Letters to Kelly

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Ooh, ready to do some wallowing, are we? Poor baby—”

  “Don’t start,” Jackson said sharply.

  There was a long silence. The red sail had disappeared down behind the curve of the earth. What would it be like to be on that little boat right now? Out of sight of the land, nothing but the ocean and the sky…

  “When was the last time you slept?”

  Jax shrugged. “Probably shortly before the last time I shaved.”

  “Was that two days ago?” she asked. “Or three?”

  He turned to look at her. His sister was a picture of health, dressed in her shiny Lycra workout clothes. Her sneakers were so new that Jax almost had to shield his eyes from the glare. Her hair was pulled back off her elegant face, and she wore a light coat of makeup. She was on her way to the fitness club.

  “Who knows?” he answered. “I’m in the midst of a creative spurt. I’m not keeping track of pedestrian things like sleeping and eating.”

  “A creative spurt.” She crossed her arms skeptically. “How many pages have you written?”

  “Creativity and output aren’t necessarily connected,” he said, somewhat loftily.

  “That many?”

  He was silent, staring once again out the window.

  “You still want me to screen your calls?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t want to talk to anyone, except…”

  “Kelly,” she finished for him.

  He didn’t bother to say anything. Kelly wasn’t going to call. He’d waited for two weeks, and he knew with a certainty that, as each day passed, it was less and less likely she would.

  “Jax, maybe it’s time to move on,” Stefanie said quietly. “If you’re going to give up, then do it. Give up. But don’t sit here feeling sorry for yourself—”

  “If I wanted therapy, I would’ve called my shrink.” He saw a flash of hurt in her eyes, and he felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry.”

  Stef used the toe of her brilliant new sneaker to rub at an imaginary spot in the carpet. Dressed as she was, with her perfectly coiffed hair and her flawlessly applied makeup, it didn’t seem possible that she was the one who’d refused to believe he was dead. She was the one who’d marched into that hellhole of a Central American country with the help of Amnesty International’s London office and demanded to see either Jax’s remains or the location where he was being held.

  Stefanie, who had always seemed more concerned with getting her nails done and shopping at Saks, had almost single-handedly set up the letter-writing campaign that had secured his release.

  He owed her his freedom, maybe even his life. Definitely his life.

  “The publisher called again about that book you started,” Stefanie said. “You know, the collection of letters? They’re waiting for the final few chapters. Why don’t you send it, Jax? I know you’ve finished it.”

  “I’m waiting to find out if that book’s going to have a happy ending.”

  She shook her head. “How long do you intend to wait?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “If you don’t want to talk to me,” Stef said, “maybe you should think about calling that psychologist…what was his name? Dr. Burnham.”

  Jax stood silently, just watching her.

  “Call him,” she urged. “Or call Kelly. Do something, darling. I’ll see you later.”

  His sister turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  With a sigh, Jax turned back to his computer.

  His main characters had run into each other downtown on the Boston Common. They had exchanged pleasantries. It was all so polite and proper, yet they both couldn’t help but think about the night they’d made love.

  With breathtaking clarity, Jax had a sudden memory of Kelly lying naked on his hotel room bed, smiling up at him, her blue eyes half closed.

  “God damn it…” Waves of anger and self-pity flooded him until he felt as if he might drown.

  “Why the hell are you feeling sorry for yourself?” Jared’s mocking voice cut through Jax’s misery. “I’m the one who’s in a real bitch of a situation. I’m starting to really wonder what you’ve got in mind here. Carrie’s obviously mad as hell at me, and I don’t have a clue why. I mean, for crying out loud, she’s the one who married some other dude.”

  “Don’t use words like bitch and dude,” Jax reminded him tiredly. “You live in the 1860’s, or have you forgotten?”

  “Look at you.” Jared ignored Jax’s question. “You look like total crap—”

  “Crap. Another fine word for a historical romance hero.”

  “—you haven’t showered or shaved in days, and you’re drinking beer at nine o’clock in the morning—”

  “Morning, night, what’s the difference anyway?” muttered Jax. “One’s got the sun, the other doesn’t. Big deal.”

  “So that’s it then?” Jared asked, one eyebrow raised in surprise. “You’re giving up on Kelly, just like that?”

  Jax didn’t answer right away. He just turned to stare out the window as he drank the last few drops of his beer. “I don’t know what else to do,” he finally said.

  “Well, okay, but giving up is really stupid,” Jared said. “You automatically lose when you give up. Think about all the heroes in your books. Think about Hank in Night of the Raven. He didn’t give up when Anna told him she’d fill his hide with buckshot if he as much as set one foot on her ranch. And how about Daniel in Too Late To Run? Maggie swore on a stack of Bibles that she’d never fall in love with him, but he won her in the end. Think of all the books you’ve written—how many have you written anyway?”

  “One too many, apparently,” Jax said dryly.

  “Kelly’s not going to call,” Jared told him.

  “Thanks a lot. Rub it in, why don’t you?”

  “You’ve got to call her.”

  Jax looked down at the silent telephone that was sitting within arm’s reach of his computer. If he called Kelly, she’d refuse to see him. He knew her well enough to know that. No, he was going to have to make her an offer that she couldn’t refuse.

  And in a sudden flash of inspiration, he knew just what to offer her. “No.” He smiled. “I’m not going to call her.”

  The telephone was ringing as Kelly unlocked the door to her apartment. She was still breathing hard from her three-mile run. Her skin was slick with perspiration, and her clothes were soaked. But she unlocked the door quickly and bolted for the phone. Maybe it was T.

  But you don’t want him to call, she scolded herself as she picked up the kitchen phone. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

  “May I speak to Kelly O’Brien please?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.

  Disappointment. She tried to ignore it as she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of seltzer.

  “Yeah, this is Kelly.” The seltzer exploded slightly as she twisted off the cap, spraying her with cool water. She took a large swallow of the bubbling soda right from the bottle.

  “Kelly, this is Stefanie Winchester. I don’t know if you remember me. We met at that university lecture a few weeks ago?”

  T. Jackson’s sister. “Of course I remember you. How are you?” Kelly asked. How is T.? she wanted to ask. And why hasn’t he called me?

  Because you told him not to, she answered her own question.

  “Fine, thanks,” Stefanie said. “I’m actually calling to ask you for a favor. I’m doing some research for, um, a book, and I need some information on how small-press newspapers are made—everything from planning to layout to printing, and I thought I remembered that Jax had told me you work at the university newspaper…?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I’m going to be in town tomorrow,” Stefanie said. “Would you mind joining me for lunch?”

  Lunch. With Jayne Tyler. It smelled very fishy, kind of like bait. Now, why did that make her so happy? But if it was some kind of lure, she wanted to know about it.

  “Lun
ch isn’t necessary,” Kelly said, testing her theory. “We can talk right now, on the phone.”

  “Well, uh…” Stefanie hesitated. “Now’s not a really convenient time for me, and I, uh, really would like to get together with you, and, well…How about twelve-thirty at the Bookseller Café?”

  “Stefanie, did Jackson put you up to this?” Kelly asked with her usual bluntness. She took another long drink of seltzer.

  Stefanie laughed. “Yes,” she admitted. “He did. He told me if you refused to come to lunch, I should offer to read your latest manuscript, you know, as a bribe.”

  Now Kelly laughed, pressing the cold bottle against her forehead. She watched as droplets of sweat dripped onto the tiled floor. “He’s shameless.”

  “May I be candid?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t know what happened between you two,” Stefanie said, “but he’s been an absolute mess ever since he came back from Boston.”

  Kelly felt a flash of pain as she remembered the hurt she’d last seen in T.’s eyes. She really hadn’t meant to hurt him. She’d been carrying around guilt and remorse for two weeks now, wishing she’d somehow handled the entire affair differently.

  She thought about T. Jackson all the time, because of the guilt. Every time she saw a tall, blond man, her heart leapt into overdrive, no doubt because she wanted another chance to apologize to T.

  If she could turn back time, she would probably agree to go to Cape Cod with him for the summer. Not because she particularly wanted to go, she reassured herself, although as the mercury climbed higher and higher in the thermometer, it was difficult not to think about the cool, blue ocean and the fresh breezes sweeping across the beaches. Never mind how often she thought about a certain pair of eyes that changed color like the sea.

  The truth was, she didn’t want to feel responsible for that wounded look T. had had on his face the morning after they’d made love. She’d seen that same look in her own mirror the first few months after he’d left for London without telling her. The look was there again when he didn’t show up for her eighteenth birthday.

  “Will you come?” Stefanie asked.

  “My manuscripts aren’t perfect,” Kelly said. “In fact, I’m having a real tough time finishing my second one. And I can’t figure out what’s wrong with the first one.”

  “Jayne Tyler to the rescue, darling,” Stefanie said. “If anyone can help you, it is she. Can I expect to see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Kelly said decidedly. “Will Jackson be there?”

  “Do you want him there?”

  Kelly was silent, finishing off the last of the seltzer. “Yeah,” she finally said. “I guess I do.” That way she’d get her chance to apologize again.

  “I’m not sure what his schedule’s like,” Stefanie said breezily. “I’ve got to run. Bring whichever manuscript you want. See you tomorrow, Kelly.”

  Kelly hung up the phone and headed for the shower, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

  Jax settled himself in the beach chair next to Stefanie as she opened one eye and glanced over at him. She took in his freshly shaved face and clean hair, and, most obviously, his smile.

  “Well, well, if the smelly little frog hasn’t turned back into the handsome prince,” she murmured, closing her eyes and turning her face to a better angle to catch the sun.

  “What do you think I should wear tomorrow?” Jax asked, pulling off his T-shirt and dropping the chair back into a full reclining position.

  “Since when do you ask me for fashion advice, darling?” Stefanie opened both eyes to look at him this time.

  “If I were writing this,” Jax mused, “I’d have the hero show up in an impeccably tailored suit, looking like a million bucks, never mind that the weatherman’s predicting another hundred-degree day for tomorrow.”

  “Fictional characters are so nice,” Stefanie said with a sigh, “because they never sweat unless you want them to.”

  The sun felt warm on Jax’s face, and a wave of fatigue hit him. “If I fall asleep, wake me up in a couple of hours. I don’t want to fry.”

  “A bathing suit,” Stefanie said. “You should wear a bathing suit and one of those disgustingly sexy undershirt things that reveal more than they cover. As long as it’s going to be hotter than hell, you might as well look good while you sweat. Have you ever noticed that when an athlete sweats, it’s sexy? But a soggy businessman, now, that’s an entirely different story.”

  Stefanie’s watch alarm went off and she put on her hat, careful now to keep her face out of the sun. She only exposed her face to the sun for ten minutes each day. While crow’s-feet looked good on men when they aged, women had to be careful.

  She glanced back at her brother, but he was already fast asleep.

  Dear Kelly,

  I am writing this on a real piece of paper with a real pen as I sit on this 727 heading north to Miami.

  I am free.

  I am flying first-class, and the stewardess offers me champagne, but Stefanie, my sister, shakes her head no. She seems to think I’ve picked up some nasty bugs during my stay in the tropical wilds of Central America. Her doctors have advised her to let me eat or drink nothing besides bottled water and fresh vegetables until they have checked me out.

  There’s a hospital bed and a bevy of doctors waiting for me at Mass. General Hospital. Stef tells me she’s arranged for a private room, and I laugh. She doesn’t get the joke, and I explain—I’ve spent the last twenty months in solitary. I don’t want a private room.

  I’ll be in the hospital for three or four weeks undergoing medical tests. They’ll also be fattening me up. I guess I’m a little malnourished right now.

  The warden let me shower and gave me clean clothes before I was released. I have lost so much weight and my beard and hair are so long, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.

  I want to see you, but I don’t want you to see me like this. So I’ll wait until I’m out of the hospital to call you.

  Tonight I will sleep on a bed with real sheets, but I will still dream about you.

  I love you.

  Love, T.

  When Kelly walked into the café, Stefanie was already there, sitting on the outside porch, waiting for her. The older woman waved from the table where she was sitting.

  She was alone. No T. Jackson.

  Kelly was surprised. What was the point of using Jayne Tyler for bait if T. wasn’t even going to bother to show up? Unless he had something else in mind…

  The two women greeted each other as Kelly started to sit down across from Stefanie, placing her briefcase on the floor.

  “Oh, sit over here.” Stef patted the chair next to hers. “It’s so nice to be able to look out on the street.”

  With a shrug and a smile, Kelly changed seats.

  “Did you bring your manuscript?” Stefanie asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Kelly was amused. “No one in their right mind would pass up an opportunity to get a critique from Jayne Tyler.”

  “Let me have it now, so I don’t forget to get it from you.”

  Kelly pulled the heavy manila envelope out of her briefcase and handed it to Stefanie, who set it on the table next to her.

  She sat still, returning Stefanie’s gaze steadily as the older woman looked at her closely. She was pale, she knew, because she hadn’t had much of a chance to get out in the sun. She still ran, but in the very early mornings, just as the sun was starting to rise. The rest of the day she spent inside, in the infernal heat of her apartment, slaving at her computer.

  As Stefanie looked at her, Kelly fought the urge to put on her sunglasses, to cover up the dark smudges she knew were under her eyes, the shadows that betrayed the fact that she hadn’t been sleeping well for quite some time.

  But Stefanie didn’t comment. She just smiled and picked up her menu. “What do you say we order before we talk? I’m starving.”

  “But…” It came out involuntarily.

  Stefanie looked a
t her, eyebrows delicately raised, waiting for her to continue.

  What the hell, Kelly thought, and asked, “Isn’t Jackson going to join us?” She only wanted a chance to apologize, to clear the air between them.

  “He wasn’t sure when he could get over here,” Stefanie glanced down at her menu, “if at all. I hear the crab salad is wonderful.”

  Bemused, Kelly opened her menu. If T. Jackson was playing some kind of game with her, he just won a point. She was confused. If he was going to go to all this trouble to get her together with his sister, it seemed kind of silly for him not to show up.

  After the waiter came up to their table and took their order, they began to talk. Stefanie was easygoing and self-confident, like her brother, and socially quite adept. She gracefully steered their conversation from one light topic to another. Although the two women came from entirely different backgrounds, they had a lot in common.

  Before Kelly knew it, their lunches had arrived.

  Stefanie somehow managed to eat and converse at the same time, and without ever talking with her mouth full.

  “So I went into the fitness center—” the elegant blonde took a sip of her water “—expecting my personal trainer to be some kind of Nazi drill sergeant, or, even worse, a muscle-bound Amazon commando bitch, and Lord help me, but I must have done something worthwhile at some time in my life. I look up into the most soulful pair of brown eyes that I’ve ever seen in my life. And those eyes just happened to be attached to this incredible Roman god of a man. His name was Emilio Dicarrio, he told me in this wonderful Italian accent.” She gestured at Kelly with her fork. “I’m telling you, it was love at first sight, for both of us.” Another sip of water. “At first I thought, God, how tacky. Falling in love with your personal trainer—that’s almost as gauche as having a thing for your shrink. Then I thought, he’s a gold digger, just after my money. That’s what Jax thought, too. But Emilio is one of the few people that I’ve ever met who’s totally happy with his life. He’s living in the United States, working in a job he likes. I tell you, the man’s content. I offered him a chance to do some modeling for some of Jayne’s book covers. He did a few photo shoots, but then turned down all the other offers because he thought the work was dull.”