Her Last Letter

by Nancy C. Johnson

  I was smiling as I drove toward home, and pleased to see sunshine finally break through the clouds after the gray skies of this morning.

  I could do all kinds of things this weekend. I could go cross-country skiing with Caroline, or alone, or go snowshoeing up in the mountains. I could take more pictures, or just commune with nature, hike down on the lower levels. I had all kinds of choices.

  But I liked the hot springs idea.

  I packed my bag, then fixed myself a tuna sandwich and tomato soup, eating it at the kitchen table. I wondered what Trevor was doing now, and if the woman he was seeing was someone he worked with. How convenient for him. I’d met some of his associates at the office parties, when I was invited, when I’d bothered to go. Maybe that was a mistake, not going. I was glad Trevor was happy in his work. He liked being the boss, running his own office. Unfortunately, though I enjoyed Trevor’s enthusiasm, real estate and sales were not my favorite subjects. I always listened whenever he talked about it, never let on how I felt, maybe even fooled him to a degree. Wasn’t that all anyone could expect of me? I couldn’t be someone I wasn’t, feel something I didn’t. And Trevor would sometimes shut down completely when I talked about art, and I forgave him.

  Marriage certainly wasn’t easy, even under the best of circumstances.

  I lifted a spoonful of soup to my mouth and slurped it, something else I wouldn’t do if Trevor were around. No, marriage wasn’t easy, and if you threw in a dash of murder and a sprinkle of infidelity, just watch the odds for success go down.

  So who was Trevor screwing? And had he been screwing Kelly too, right under my nose? It made sick to even think about it.

  After my lunch, I drove into town. I decided to make a stop at the Hotel Colorado, a favorite of mine, before heading to the hot springs pool nearby. I hadn’t visited the historic hotel in a while, nor had I been to the mineral pool since last winter.

  The lobby of the over one-hundred-year-old hotel was truly vast, and reputed to be one of the most attractive in the western United States, having been modeled after Italy’s Castle Villa de Medici. The lobby had been renovated, now done in beige, and boasted myriad chandeliers, fireplaces, fountains, oil paintings, and potted palm trees. As I strolled about, stopping to gaze out into the hotel’s courtyard with its beautiful Florentine fountain, I wondered what sort of people once roamed the rooms of the venerable Hotel Colorado, what secrets it held, whose hearts had been broken here.

  I changed into my bathing suit in the athletic club and walked out to the vaporous hot springs pool, huge in its length-two blocks long-the largest in the world.

  Dipping slowly into the water, I gazed around at others enjoying themselves, a pair of giggling teenagers, a woman with flowing gray-flecked hair, a potbellied man in a fishing cap, all soaking in the comfortably heated mineral waters. If I wanted to, I could also take advantage of some of the hotter smaller pools, or go over to the Yampah Vapor Caves, enjoy a steam, get a massage, listen to soft music. So much to do, so much I took for granted, living here in Glenwood. But I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

  I gazed at the surrounding mountains rising above the steam and felt at peace for the first time that day. I’d stay in this cocoon of warmth until my fingers shriveled and my cares seeped away. Maybe I’d call Caroline, or maybe not. It would be okay to be alone now, have dinner by myself, go over to the Italian Underground and have some pasta and perhaps too much wine. And later, maybe Trevor would call; maybe guilt would set in, and he would remember he was married.…

  I did enjoy dinner, a big plate of lasagna, and did drink a little too much wine, and afterwards sipped my coffee dreamily and pretended to be a reclusive movie star hiding from the public.

  It was dark on the drive back to the house, and snowing again, fat flakes that slid carelessly down the windshield, swept away by the constant flip-flop of the wipers. I was still slightly buzzed from the wine, but not so much that I worried about getting stopped by the police. Why would they stop me? For going too slow?

  I watched as an SUV approached from behind and stayed there. I wasn’t used to that. Usually cars passed me on this open road, most of them uncomfortable going the speed limit or below. But it stayed, continuing to follow me. After a while, I slowed even more, encouraging the driver to pass. Finally, I turned on my signal, pretending to make a right turn, then actually made it, though I wasn’t going in that direction. But the car turned, continuing to follow me, and that’s when I started to worry. I made several more turns at random, and still the SUV stayed behind me. Then, at the very last second, risking sliding out, I veered right into someone’s driveway, ready to rush out and go pounding on doors if the vehicle dared slow down. But it didn’t, and I sat there, breathing hard, until a porch light came on and I rolled down my window and shouted to the stranger in the doorway, “Sorry, thought I had a flat tire.”

  I backed out and drove the rest of the way home, pulled into the garage and waited for the door to roll completely down before unlocking the Jeep and getting out.

  Once inside the house, I locked all the doors, even doors I usually didn’t worry about, and closed all the blinds, then turned on all the outside lights. I carried my cell phone with me and peeked out the windows now and then.

  Suddenly the cell phone rang in my hand and I dropped it, then picked it off the floor and answered.

  “Hello?” I asked, fearing who might be on the other end.

  “I scared you, didn’t I?”

  I didn’t know the voice, or did I?

  “Who is this?”

  “Gwyn, it’s Josh. It’s only Josh.”

  “Oh.” I exhaled, my heart pounding out of control. “I didn’t recognize your voice. I’m sorry.”

  “I was following you, not on purpose. I was on the road going home and I saw your Jeep, thought it was you anyway, knew it was you after a while. I didn’t mean to scare you. I did scare you, didn’t I?”

  “Nothing I won’t live through.”

  “God, I’m sorry. It was just such a coincidence. I was thinking of you, thinking of calling you, and there you were.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m parked outside your house. I knew better than to go in the driveway. Why, are you alone?”

  I thought for a second. “Actually, I am. Come on in.”

  It occurred to me as I ended the call that he wasn’t supposed to know where I lived.

  I unlocked the front door and watched as he drove up the driveway through the falling snow. He was in a green Ford Explorer, though I hadn’t been able to tell that when he was tailing me. The snow had been too thick to see very well.

  He had on jeans and a ski jacket, and snowflakes in his hair. He smiled up at me as he climbed the two steps to the brick porch.

  “You’re sure I’m not intruding?” he asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  He gazed around the entrance. “Wow, some place. What a spectacular house, Gwyn.”

  I smiled. “A little better than the one I grew up in.”

  “Well, true, but cozy is good too.”

  I was glad I hadn’t yet had a chance to get really comfortable with Trevor away. Everything was still neat and clean. “Would you like a cup of coffee? Then I can give you the nickel tour if you want.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He brushed himself off and I led him into the kitchen. I walked him past the white marble counter tops and antique oak cabinets that went on and on. He nodded his appreciation, then smiled as I pointed out the large brick pass-through fireplace that opened out into the dining room.

  “Great kitchen, Gwyn. I like it. Roomy, but tasteful. It looks like you, something you’d like. Is this house custom built?”

  “No, but it’s fairly new.” I began making coffee, then reached into a kitchen cabinet for an unopened bag of chocolate chip cookies, poured them onto a plate. I handed it to Josh. He sat down at the table, legs outstretched, and watched while I worked at the counter.

&n
bsp; “So where’s Trevor?”

  “He had to leave … for a little while.”

  “Oh.”

  “So you’re back in town,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d see you here again so soon.”

  “And I didn’t think I’d be here either, but it’s only for the weekend, though I’ll probably be coming out more often now. I … worry about my mother, alone like she is. She’s worried too. The stroke’s on her mind, though she tries to pretend otherwise. And what else do I have to do?” He paused as I brought the coffeepot to the table and filled our cups. “I’m joking, of course. I’m swamped with work, and I shouldn’t be here. But sometimes you have to remember what’s really important.”

  “Yes, I agree with that.”

  I sat across from him and we stared at each other. “So,” I asked, “how was your sister’s wedding?”

  “Oh, it was fun. Amy looked really happy, got lots of gifts. It cost a fortune though. I helped my mom with that. How’s she supposed to do it all, living on my dad’s retirement money and not much else? Amy sure doesn’t have any money.”

  “Is your mom still working … at the clinic?”

  “No, she’s too tired for that. Maybe if she feels better she can go back part-time. She misses it.”

  “That’s too bad. I always looked forward to seeing her there. She was the one receptionist who would greet you with a smile even if you were grumpy and miserable with the flu. Such a sweet lady.”

  “She liked you too.”

  I nodded.

  “She hasn’t been the same since my father passed away,” he said. “Getting old really sucks, I guess, and it’s even worse if you don’t have anyone.” He looked up at me then and smiled. “I can’t believe I went so long without seeing you. Stupid of me. No reason we can’t still be friends.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “Aren’t you just a teensy bit worried about what Trevor is going to say when he walks in and sees me here?”

  “I would be, but he’s not coming back for a couple of days.”

  “Oh. Good. I’m glad. I’ll admit it. I’m glad.” He reached over for a cookie.

  “How did you know where I lived, Josh?”

  He sat up a little straighter. “Oh. Well, I didn’t follow you here, if that’s what you’re thinking. It came up in a conversation with Caroline. I was over at the bar one night and we got to talking. And you know how she likes to talk.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I was curious, drove past just to see.”

  “You could have called me. I would have told you.”

  “I know, but … it doesn’t make any difference, does it? What possible difference could it make how I found out where you lived? It’s not like it’s a secret, is it?”

  “No, just … I wondered, that’s all.”

  He stared at me, and I saw something in the set of his mouth I couldn’t quite identify. Embarrassment? Anger? He brought his coffee cup to his mouth and took a sip.

  “So,” he said, “how have things been with you? Oh, I know what I wanted to ask. How did your art show turn out? I’m sorry I never got over there.”

  “It went well. I sold, let me see, about half of the originals, and most of the prints, and got orders for others I ran out of. I was actually surprised with the results.”

  “I knew it. Hey, you know what? While I’m here, why don’t you take me through your studio?”

  For a second, my thoughts jumbled. It was the way he’d said, your studio, like he was familiar with the layout of the house. I’d never mentioned that I had a studio-though maybe he’d just assumed I would-in a house this size. Or Caroline-of course, that was it-Caroline had mentioned it to him. “Yes, I’d love to show it to you.”

  “Great, I’d love to see it.”

  I began a guided tour of the house. We decided to make my studio the last stop, since Josh might want to spend more time there.

  I walked him through the main floor, the entrance with its two-story ceiling, marble floor tile, and walls adorned with paintings-none of which were my own. Then we moved on to the living room with its natural stone fireplace and large windows that overlooked the mountains in daylight, but now sparkled with cascading snow made visible by the incandescent spotlights outside. We stopped and looked out for a while, and I thought how romantic this scene would be if Josh and I were still in love.

  He reached over and touched my arm. “Look how beautiful that is. Something, isn’t it?”

  We continued on.

  “When we’re done with this floor,” I said, “I’ll have to show you the basement. I’ve got this huge cedar sauna down there, and a whirlpool tub, and a shower, and this big exercise room. It was all here when I bought the house. It’s so perfect.”

  He nodded and smiled at me.

  Finally, we walked downstairs to the basement. “It doesn’t feel like a basement at all,” I said, “with the door walls looking out at the mountains here too.”

  Josh stepped into the sauna and gazed around. “You’ve got a really nice place, Gwyn,” he said, stepping out again.

  I was reluctant to take him upstairs, not because I didn’t trust him, but because showing him the bed Trevor and I slept together in night after night, seemed not very nice.

  “Well,” I said, “you’re probably getting bored. Maybe we should move on to the studio.”

  He pointed upstairs. “You missed a floor.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s just bedrooms and baths.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I want the whole tour. I paid my nickel.”

  I laughed. “Okay.”

  We started up the stairs.

  I paused before the first of the four bedrooms. “This is the guest room, though it’s never been used for that.” I thought of it as the blue room, the spread on the queen-size bed and the rest of the furnishings all in matching shades of blue.

  “Nice,” he said.

  We walked to the next door.

  “And this is just an extra room. Trevor uses it sometimes for a study, though he also has the real study downstairs.” I didn’t add that this and one of the other upstairs rooms would eventually belong to our future children. Of course, that all rested on me still being married. I gazed into the room with its television, nubby-textured couch concealing a pullout bed, and oak bookcases.

  “I like this too,” he said.

  “And this is just another room,” I said, about to brush by.

  “Wait, I want to see it.” He opened the door and flipped on the light, then looked at me.

  I knew he had noticed how the room did not go with the rest of the house. The bedroom furniture was cheaply made and morbidly dark. Kelly had purchased it at a thrift shop and painted it black, probably during some drug-induced euphoria. It was truly ugly.

  “Well, I’m not sure I like this,” he said, “but if you do.” He turned to me again.

  “It’s Kelly’s old stuff. I’m going to get rid of it.”

  “How did it get here?”

  I turned out the light. “I brought it here-a long time ago.”

  I spent a few moments showing him the hall bath, then moved on to the master bedroom. It was the largest room of all, the king-size bed lost in the spaciousness of it. We stepped into the walk-in closet, Trevor’s things on one side, mine on the other, my side looking empty in comparison to Trevor’s.

  “He’s got a lot of suits,” Josh said, so close behind me now that I could feel his warm breath move past my cheek.

  I ushered him into the master bath with its gold rimmed and marble tiled Jacuzzi tub, big enough for two people to stretch out comfortably. He pulled open the glass shower door. “Nice. I really like the gold fixtures.”

  We left the bath and I walked quickly across the bedroom, hurrying past the bed again. I stopped only after I’d reached the hall. “Well, all that’s left is my studio,” I said, and practically raced for the stairs-afraid to look at him and read something in his face-afraid he might pull me close and try t
o kiss me-afraid that in my weakened state I might not stop him.

  I detoured to the kitchen first and poured more coffee, waiting for my heart to slow down, thinking that I had to get him out the door soon. There was something in the air drifting around us, a soft sensual smoke winding through and circling, curling … coaxing.

  “There you are,” he said.

  “I got more coffee. You want some?”

  He nodded slowly.

  I handed him the cup, black, the way he liked it.

  “I’m making you nervous, aren’t I?” he said, and took the cup from my hand.

  “No.” But I almost spilled the coffee at the brief touch of his fingers on mine.

  “Do you mind staying here all alone tonight?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  “No, and stop it,” I said, knowing he was teasing, and annoyed that he knew exactly what I was feeling. I moved quickly past him before the smoke could draw us any closer. “You have to go.”

  “But I haven’t seen your studio.”

  “I know, but I think you should go. This wouldn’t look right if someone were to come by.”

  “Who’s going to come by?” He looked at his watch. “Oh, well it is eleven o’clock. I suppose you’re right.” I could see a smile beginning to crinkle his eyes. “But I’ll go, Gwyn. I’ll see the studio another time.”

  “And I promise I’ll show it to you,” I said, already able to feel the tension easing away, the smoke dissipating.

  I let him finish his coffee, then showed him to the door. I waved goodbye as he backed his Explorer down the drive and swung out onto the road, kept waving until his car drew completely out of sight. I felt sad, oddly let down. Though I didn’t want him to, I truly didn’t, it surprised me that he hadn’t so much as tried to kiss me on the cheek.

  Later, as I stood looking out the kitchen’s bay window at the heavily falling snow, the phone rang. I knew it was Trevor. It was eleven-thirty, very late for him to be calling, and for a second I thought about not answering, then reached for the phone a moment before the answering machine clicked on.