.
“Is that your mom?”
She looked up at him, worry trapped so deeply in her gaze. He bent his knees to look in her eyes. “Sweetheart, is that a bad thing? A letter from your mom? I know you were hoping—”
“Josh.” The flat, empty tone of her voice sliced through his heart.
“What is it?”
“My mother died. Three years ago.”
Josh flipped the letter back over. The stamp and postmark read Chicago. But the date made his blood run colder than the air outside.
“It’s from three months ago,” he stated. She nodded and another tear fell.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alessa ached from the inside out. Physically, her head was aching, particularly where the stitches were starting to pull. Emotionally, her stomach and heart were in a tailspin, twisting and turning. Inside, she was a human tornado. She stared out the window while Josh drove, but she saw nothing. Everything was going by too fast, every shape was blurry with no real definition, much like her life. She turned the envelope in her hands, looked down at the perfectly printed letters. She ran her hand over her name as though just the action might make something come back to her. She looked up when Josh stopped the car at a light.
“Why don’t we pull over somewhere and read the letter? We could grab something to eat if you want?” he suggested, looking at her with so much compassion it made her heart push against her rib cage. She was falling in love with him effortlessly, like she’d been waiting for him to fill in the spaces, like he was a part of her. She laughed at the irony. And who are you?
“I’m not really hungry, but I wouldn’t mind some fresh air. Especially since it’s not raining.” She hoped her smile was brave rather than strained. He nodded and resumed driving when the light changed. She didn’t recognize the city of Crampton, not even the Post Office, which she’d obviously been in. I didn’t live here, but I’ve been here. I came here for a reason. From where? She took a deep breath and let it out on a long exhale.
Josh kept telling her not to push things; they would come. The buildings turned to homes as he drove out of the city. Soon the homes spread further apart until most of what surrounded them was trees and fields. The only sounds were the hum of the tires on asphalt and the air from the vents keeping her warm. They pulled into a gravel parking lot, surrounded by trees that still held drops of moisture from all of the rain. He parked the car and turned to her.
“There’s a trail here, goes on for a few miles. You can see the water. Do you want to walk?”
In answer, she pushed open the passenger door and got out. He met her at the back of the car, took her hand, and pressed his lips to it. She knew he meant for it to be comforting, but it sent surprising sparks up her arm, straight to her stomach. He used his hold on her hand to pull her into him, wrap himself around her in a way that made her feel cherished, protected, wanted. She let herself absorb his warmth, the strength of his body, the feel of his arms around her.
“Let’s walk,” she finally said, knowing it would be so easy to stay wrapped in his arms and wish this all away. They walked a while, hand in hand, along the bank of the river. It raged softly, like a small child, pounding fists of water on the rocks. The air was damp and smelled of the trees around them. She couldn’t tell if the air smelled like it had just rained or was going to rain more. The sky continued to shine blue, and she knew she was just procrastinating.
“No matter what that letter says, everything will be okay,” Josh said quietly.
Having him know her, see through her so easily, was both comforting and terrifying. She nodded, her lips firm, and looked down at the letter. They stood by an outcropping of rocks with grass and roots surrounding them. She carefully ripped the seam of the envelope, aware there was something hard inside, something oblong and solid. She pulled out the standard lined paper, her hand shaking slightly. Peeking into the envelope, she saw it held a small, gold key. Josh glanced at her questioningly, but she could only shrug. She just didn’t know. Unfolding the letter, she read it aloud:
“Dear Alessa,
It feels like years since we’ve spoken in person. I’ll be honest; I miss you. As I get older, I realize how important it is to have people who believe in you, who truly love you. Things are not great with your father and I. I’m thinking of separating from him. For a while now, he has been making me doubt my own feelings, think things about myself that are not true. I know when you commit to a person, you do your best to make it work, but sometimes that person is not who you thought they were. Maybe I should try harder. As Franklin Roosevelt said: When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on. I just hope I can. I feel like I’m trapped inside of a box, an island unto myself. Oh listen to me, rambling on so negatively. I haven’t even asked how you are. What you’re doing lately? Remember Kristy, from high school? I ran into her not long ago. She said to tell you she thinks of you often. Time flies by so quickly, doesn’t it? The key is to never lose sight of who you are. The answers we need are inside of us—if only we aren’t afraid to look. I just wanted to reach out, let you know you are loved. Missed. I will talk to you soon.
Love Mom
xoxox.”
Alessa’s heart beat rapidly, and her breath was shallow. It was painful to pull air all the way into her lungs.
“Alessa. Relax, honey.”
Josh nudged her so she was leaning against a large, mostly dry boulder. He put his fingers to her wrist, but when she realized he was checking her pulse, she pulled her hand away.
“Don’t. Please.”
“Then breathe.”
She wasn’t sure why it seemed so hard to do just that. Her mother was dead. She’d known that before she opened the letter. “It’s a very nice letter,” she finally stated, without emotion or purpose.
“It is. Particularly for a dead woman.”
Her gaze shot to Josh’s eyes, and the humor in them loosened the pressure in her chest. She laughed roughly, the air in her lungs releasing like a popped balloon, and he reached his hand out to cup her cheek. She turned into it and closed her eyes for a brief moment.
In that moment, it was like she could hear the chambers of a lock tumbling into place. Opening her eyes, she stood, which brought her body flush against Josh’s. She lost her breath again for a second, but for reasons entirely unrelated to all that was happening. He seemed as unprepared as she did for the electricity sparking between them. His eyes heated, and his hands came to her hips, neither pulling her closer nor pushing her away. Just holding her steady.
“It’s clues,” she said, a smile forming.
“What?”
“The letter,” she waved it in front of him, “it’s telling me something.”
“Okay. Do you know what it’s telling you?”<
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She stepped back and began to walk. He fell into step beside her. She liked the sound of the river rushing beside her; it was like white noise, blocking everything else out. She knew she was mumbling since Josh had already asked her what a couple times, but she didn’t know how to process it and tell him at the same time.
“Key. Roosevelt. Kristy. Kristy is my friend. I went to Chicago Senior. I hated Math but loved English. Kristy was in my classes. I wore purple to graduation. Then I left home and never looked back. Island. Box. Look inside.”
“Alessa, are you okay?” Josh finally asked as they neared his car, and she continued to babble and toss words from the letter around.
“Yes. No. There’s something here. It’s . . . something but I don’t know what. It’s telling me something. It’s not from my mom, Josh. It’s me, well, not me but Kristy. Who I must have contacted to try to find a way to . . .”
He stopped at the car and turned her toward him, looking at her gently. “What?”
“I don’t know. It’s like a huge pot of water just about to boil over but then someone removes it from the stove and it completely simmers down. But it’s something, Josh. I know it is.” She wished she could make more come when obviously her brain was reluctant to give too much at one time.
He unlocked the door and tucked her inside, shut the door for her before coming around to the driver’s side. “Alessa, look at me. Please.”
She turned and faced him, as much as she could with the seat belt holding her tight. She flexed her fingers in and out, digging her nails into her palm, and then lengthening her fingers again.
“Just keep going. Just close your eyes, lean back against the seat, and I’ll drive. Keep turning the words over in your head. But if it starts to hurt, you ease off.”
Dangerous Love Page 10