The Perfect Letter

by Chris Harrison

  He gave her a quick kiss and then said, “You look terrible. Where were you all night?”

  “What?”

  “I called and called, and you didn’t answer. I figured you must have been out with Chloe, but I called her this morning and she said she hadn’t seen you either. Did you go out with people from the conference? You look like you’ve been up for days.”

  Leigh’s hand went to her hair, which had been a mess all day because it was still wet from her shower with Jake when she had to leave for her appointments. She hadn’t bothered with makeup either in her hurry to get out the door. “Oh,” she said, “you know I don’t sleep well on the road. Lumpy beds. Unfamiliar rooms. I feel as bad as I must look.”

  She was looking around the room, searching for any evidence Jake had been there—an incriminating boot, a sock, anything—but the room was free of traces of him except for the stack of his letters on the dresser, sitting in the same place where she’d dropped them yesterday. Jake himself seemed to have disappeared.

  “So why are you here?” she asked.

  “Thanks for the warm welcome! And after I flew halfway across the country to see you.”

  She gave a half smile and put her arms around his neck, gave him a quick kiss. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I mean why did you decide to come?”

  “You weren’t answering your phone. I started to get worried,” he said. “It’s not like you to be out of touch for two whole days. I started to think you’d been kidnapped by cultists and carried off into the night.”

  “I’m so sorry. It was thoughtless of me. I should have called you back a long time ago, I know. I wasn’t trying to dodge you or anything like that.”

  “So what happened? Cell reception here doesn’t seem too bad.”

  Leigh gave a little laugh and tried to act like everything was normal between them. “Oh, you know, I was busy. The conference. Chloe. We had a lot of catching up to do. Think I’ve had maybe a little too much fun on this trip. I’m still a bit hungover—you know how Chloe is.”

  “I know. Why do you think I was so worried?”

  Joseph came close and wrapped his arms around her waist. Up close to him, she felt completely confused, both grateful to see him and irritated that he felt the need to be constantly checking up on her, to keep her on such a short lease. She’d never had a dad and didn’t need one now.

  “I guess I couldn’t wait to see you again. Not after our last phone conversation. You seemed so . . . upbeat, about us. I was hoping, I guess, to get that answer from you in person. I just didn’t want to wait anymore.”

  Not now. Oh, hell, Joseph, your timing is terrible.

  “That’s so romantic,” she said. “So unexpected. You’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “Maybe it’s time I started,” he said, stroking her hair. His hands felt so good, so familiar—part of her wanted that familiarity right now, after the day she’d just had. She sighed and put her cheek against his shoulder, knowing she had no right to do so, that she wasn’t being fair to him, or to Jake, but she needed so badly to feel the world solid under her feet. She had bigger problems than Joseph’s marriage proposal, Jake’s pride. There was a con artist out in the world who was trying to undo her entire life. She had to decide what to do, and soon.

  I can’t think straight like this. I just can’t.

  Joseph stepped back and sat on the bed where Jake and Leigh had made love. She blushed, but Joseph didn’t notice. “Leigh, I’ve been thinking. About the other night . . . maybe I was too hard on you, when we were—you know.”

  She stifled a laugh. He wouldn’t say the word “sex.” It embarrassed him.

  “Well, you were trying to tell me something, something about what you want, and I wasn’t listening,” he said. “I thought maybe we should try again. This time I promise to be more open-minded.”

  “What?”

  He gave another embarrassed half smile. “In the bedroom. You know, when you tried to tie me up. I was thinking . . . I was thinking I shouldn’t be so much of a prude. That maybe I should give it a try. The bondage thing. That is, if you still want to.”

  Did he mean sex? Right now? She’d slept with Jake four times in the last twenty-four hours—she was drained, and worse, saddlesore. She was thinking about Russell Benoit and blackmail, not bondage. She couldn’t, she absolutely could not muster enough arousal for one more encounter, not today.

  “I can’t. I mean, I’ve had appointments all afternoon, I haven’t eaten, I haven’t had any coffee—”

  “There you go again, rushing around to take care of everyone but yourself. You need me around, Leigh. Someone has to take care of you.”

  She felt her annoyance flare again, a quick burst of anger. But she didn’t want to start arguing with him right then. “I overslept,” she said. “I barely made it to my first appointment this morning. Hungover, like I said.”

  He was leaning with his back against the stack of letters, threatening to topple them. Please don’t notice them. Please don’t see who they’re addressed to. “Did you get any good manuscripts?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe one. I haven’t had a chance to really read it yet. A war memoir, a tell-all about a soldier’s personal involvement in secret missions during Vietnam.”

  “That’s risky.”

  “You’d like him. I’m having coffee with him tomorrow to talk about the book.”

  “Coffee, huh?” Joseph said, coming close and putting his arms around her. “You know, our first date was coffee, too. Should I be jealous?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “I almost forgot.” He looked crestfallen. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. When I think about our first date, I think about that picnic you made me in the park, that’s all.”

  “Dramatic? Me?” He pouted. “And that was our second date.”

  “It was romantic,” she said. “The most romantic date of my life. That’s all I’m saying.”

  That was a lie, another lie in a long line of lies Leigh had told, and couldn’t stop telling. The most romantic date of her life had been in Mammoth Cave, when Jake had kissed her for the first time, but she couldn’t very well tell Joseph that. Sometimes she felt like her whole life was built on one long string of lies, beginning with the first and worst of all lies. One more to make Joseph feel better wasn’t going to tip the scales any further.

  Facing Joseph in person didn’t seem to help clarify her feelings. She still didn’t know what she was going to do. Yesterday she’d been so sure about marrying him, but sleeping with Jake again had called everything into doubt. Both men were good and decent and honorable. How was she going to move forward with one, if it meant hurting the other?

  And where was Jake? He’d disappeared to find Russ, and this time she didn’t have the faintest idea of where to start looking for him. She turned around the room, and then turned again, as if looking for something in the cottage that would give her all the answers.

  “You okay?” Joseph asked. “What are you looking for?”

  She stopped spinning, wrinkled up her nose in embarrassment, and laughed. “I can’t remember,” she said.

  Joseph was staring at her like she was insane, but all she could think of was that she had to get him out of this room now, immediately, before Jake came back. He had gone to find Russell Benoit, and God only knew how long that would take. He didn’t own a cell phone. He’d never had one before he went to prison, and in prison they weren’t allowed. She didn’t know where he was living now. She had no way of getting in touch with him to tell him not to come to the hotel, and he had no way of telling her if he’d found out anything about the con artist. He could show up anytime and ruin everything before Leigh even had time to figure out for herself what exactly it was that she wanted.

  “Let me take you out for dinner,” said Joseph. “Your favorite Austin meal. There are some things I think we should talk about.”

  She resisted the urge to cringe. She knew he wanted to hear th
at she wanted to marry him, that she’d been wrong not to accept his proposal the first time, but she hadn’t been able to find even three minutes since she’d left Jake to think through what she was going to do, what she wanted, what was the smart decision, the right decision. If she was going to decide what to do with the rest of her life, she wished Joseph would give her a little more space in which to think it through.

  She almost laughed. Joseph never gave her enough space, and Jake always gave her too much. But she didn’t have it in her to ask Joseph to leave, not now.

  Okay. Okay, breathe. You can do this. Just pretend everything is normal. Just pretend you’re back in Manhattan, on your way to work. He doesn’t know anything. If you don’t want him to know, he never has to.

  While Joseph’s back was turned, Leigh opened a drawer and tipped Jake’s letters inside. She’d have to think of a way, later, to move them without Joseph seeing. And she didn’t even want to think what would happen if Jake came back to the hotel room and found Joseph there.

  “Where should we eat?” Joseph was asking as they went out the door and into the evening air. “I want to go someplace really authentic, really Texas. What would you be doing right now if I wasn’t here?”

  If you weren’t here right now, I’d probably be looking for Jake. They went down the hill in the pink sunset hand in hand, just another handsome, well-dressed tourist couple ready to enjoy a romantic night together. The trees were strung with white fairy lights; the wind sighed and rustled the leaves. “Let’s get burritos at Guero’s,” she said. “That was always my favorite place when I was a kid.”

  “It’s good?”

  “The best.”

  Joseph put his arm around her waist and led her down the hill, through the field of bluebonnets.

  Jake, she thought—but she wouldn’t, she absolutely would not cry—where the hell have you gone this time?

  MARCH 1, 2006

  Huntsville State Penitentiary

  Huntsville, TX

  Dear Leigh,

  They call this place the Walls. That was the first thing I saw when we drove up, these heavy red-brick walls topped with coils of razor wire, like the gateway to hell. There were guard towers at the corners. The men with machine guns watched us as we pulled up in the corrections bus. We got off the bus and they looked us over. First thing, The Look came over their faces, the one where the eyes focus about six inches behind your head. Even though they were looking right at us, they didn’t see us. We weren’t there.

  Get moving, they said. Don’t bother crying, ladies, it won’t help you now.

  I’m a ghost, disappearing little by little, and when I go inside the Walls, I won’t exist anymore.

  It didn’t get much better inside. Last night I went into a room with three other inmates, two guys in their thirties or forties, one old veteran of maybe sixty or so who was totally hairless from chemo. They pointed me toward the empty bottom bunk, which smelled like vomit and cigarettes. One of the two guys introduced himself. “I’m Russ,” he said. “And that’s Dwayne.”

  I said, “Nice to meet you.” They laughed. Apparently polite intros are no use in here.

  They nicknamed me “Bones.” A steady diet of prison food has left me thin and light-headed. What are you in for, Bonesy? they said, and when I said murder, they whistled and stepped back. Gave each other looks. The Walls might be the only place on earth where murder gets you respect.

  “We’ll have to tell the boys to watch out for young Bonesy here,” Dwayne said. “He’s a killer.” Not afraid of me. Amused.

  The older guy, whose name is Harold, told them to leave me alone. They went out again, laughing to each other and winking at me. I thanked him. After they were gone he frowned and said, “I don’t give a shit if the three of you kill each other, as long as you’re quiet while you do it.”

  I’ll have access to the library in a few days, after my paperwork is processed. Then I can take out some new books. I was thinking Crime and Punishment might be a good next choice. The Russians, they know things about prison.

  It’s lights-out time. The guards come and make sure we’re in our beds.

  I’m writing these words to you in the dark. I will always be writing to you, Leigh. In my head, in my heart. Everywhere. I don’t need the lights to see your face in front of me, to feel your body under my hands. You’re the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins. You’re everywhere, even in the Walls.

  Love,

  —J.

  Ten

  After a series of increasingly frantic text messages asking where Leigh had been for the last twenty-four hours—was she dead, kidnapped, or had she lost her phone?—Chloe agreed to meet her at Guero’s for dinner.

  WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT? DID YOU EVER MEET UP WITH JAKE? Chloe had texted.

  Leigh had written her back: NO TIME TO TALK. JOSEPH FLEW IN TO SURPRISE ME.

  WHOA! DID HE CATCH YOU IN THE ACT?

  I NEED YOU ASAP, Leigh wrote. NO JAKE TALK, OKAY? WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING WHEN I CAN.

  JUICY? Chloe asked.

  YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

  Chloe answered back, HONEY, YOUR LIFE IS THE WORLD’S SEXIEST DISASTER MOVIE. But she said she’d be there as soon as she could.

  Meanwhile Joseph spent half an hour perusing the menu, trying to figure out the ingredients in the soy chorizo and asking about the difference between an enchilada and a burrito. Leigh gulped her margarita and was just beginning to feel the alcohol hitting her system—the wave of pleasant blurriness, the relaxing of her clenched jaw—when Joseph peeled the drink from her hand, then leaned in for a kiss.

  “So,” he said, “ever since we talked last time, I’ve been dying to see you. We have so much to think about.”

  “I know,” she said, looking down at their hands entwined on the tabletop, the clean white crescents of Joseph’s fingernails, her own hands red-brown from walking outside all afternoon looking for Jake. Had that been just yesterday? And now Joseph was here, and he’d want to talk about the proposal, about the future. What was it she’d said to him the last time they’d talked, two days ago? I’ll make it up to you when I get home, I promise. I think I was just scared. Maybe I just needed to let go of some old ghosts.

  She hadn’t exactly let go of those ghosts, had she? No—she’d slept with them instead.

  “The first thing we need to think about,” Joseph said, “is when we’re going to make the announcement.”

  Leigh felt a wave of exhaustion overtake her. He couldn’t be serious—she hadn’t said a definite yes to his proposal, not yet. “Announcement?” she asked.

  “That I’m moving up to publisher,” he said. “And about Leigh Merrill Books. Randall and Marty want to do it soon, maybe by next Monday.”

  Her imprint. She’d nearly forgotten. “Isn’t that a little soon?”

  “Yes, but it’s all been approved, so there’s really no point in waiting, is there? Randall and Marty signed off on it yesterday. We can get started as soon as we get back.”

  “It’s so much responsibility,” she said. “I worry that maybe I’m not ready. There are more experienced editors at the press, Joseph. Don’t you think they might feel a little overlooked?”

  “Not after the Millikin book. It’s your reward. And mine, too, to be honest—Randall and Marty said I had to be commended for supporting the career of—what did they call you?—‘the next Gordon Lish.’”

  “Oh no, no, not me,” she said. “I just got lucky. Millikin was ready to start publishing again. I just gave him a push.”

  “It was more than luck, it was damned hard work, and it’s all paying off now. You should be proud.”

  “You should be, too,” she said. The least she could do—the very least—was be supportive of Joseph’s career, especially now. “I’m so happy for you, Joseph, really. Everyone at the company will be thrilled. You’ve done so much for everyone there. The writers, the editors. They have complete faith in you and your vision for the company, and now your name will be on
the spine of every book.”

  “And you?” he asked. “Do I have your complete trust, too?”

  She put her hand over their entwined ones. “I know you’d never hurt me. I know you love me.”

  “You love me, too,” he said. “I know it.”

  “I do. You’re a good man—”

  The next word out of her mouth was going to be “but.” She pressed her lips together, sat up straighter, as if only good posture stood between herself and the worst mistake of her life. She would not say “but” to Joseph Middlebury, the man who had given her a career and life in New York. She would not.

  He blushed and looked down at the table, fumbling around in his pocket for something. “I was thinking . . . I mean, I was hoping—”

  Just then, like an answer to a prayer, Chloe entered the restaurant in a rush, pink hair and red boots flying. “Well, hello, stranger,” she said to Joseph, who stood to greet her with his customary kiss on both cheeks. “I didn’t know you were coming in today. What brings you to the Lone Star State at the last minute?”

  “Nice to see you, too, Chloe,” he said. “I didn’t know myself. But I had to come check on Leigh and make sure she was still alive. I called her for two straight days with no answer. Two days! I finally decided she must have been snagged by some rough-and-tumble Texas cowboy, and I was going to have to lasso her cowboy style and drag her back to New York kicking and screaming.”

  “Is that so?” Chloe said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Can’t leave her alone for five minutes without worrying about her running off, eh?”

  “Really, Joseph, I was just busy with work,” Leigh murmured.

  “Well,” he said, taking Leigh’s hand across the table, “I couldn’t wait until you came back home to see you. We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

  Leigh was grateful, for the millionth time, for his easy personality, his unruffled calm. “We do,” she said, and squeezed his hand. As soon as I figure out what I’m going to say, that is.

  As he sat back down Chloe rolled her eyes at Leigh, who gave her friend the most imperceptible of head shakes. “Well,” said Chloe, “you’re here now. Is this your first trip to Texas?”