The Admirer's Secret

by Crane, Pamela

  “Very good. Try one,” he offered.

  Julie took one and placed it on her plate.

  “I wanted to thank you for meeting me here, Julie,” he began. His nerves were spazzing with each passing moment. “I know it’s a bit of a drive, and I would have driven us both together, but I had some things to take care of first.”

  “That’s okay. It’s a nice idea. It brings back a lot of memories…”

  The nostalgia of the moment swept him into its gentle grasp.

  “And thanks for the flowers, honey.”

  “Beautiful flowers for my beautiful flower,” he said.

  Julie playfully rolled her eyes. “Ah, so now you’re a poet?”

  “I’ve had it in me all along. I just never had the opportunity to show you the romantic side of Marc Vincetti.”

  They both laughed.

  Julie shook her head in amusement. Marc couldn’t write himself out of a box. He remembered the last poem he had written, about his cat … in the fifth grade. And when it came to traditional, sweep-a-girl-off-her-feet romance, he hadn’t a clue. To Marc, romance was eating pizza on the sofa watching a football game.

  But tonight, for once, he felt he had gotten it right. Flowers. Dinner by candlelight. Soft music in the background. Perhaps deep inside he did have a touch of romance waiting for that perfect moment. A little dusty, but alive nonetheless.

  “So what else do you have up your sleeve, Mr. Charming?”

  “Nothing. I just want to enjoy my evening with you,” he answered coyly.

  But he couldn’t contain what was brewing under his cheesy grin. A lull in the conversation granted a moment for both to peruse the menu.

  “Do you know what you want to order?” Her question spurred him to sheepishly avert his eyes and study his menu. “Oh, and this time I’m not letting you off the hook so easily with my dinner choice. I heard you’re not working at the gas station anymore, rich guy. So I’m thinking…” she paused to read the listed item, “lobster stuffed ravioli. Or maybe the pasta carbonara. I can’t decide which. What do you think?”

  “That sounds good,” Marc answered mechanically.

  Wait—what did she ask me? He couldn’t focus. All he could think of was what to say, how to say it.

  “Or maybe the turtle soup.”

  “Whatever you want, honey.”

  His brain did a double-take. Did she say something about turtles?

  He was utterly distracted and had to get this over with.

  “Marc, look at me.” He flashed his brown eyes upward at the sound of her firm voice. “What is going on? You are acting so weird tonight.”

  Marc inhaled deeply, clearing his mind of everything but what he had practiced saying in the car. But the words didn’t come. Instead his heart took over and poured out everything he felt, right then, right there.

  “Julie, you are the most amazing woman I have ever met. You’ve taught me so much—how to love, how to forgive. Forgiveness is an act of trust. By forgiving Haley, I am trusting that justice for her actions will be done, and not necessarily by me. In this case, I must leave justice to someone else. By forgiving, I have to let go of any right I feel I have to get even with her and leave it to work itself out. If I don’t worry about the scales that balance out fairness and mercy, I will be released from it. I’ll be free. And that’s what I’ve decided to do. So thank you, Julie. You showed me that freedom.”

  Freedom. Freedom from worrying about getting even. Freedom from bitterness or vengeance. Freedom from fear. It was exactly what they both had needed.

  They could have played the “what if” game for the rest of their lives, worrying and wondering if Haley was on the loose or if today would be their last, but each person on earth only had an allotted number of days anyway. So why try to overanalyze it, or fight it?

  “Marc, that makes me so happy to hear that—”

  “There’s more,” he interrupted. “More than all that, Julie, you’ve given me a joy I’ve never thought possible. So I’d like to give you something in return.”

  He paused, cupped her hand in his, and laid it on his chest.

  “My heart. Forever. Julie, I have never stopped loving you. Even back then, as kids, I knew you were handpicked for me. But I never expected to be reunited after all these years, and in these circumstances. We’ve been through trials that many old couples will never face, and we made it through together. You showed me how to love with every part of my being. You’ve edified me, and I want to edify you. Today, Julie, I want you to know how much I love you. How much I want to take care of you… for life.”

  Watching her eyes tear up, he fell in love with Julie all over again as he spoke. Marc paused, kissed Julie’s tear-stained cheek, and fell to one knee at her feet.

  Her jaw dropped in muted shock.

  “Honey—”

  Marc placed a fingertip against her lips.

  “Tonight I want you to know what my heart has been seeking for the past decade. You. Julie Carter, will you marry me?”

  He pulled out a black velvet box from inside his blazer. Julie didn’t wait to see the ring. Before Marc had a chance to open the lid of the box she answered.

  “Yes! I thought you’d never ask!” Her slender arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. “Now my turn,” she said. “When we were kids you were a crush, a boy who made me smile and laugh, who left his imprint on my heart. But that boy you once were used the time between then and now to mature into a man I love, respect, and want to honor for the rest of my life. I love you, Marc.”

  What should have torn them apart brought them closer, resulting in this moment. In the course of one horrifying climactic event, she had watched Marc transform. He was a man who had rediscovered faith and forgiveness. He protected the one he loved. He found healing through his Maker for the wrongs he couldn’t right.

  “Marc, you are everything I ever wanted in a man… and more. You are the man I have always known you were—a man who knew just how big love could be.”

  “I have one more thing for you,” Marc said, almost in a whisper as he leashed his emotions. There was a brown paper bag at the foot of his chair and he pulled it out. Still kneeling, he reached in carefully, then pulled out a dried flower.

  “Julie, this is from the flowers I bought for you that day you left Westfield to go to Florida to be with your dad. I couldn’t part with them, because they were my only real tie to you through all those years. So here.” He handed it to her, blowing dust off the faded bloom. “Sorry, it’s a little overdue.”

  Julie nodded. Speechless. How deep his love had been, even then. Struck with apparent awe, she accepted the gift. “Marc, I don’t know what to say.”

  It was true. His devotion couldn’t be matched with words. He had an undying, patient, hopeful love that had let neither time nor distance diminish it.

  “I guess you really do have some romance hidden somewhere in there,” she said, patting his chest where his heart was.

  As she smiled through the happy tears, Julie cupped Marc’s face and pulled him closer into a soft kiss. Their lips searched for confirmation that life was starting anew, at this very moment, when they would soon depart from their two different lives and live one. When they would let go of past hurts and fully commit their lives to one another. And the kiss said everything words could not.

  **

  As Marc arrived home that evening, Julie held his hand as they walked to the front door. She pulled him to a stop with a firm squeeze before they reached the front landing. Her fingers released his, then gently touched his clean-shaven chin.

  “Honey, I have something to tell you.”

  Marc’s eyebrows lifted with interest—then plummeted as Julie’s expression grew serious.

  “What is it?”

  “Please don’t get angry at me, but there was a reason I was late for dinner. I needed to do something… Maybe we should talk about it inside.”

  “I really hope this doesn’t ruin the moment, Julie. We jus
t got engaged—I want to savor this happy moment.”

  Marc fumbled through his keys, then opened the door.

  But what welcomed him wasn’t the eerie silence that had plagued the house since Sheba’s death. Instead he heard a frantic yelp—of a puppy. A black puppy, pink tongue lolling out of its mouth, bounded toward him, leaving a stream of pee behind her. She skittered on the wet floor but maintained speed as she leapt into his waiting arms. The pooch reminded him of Sheba—what she may have looked like as a puppy. Marc scooped the dog into his crouched lap and let her lick every inch of his face.

  “Julie, what’s this?”

  “I got you a puppy. I saw her at the animal shelter and couldn’t refuse her. I figured since you gave Sheba such a good home, it was time to rescue another animal that needed love. And I know you have lots of love to give,” she said with a wink and a squeeze of his rear.

  He looked lovingly at the ball of fluff, then back up at his fiancée. “I love her. And I already have a name for her. Phoenix.”

  Marc imagined his rebirth from the ashes of everything that had happened. Yes, it was the perfect name and the perfect ending.

  Chapter 47

  Six months later…

  “So you seem to be improving quite well during your time here, Haley.”

  Haley had grown accustomed to these meetings with Dr. Rosin, but today was a big one. The most important one. She could tell it was important because they met in his personal office this time. Must be big news.

  The white-smocked Dr. Rosin sat with his hands folded across a large mahogany desk, peering over bifocals perched precariously near the tip of his upturned nose. She wondered how he even kept them in place. A bookcase dominated the wall behind him, showcasing neatly lined leather-bound books from the floor to the ceiling. Judging from the titles, the volumes were all medical or psychology-related. Dr. Rosin’s educational credentials lined another wall, as each diploma with the university’s gold stamp of approval was protected in an expensive wood-framed plaque—but she wasn’t impressed. This man had been dictating her fate since the beginning, and it was almost comical how he told her what to think, as if he actually understood. It bugged her. He couldn’t relate, but he pretended to. He was just like her. Pretending his own reality. The blind leading the blind.

  He apparently had a weakness for pop culture. The latest issue of US Weekly sat crookedly on the corner closest to her. The headline shouted in bold red letters:

  Producer Allen Michaels Charged with Wife’s Murder—Publicity Stunt or Ripe Vengeance?

  The picture of a cuffed Allen, head bent low in shame, with a month’s worth of untamed beard, looked nothing like she remembered him.

  Oh yes. Dr. Rosin had commented on how well she was doing.

  “Yeah, I feel like I’ve taken some big strides, Doctor.”

  “Do you know why you’re here today?”

  Haley shook her head no.

  Beady brown eyes searching Haley’s green ones made her uncomfortable. Dr. Rosin leaned forward and flipped a few pages from her chart, running his finger along some of his doctor scribble that Haley couldn’t quite make words out of.

  “You’ve been continuing to meet your therapy expectations and we’re looking to release you. Do you think that you are ready for that step?”

  Sitting in the plastic-covered chair with nothing on but a paper-thin hospital gown for a shirt, drawstring-free sweatpants, underwear, and slippers, Haley had been waiting for this day for six excruciating months. She’d done everything she was supposed to—said the right things; did the right things; taken her medicine; sat through the therapy sessions. While most people commented on how fast the years fly by, her half-year of mental rehabilitation was quite the opposite. Each day dragged longer than the one before it. Like a family vacation to the beach, the ride down always felt longer as the anticipation of arriving made time tick in slow motion. Yet in Haley’s case, this was no trip to the beach. It was a trip to a mental ward. Now Haley’s destination was her return to the world, to her life, and today was the last step toward that goal.

  Yes, she was ready.

  “I feel like I have a handle on my illness,” she stated confidently and clearly, “and as long as I take my meds and take care of myself, I definitely feel like I’m ready to go back into the world again.”

  “It’s good to hear that you’ve come to terms with your disorder. Now, we’ve had some difficultly diagnosing you since your stay.” Interesting word choice, Haley thought, since a stay implied a choice, and perhaps something more user-friendly. “Mostly because not a lot has been documented about erotomania. But it seems that several environmental issues have contributed to this illness, like your father’s passing and your lack of good, healthy relationships. You’ve spent your whole life trying to fill the void of that lost relationship with your father, Haley, but not in a healthy way.”

  He paused and raked over her with his eyes, sending off internal alarms that sent Haley’s heart in a race against itself. Then he continued, “You’ve admitted to your therapists that Marc reminded you a lot of your dad, which is probably why you were so magnetized to him. But based on what your therapists are telling me, and my own observations of you, you’ve been able to understand how your mind functions and you have much better control over your erotomania. You seem to understand how to differentiate between healthy and unhealthy relationships, and I understand you are prepared to maintain therapy after you’re released. Is that correct?”

  The sweat on her brow hadn’t surfaced yet, but she felt it nudging through her skin. The interview wasn’t over yet, and she knew his determination clung to her presentation.

  “Yes, I’m supposed to meet with my therapist twice a week and he’ll keep me accountable.”

  “Excellent… what do you think you need to work on with your therapist when you meet?”

  “A lot of things, I guess,” she answered with childlike innocence. “I want to try to make real friendships and try to stay socially active. But I know that right now I am not ready for a romantic relationship. I just need to worry about me for now. And I’ll need to continue to focus on my thinking and identifying any false beliefs evident in my daily life. Like trying to see things for what they really are. And I’ve decided to stay away from screenplay writing for a while until I can learn to cope with real life a little more. I used movies as my fantasy, my escape into another life, and I now see that. I think if I make those changes and have my support system—my mom and therapy—I can be normal again.”

  “I’m impressed that you have made that connection on your own and are willing to make sacrifices in order to help yourself. That shows true maturity,” Dr. Rosin said with an approving smile, then nodded and thumbed through a few more sheets that Haley assumed documented her progress. “It is evident that you are making wonderful strides in your personal growth, so…”

  His voice trailed off as he closed the file, looked up, and examined her. She knew what he saw: a messed up patient, not a person, sitting pitifully before him through his wire-rimmed bifocals. His open hands rested palms-down on the yellow folder as his mouth opened partially, then closed, then hung open as if stuck on a word. He cleared his throat and she anticipated his words.

  “It all sounds like a good plan, Haley. One last question for you.”

  Their eyes met through his glasses.

  “I’d like for you to summarize your experience here over the past few months. Tell me, what did you learn, how do you think you’ve improved, what would you change about your treatment here?”

  It was a loaded question, yet Haley knew the correct answer. In that moment, with that final question, she knew her fate. Her former anxiety made room for assurance to step in. Her scripted answers in therapy sessions had prepared her for this moment. But she took her time anyway, just to make sure he knew she had thought it over.

  “Well, I know that I’ve had difficulty in the past discerning fantasy from reality. I was deluded into think
ing that Marc loved me, and that we had a relationship that didn’t exist. I made up letters to myself, pretending they were from him, because I felt like something was missing in my life. I felt that by having Marc, I could feel complete, whole again. I thought he would make up for things that were missing from my life, like my dad.”

  She had the doctor’s full attention and she knew it.

  “I allowed myself to live in my own make-believe dream where false relationships become real—in my head. But the therapists here have helped me to see that I can’t control other people or their feelings toward me. I can’t control the events that happen against me, like my dad’s death. I can only control myself. And I can control my imagination and my feelings. My treatments have helped me to overcome any unhealthy or irrational thoughts. I can honestly say that the world is different to me now. I see things differently, as they really are.”

  Expected agreement etched across the doctor’s crinkled brow. “Well, I think that you’ve answered all my questions. Remember to continue to focus on what you’ve learned during your time here, and I wish you all the best. I will be signing your release today, and I assume you have somewhere to go once you leave?”

  “Yes, my mother in Westfield, New York. I’ll be staying with her. That will give me time to get back on my feet, find a job, get my life back together. And she’ll be able to supervise me and keep an eye on me if I need help or anything.”

  “Wonderful. Well, then I guess this is it. We’ll miss having you here. You were a delight to work with. The papers should be ready by this afternoon. And we’ll have a nurse drop all your personal things off at your room. Good luck out there.”

  He rose and extended his hand, and Haley followed his lead and returned his warm handshake.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she said gratefully, this time full of sincerity.

  Haley let herself out of his wooden office door and nearly skipped all the way to her room. The hallway was empty and sterile, with only the occasional groan or psychotic episode echoing from a room on her floor. When she arrived, her room looked different to her. It was no longer her “home,” as it had been for the past six months. It was just another colorless room on a strip of about fifty matching ones. It didn’t belong to her, and she didn’t belong to it.