Elliot snorted and nudged her with his shoulder. “Like anyone with a brain cell in their head could compare Nicole to Beatrice. Surely you knew I was writing about–”
Rebecca’s phone buzzed, interrupting him. She pulled it out of her bag and read Locke’s message. “I guess we can go back now,” she told him, a little regretfully. “Locke says he’s waiting in front of Ed’s, and I have to be at work early tomorrow.”
Elliot pointed down the street. “We’re right around the block from the restaurant,” he said. “We’ve been circling it for the past hour. I didn’t want to be too far away when it came time to go home.”
“You’re smarter than you look, Elliot.” She grinned up at him and took her hand out of her pocket. Ignoring it, he placed his arm around her shoulders and started walking again.
“I’m glad someone thinks so.”
They didn’t say anything more until they saw Locke standing on the corner ahead of them. “I’m glad we talked,” Elliot said, slowing their pace. “I was pretty sure the evening would be ruined when Casanova over there showed up, but it could have been a lot worse. Thanks for being so understanding.”
Rebecca turned to look up at him, and Elliot let his hand slide down her shoulder until their hands were touching. He leaned close, and she gazed up at him, wondering if he was going to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt his breath on her lips before he turned slightly and kissed her on the cheek. He was staring at her when she opened her eyes, and she reached out to smooth his hair down. Then she tugged him down the street to where Locke was waiting.
The next morning, Rebecca woke up with her hand on the spot that Elliot had kissed, and she spent the rest of the day thinking of ways to get him to kiss her properly. She didn’t think he’d mind, but then again, she’d been wrong about him in the past. The long-banished memory of his kisses came flooding back into her mind.
It would be one thing, she thought, if she hadn’t already experienced them; then she wouldn’t know what she was missing. Maybe she’d just have to corner him and plant one on him whether he liked it or not. The idea had some merit.
There was an unusual flurry of activity in the kitchen when she arrived at Cassie’s later that afternoon. Hoping she didn’t need her fire extinguisher, she looked inside and found Cassie and Haley at the stove, inspecting something in a pot. When she came up behind them, Cassie wound an arm around her waist and kept staring at the pot. It was filled with a thick milky substance that she couldn’t identify.
“Do you think they’re done?” Cassie asked anxiously, sticking a spoon inside and stirring cautiously. “I don’t know how you can tell.”
Haley glanced at Rebecca and tilted her head. “Hey, stranger. I understand you’ve been busy.”
Rebecca shrugged. “Yeah, I needed something to do and the girl detective business was flourishing. What are you two making?”
“Mashed potatoes.”
Rebecca started to laugh. “Those are potatoes? How long have they been cooking? It looks like potato sludge.”
Cassie glared at her. “I’ve been watching it for the past hour. I suppose you can do it better?”
Grabbing the pot from her sister, Rebecca poured the contents down the drain. “They’re cooked when they’re soft, not disintegrated. Didn’t you test one with a fork?”
“Oh.” Cassie’s shoulders sagged. “The cookbook didn’t say anything about that.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll show you. Do you have any more potatoes?”
She and Haley were laughing at Cassie’s attempts to use a vegetable peeler when Rebecca glanced up. Elliot was standing just outside the kitchen, watching the three of them. He grinned when Rebecca caught his eye and winked before disappearing.
An hour later, Cassie proudly placed her masterpiece on the table with a flourish. Michael kissed her fondly and rubbed his hands together. “What’s everyone waiting for?” he called down the hall. “Come on, don’t be shy! Let’s eat!”
“Did you make everything?” Rebecca whispered to Cassie as people started filing into the dining room.
“No, I was smart enough to stay away from the big stuff. Most of it came pre-cooked. Don’t tell anyone, though. They all think I’m a whiz in the kitchen.”
“Not everyone.” Cassie shot her a withering look and went to sit next to her husband. There was quite a crowd, Rebecca noted: Michael and Cassie, Locke and Melissa, who had been invited at the last minute when Cassie had learned of Locke’s visit, Haley, and herself. She was just about to go looking for Elliot when Locke pulled her aside.
“He had to take a call from his editor,” he said softly. “He made me promise to save a seat for him next to you.”
“What makes you think I was looking for Elliot?”
Locke ruffled her hair. “The same reason he kept wandering to the kitchen for the past hour. You two are pitiful.” He laughed at her expression and sat next to Melissa.
The meal was almost over when Elliot finally appeared. He apologized to Cassie for being so late and then slid into the chair next to Rebecca with a sigh.
“Is everything okay?” she asked him, passing him what remained of their dinner.
“Not really.” He didn’t look at her. “My editor is giving me grief over my recent work. She says she’s tired of reading about corrupt aldermen and city beautification plans.”
Knowing the answer, Rebecca asked, “So what does she want you to do?”
His eyes flickered to her and then moved away again. “She wants me to write from the heart again. When I told her I couldn’t, she wasn’t too pleased.” He turned his attention to his food and started talking to Locke, leaving Rebecca to her own thoughts.
After everyone had finished, Haley and Cassie took Melissa on a tour that, Rebecca suspected, would include an interrogation. She wasn’t the only one that was protective of Locke. Michael wandered out to the balcony to take a call, and Elliot disappeared into his own apartment, muttering something about having to rewrite a column.
“I guess we’ve been abandoned,” Locke commented as the last person drifted out of the dining room. He looked at her speculatively. “Did you ever get a tour of Elliot’s apartment?”
Rebecca shook her head. “I’ve been in there a few times,” she told him, “but didn’t really bother to go very far. I figured it was the same as this one.”
Locke stood up. “Oh, the floor plan’s the same, but there are a few differences that I think you might enjoy.” He pulled her to her feet and dragged her out into the hallway.
“Is this really necessary? I mean, you’re leaving your girlfriend alone with my sister. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
Grinning, Locke opened the door to Elliot’s apartment. “Melissa can take care of herself. Don’t worry about her.”
He breezed through the front rooms, which she’d already seen, and turned down the hallway that Rebecca knew led to the bedrooms. “I’m not going down there,” she said, trying to stop their progress. “I have no business in Elliot’s personal space.”
Locke lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You don’t? Since when? No, I’m taking you to his music room,” he explained. He stopped in front of what would have been the spare bedroom in Cassie’s apartment and opened the door. “Take a look.”
Rebecca walked into the room and caught her breath. The only thing in the room was a baby grand piano that gleamed faintly in the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. She didn’t think of herself as a musician, but there was something about that piano...”I didn’t know Elliot had a piano,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
“It’s a fairly recent purchase. Play a little and tell me what you think.”
Rebecca forced her feet carry her to the keyboard. She sat on the bench and struck a few chords, then looked closer at the keys. There, on middle C, almost too faint to see, was a letter written in a childish hand.
“This is my piano.” She looked up at Locke
, her eyes brimming with unnoticed tears. “I wrote that ‘C’ the first time I had a lesson. My mom almost killed me. How did my piano get in Elliot’s spare room?”
Locke sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “He bought it while he was holed up in the house on the island,” he said. “He didn’t want to admit it, but he needed a part of you with him, even if that part was just a piano.”
“But how did he find it? The auction was a while ago, and–”
Locke chuckled and pulled her head down onto his shoulder. “He made a few phone calls. He is a reporter, silly, and reporters have ways of extracting information that the rest of us mortals don’t. He sent one of his buddies to pick it up for him and then had the piano delivered here.”
The tears were coming faster now, no matter how hard Rebecca tried to keep them in. “I still can’t believe he has my piano. I thought I’d never see it again.”
“Yeah, well, he thought he’d never see you again, and here you are. Shouldn’t that tell you something? He never fell out of love with you, Rebecca. No matter what he did, you were always in his mind. Can’t you see that now?”
She tried to laugh, but it came out as a nasty-sounding hiccough. “That sounds like me, not Elliot. All those blind dates I subjected myself to. I could have refused, you know, but I think part of me was trying to find someone else to replace him.”
“Did it ever work?”
Rebecca sniffed. “Obviously not. It might have helped if Faye had found guys that were a little more likeable.” She ran her hand over the keys, feeling their smoothness under her fingertips. “My mom would have liked Elliot,” she said quietly. “And she would have liked that he ended up with her piano. I wish I could tell her that it was here.”
Locke smoothed her hair behind her ears and rested his cheek on top of her head. Finally overcome with memories and emotions that had been buried for too many years, Rebecca buried her face in his shoulder and cried until his shirt was soaked with her tears.
She left not long after that. Cassie took one look at her when she came to collect her things and followed her to the door. “What happened? Have you been crying?”
Rebecca tried to smile and rubbed her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said, and hugged Cassie tightly. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I just need to go home and think.”
Cassie shot her a dubious look but let her go without any more questions.
That night, Rebecca pulled out all the columns Elliot had written about her. She read them several times, then sat back on the bed and thought, really thought, about what she wanted. She still loved Elliot; she’d admitted that much to herself weeks before. And she was pretty sure he felt something for her, too. The piano’s existence in his home proved that pretty effectively. But what, if anything, should she do about it? It wasn’t like she could just walk up to him and say, “I love you. Let’s try again.” Could she? It went against her character to be so bold. Maybe it was time to change–at least a little.
When she woke up the next morning, she stumbled around the apartment. Her dreams had all featured Elliot and a piano, and she was having a hard time getting him out of her head. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to, for that matter.
She didn’t have to be anywhere until mid-morning, so she puttered around for a few hours. When she left at ten, she stumbled over a newspaper on her doorstep, and she thought idly that someone must have given it to her by mistake. She threw it down the hall, hoping whomever it belonged to would find it. Another paper rested on her windshield, and she threw it on the front seat of her car. Was there some sort of distribution drive going on that she didn’t know about?
There was a swarm of people outside the library when she got there, and she had to force her way through the crowd to get into the building. The girl at the circulation desk stared at her when she passed and held out a copy of the Tribune. She took it wordlessly, wondering if this was some sort of divine decree that she get a subscription.
People stuck their heads around corners as she walked past on her way to put away her lunch, and she patted her face, trying to figure out what they were staring at. Maybe she had a spot. Or a sudden, grotesque growth. Jen was waiting for her in the back room. She also held a copy of the paper.
“What are you doing here? Have you seen this?” she demanded, waving the paper in the air.
Rebecca looked at her in confusion. “I haven’t read it, if that’s what you’re asking, but I have three copies. Someone’s littering the city with them.”
Jen sat her down at the table and opened the paper to page three. “I really think you need to read this before you do anything else this morning,” she told her, and sat down to wait.
Persuasion
by Elliot Winters
As I sit here in my study I can hear snatches of conversation drifting across the hall from what I’ve fondly termed ‘The Piano Room’. I named it that after I bought a beautiful old piano from an auction and put it in my spare room. Now, I don’t play any musical instrument, but this one called to me, and I knew I had to own it.
The reason, of course, is because it was hers. When we parted seven years ago, I vowed to leave and never look back. I left, all right, but the funny thing about the heart is that once it’s been touched by someone truly extraordinary, it won’t let you go about your business in peace. So here I sit with my ex’s piano, wondering what her reaction was when she found it here.
We have had a bit of a rocky reunion, her and me. We’ve had confusions and misunderstandings and wrong judgments mostly on my part, but somehow I think we’ve finally overcome our past troubles. But just to be sure, I’d like to lay it all out for the entire city to see. And maybe then she’ll believe that what I write is the truth, even though I may not have always behaved the way I should.
When we broke off our engagement, I accused you of letting your aunt persuade you that I wasn’t good enough or rich enough or smart enough to make you happy. I’ve hated the word persuasion ever since then. Yet now I’m writing the single most important column of my life in an attempt to do just that. To persuade my heart’s desire, despite everything that’s happened, that I am worthy of your trust. And your love.
Rebecca Anne Done, I love you. I always have. I spent the past seven years trying to get you out of my head and my heart, and all I managed to do was wedge you even tighter into my soul. I know I told you I wouldn’t write any more columns about you, but when I’m standing in front of you, the words just don’t come like they did when I was eighteen and too young to know that I should keep my feelings hidden from those who would mock them. It is only in these daily columns that I can truly confess myself to you, and even then I fear that sometimes you think I’m writing about someone else.
Bex, you are the girl that haunts my dreams. You are my love and my hero rolled into one. I would do anything for you, if you’d let me.
I know this is the coward’s way to do this, but I desperately need to know if you can feel anything for me. I think I’ve seen glimmers of something akin to love over the past few days, but it is time to lay all doubts aside. You know how I feel. And you know what I want. I realize it’s too soon to ask you again to be with me forever, but you know that is my final goal. All I ask of you now is that you tell me, once and for all, if you can accept me for who I am–flaws and chinks and scars and all.
I will do everything in my power to make sure you read this column, and then I’ll wait until noon in front of Buckingham Fountain. If you don’t come, I’ll know my answer.
Please come.
Chapter Seventeen
Rebecca stared at the newspaper, her mouth hanging open in shock. Had she just read what she thought she had?
Jen shook her shoulder. “Rebecca! Snap out of it! You only have a little over an hour to get there!”
Raising her head from Elliot’s column, Rebecca closed her mouth with an audible click and folded the paper. Then she stood up, carefully set her chair back in its place, and turned to where s
he kept her work supplies. Her mind was strangely blank.
“Rebecca!” Jen was right behind her, whacking the rolled-up paper on her back. “Wake up! What do you think you’re doing?”
For some reason these words jolted Rebecca out of her trance. “I’m going to work,” she snapped, shoving art supplies haphazardly into her bag. The top of the glue bottle popped off when she threw it, with way too much force, on top of the crayons and she scowled at Jen as she dumped the lot in the trash. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re going to miss the opportunity of a lifetime.” Jen was incredulous. “You’ve got to get going or you’ll be late.”
Ignoring her, Rebecca walked down the hall toward the children’s section. “I told him specifically not to write about me in the paper,” she said furiously, her feet going faster as she spoke. “He ignored me. And then he put a deadline on my response. What does he think I do all day, sit around and wait for him to request my presence?”
Jen had to run to catch up to her. “He just told you he loves you,” she panted as they rounded the corner. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Rebecca stopped so fast Jen plowed right into her back. “I’ll go when I’m done with my story hour,” she said, dropping her things on a table at one end of the room. “And not a second before. He’ll just have to deal with it if I’m late.” She glared at Jen, daring her friend to argue.
“But you are going, right? To tell him you love him?”
“I’ll go. But I might just hit him as hard as I can before I tell him where he can stuff his precious newspaper.”
“Fine, fine. But if he’s gone when you finally get there, it’ll be your own fault for being so stubborn.” Jen threw her hands up in frustration before disappearing down the hall.
Thoughts and images swirled around Rebecca’s head as she prepared for the children to come in, and her resolve faltered as she remembered the words of his column. Rebecca, I love you. I always have… Half of her–the half that had been waiting to hear those words for a very long time, wanted to break down and cry at the happiness that was pounding through her veins. Unfortunately, the other half wanted to strangle him for not saying it in person. And privately.
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