Текст книги "Nowhere but Here"

Автор книги: Renee Carlino

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

I started giggling uncontrollably. Some schmuck next to me in a beige trench coat said, “Dammit, the holiday train again. This is the second time this week for me. The damn thing is slower than molasses.”

“Oh, bah humbug, you asshole!” I wheeled my suitcase over his polished dress shoes and began running down the length of the train to where I could see an open train car. On the outside of each car were painted twinkle lights and holiday scenes. The sounds of “(It Must’ve Been Ol’) Santa Claus” by Harry Connick Jr. started pumping through the speakers. I was running past the lights, smiling exuberantly, like I was in a Hallmark Christmas movie, about to be reunited with my love. Seasons Greetings flashed in bright white lights on the last car before I reached Santa’s sled.

Just as I got to the end, a transit worker jumped down from the train and the lights and music went off. “What’s going on?”

“She’s broken down. That’s it for the holiday train tonight.”

“What?” My voice was at its highest pitch, piercing the silence. The rest of the train riders were walking past me to the stairs to exit the platform.

“You have to be kidding me!” I shouted.

“I’m sorry, honey, we’re having some trouble on the tracks. You’ll have to catch her the next time around. Maybe tomorrow when she’s up and running. We have engineers working on her right now, but we got to let Santa have a break.”

I looked back at Santa’s sled and he was already gone.

“I can’t believe it,” I kept saying. “I’ve waited years for this, years!” Fucking bullshit.

I walked all the way back to my apartment, cursing at the sky and rolling my suitcase behind me. I spotted a large Dumpster in a dark alley near my building. To hell with it. I took the box that Just Bob had given me out of my suitcase. I lifted my five-hundred-dollar luggage into the air and heaved it over the Dumpster wall with surprising ease and then headed toward my apartment without looking back. I freshened up and headed out with Just Bob’s copy of A Room with a View.

There was an old café on the corner of my street called the Living Room. It was one of those coffee houses with big cozy armchairs and the smell of roasting beans wafting through the air. Before I reached the door, I could hear Miles Davis coming from the outdoor speaker. It was “Someday My Prince Will Come.”

Ha! I laughed out loud as I entered the café. Several people looked up from their newspapers and laptops. Smiling really widely, I pointed up and shook my finger at the speaker. “Love this!” I saw a few smiles before everyone went back to their business. I plopped into a giant purple chair with an ottoman and kicked my feet up.

“Can I get you a coffee?” a waitress asked, hovering over me.

“A cappuccino, please.”

“You got it.”

Minutes later, she brought my coffee back. I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and took a sip. It was divine. Closing my eyes and inhaling, I took another sip and said, “Mmm,” very quietly.

“You enjoying that?” A man’s voice. I opened my eyes to see a young guy in an identical armchair across the table.

I coughed, clearing my throat. “Yes.” He was good-looking in a preppy way. He reminded me of Kevin McDonald, my first boyfriend in high school who taught me how to drive. I smiled.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked, nodding toward the book on my lap.

“A Room with a View.”

“What type of book is that? I’m not familiar.”

“Well, I guess it depends on your belief system. It’s a love story, so one might consider it science fiction.”

“So skeptical,” he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“For example.” I flipped the book open and noticed Bob had highlighted quotes from it. “Let me read you a bit.” My eyes fell on the words:

Mistrust all enterprises that require new clothes.

I laughed to myself. Bob was right on highlighting that quote. I flipped through the book some more to find a bigger section to share.

“Okay, here,” I said. “ ‘It isn’t possible to love and part.’ ” I paused when I felt my heart start racing.

“Please continue,” he said.

“ ‘It isn’t possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.’ ” A huge lump began forming in my throat. It was actually painful.

It was the answer to Jamie’s riddle. Had I known at the time what the poets said, I might have agreed that they were right, but did I believe it as I sat there in that coffee shop? Is that why I couldn’t let the memory of a few short days with Jamie escape my heart? Because it was impossible to push real love away?

“Gotta go.” I jumped up and headed for the door.

“Wait a minute. Can I get your number?”

“Sorry!” I said as I rushed out onto the street. I ran back to the alley. It was completely dark at that point, and I had to step over a couple of homeless men. “Excuse me, I’m sorry.” One of them grumbled something before I strapped my purse across my body, placed my hands on the disgusting edge of the Dumpster, and jumped up and over, landing dramatically in the knee-high trash.

Quickly realizing my suitcase was gone, I hopped back out and wiped my hands down my jeans.

“Excuse me, guys? Did you happen to see someone take my suitcase from the Dumpster?”

“Nah, we didn’t see nothin’,” said a toothless man. His beard moved up and down when he talked, like he was a puppet. It was frightening in the dark, but I swallowed back my fear and pulled out ten dollars. They both immediately threw their arms in the air, pointing behind me, and said, “She went that way!”

“Yeah, it’s Darlene. She’s got it,” said toothless man number two.

I dropped the ten dollars and turned in the direction they pointed. I didn’t see anyone but continued toward the light of a record store farther down the block. About halfway, a woman darted out of another alley. She was wheeling my suitcase, and from where I stood I could tell that she had on my jacket. As I got closer, I could see that she was also wearing my black dress over a grungy pair of sweats.

“Darlene!” I shouted.

She turned quickly, walked right up to me, and cocked her head to the side. “How do you know my name?” she barked out. Her voice was deep and rough.

“That’s my stuff.” She had on the necklace Jamie had given me. She was obviously homeless. Her skin had that dark, weathered, dirty look to it, and her hair was stringy, greasy, and gray, hanging down past her shoulders. My necklace glimmered against her neck.

“No, this is my stuff!” she screeched out.

“Look, there is stuff in there with my name on it. I can prove it to you.”

“I don’t care if you’re Barack Obama. I got this from the Dumpster. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. People don’t throw away things they want.”

“Listen. You can have it all. I just need the paperwork and that necklace. Please, it’s sentimental.”

I pulled out my wallet and handed her three twenties. She took off the necklace, handed it back to me, and set the suitcase flat and unzipped it. I grabbed the papers and realized that one of Jamie’s white T-shirts had made it into my suitcase. I reached for it.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so, little girl.”

My eyes welled up. I let go of the shirt and took a step back. Tears dropped from my cheeks onto the woman’s back as she started to zip the suitcase up. She turned and looked up at me. I was standing in the light of a streetlamp but my face must have been shadowed from her view.

“Are you cryin’?” she snapped.

I shook my head. She yanked the shirt out and handed it back to me without turning around.

“Thank you,” I managed to say.

When she stood up, she huffed, “Cryin’ over a goddamned T-shirt. Imagine that.”

I held it to my face and inhaled. It still smelled like Jamie—like the earth, but warm and spicy, too.

I walked three blocks out of the way before heading back to my apartment building. Not wanting to surprise Dylan and Ashley, I took my book, T-shirt, necklace, and all of the papers up to the roof and waited for him to text me. I was freezing my ass off for the sake of teen love and premarital sex. I started feeling a little shame about that, so I was relieved to get a text from Dylan.

Dylan: It’s all clear. We didn’t do it. We had a nice dinner and watched TV. She’s not ready so we’re gonna wait. I have a major case of blue balls.

I chuckled.

Me: Don’t tell her that.

Dylan: I’m not an asshole.

Me: I know. TTYL

Dylan: Later, chica. Thanks again.

Page 14
It’s Fiction

Dylan left my apartment exactly how he found it. I took a shower, threw my covers back, and slipped into bed wearing nothing but Jamie’s T-shirt. I clutched the note to my chest as I pressed the button to listen to my nightly message. I went sailing today with Chelsea, he said. I thought about your hair whipping across your face, your pink cheeks, and the huge smile you had on your face as we sailed across the bay. I just wanted you to know that I was thinking about you. I can’t get you out of my mind. I’m always thinking about you.

Me too.

I pressed END and reached down beside the bed to where I had set the note. When I read it again, this time I cried.

Katy, my angel,

I had to go to Portland. My father had a heart attack and they don’t know if he’s going to make it through the night. Please don’t leave. If I can’t get back by tomorrow, I’ll send a car and get you a flight up here. Please, please don’t leave. I have something really important to tell you besides the fact that I am completely in love with you.

–J

In the morning, the note was crumpled up on my chest. I got up and spread it out on the counter. I underlined the last line and then wrote WHY? underneath it. I stuffed it into an envelope and mailed to it the R. J. Lawson Winery. I laughed to myself as I wrote Attn: The Owner. I spent Sunday in my apartment, not moping. I did a yoga video, edited some of Beth’s latest article, and then devoted the afternoon and evening to a marathon of MythBusters, during which I learned that Jack’s death in Titanic was totally unnecessary. Had that selfish bitch, Rose, given up her life jacket to tie under that wooden door, it would have been buoyant enough to hold them both. Damn her. I slid into bed at seven and listened to Jamie’s latest voice mail over and over.

I can still smell you on my pillow. I can still see you standing in my room, the light caressing your smooth legs, your dark hair cascading over your shoulders, and your gorgeous mouth smiling so effortlessly. I miss you. I ache for you, and I’m bordering on crazy without you. Come back to me.

I had to clear my mind, so I called Dylan. “Hello.”

“Did you know Jack’s death in Titanic could have been prevented?”

“That might have been true if Jack were a real person. Are you drunk?”

“No, just bored.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, you want to go up to the roof?”

“I’m about to walk into a movie with Ash.”

“All right,” I said, sullenly.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to meet us?”

“Nah, I’ll see you later, buddy.”

Two nights later I found myself in the same position, bored and lonely and watching too much television. After a Law & Order marathon, I found Titanic playing on cable.

“Just put the life jacket under the door. Dammit, Rose, he’s freezing!” I yelled at the TV before bursting into tears. I cried through the last twenty minutes of the movie. I even cried when old Rose tossed the Heart of the Ocean overboard. I called Beth but her phone went straight to voice mail. “Beth, it’s me. You don’t need to call me back.” I sniffled. “I just don’t understand why Rose threw the necklace overboard. I’ve never understood that.” I hiccupped and then my phone beeped. Without looking at the caller ID, I immediately clicked over.

“Hello,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Baby?” His smooth, rich tone floated through the receiver and sent a blast of warmth all the way down my spine to my toes.

“Jamie?”

“Hi, Katy.” His voice sounded different. I could hear hope in it. He must have gotten my note. “I just called to say good night.”

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong? You sound sad.”

I started laughing through my tears. “I was watching Titanic.”

He chuckled. There was an awkwardness to our conversation. “I think they could have made the piece of wood fit for two, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

I laughed some more. “Had Jack been a computer engineering prodigy, maybe they could have figured out a solution.”

“Maybe,” he said unenthusiastically, and then changed the subject. “ ‘Why’ is an easy question to answer. I could have written a thousand pages on my feelings, but I didn’t. I hope it will be enough to convince you when you get it. I’m sorry again for everything I put you through.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I said quietly. “Jamie, why are you so desperate to run from your past?”

“I’m not. I’ve just changed a lot from the time I was sixteen. I’m not that kid anymore. I don’t want to sit around and play video games. That’s what it was to me, a game.”

“I don’t know how we could make it work. We barely spent four days together, and every minute of it was under false pretenses. I’m not even sure I want a relationship.”

“What we had wasn’t false. That was me. That was the most real version of me. I felt more like myself, more content, confident, and happy when I was with you than any other time in my life. I just wish I could have been up front.”

“Why weren’t you?”

“I was scared. I didn’t expect to fall so hard for you. From the moment I met you, I couldn’t stay away. You were the one person I tried to avoid, but once I saw you, you were all I could think about, and everything else just got mixed up in it. I always planned to tell you the truth but I wanted you to know the real me first. I didn’t want you thinking about the article and my past while we were getting to know each other. Almost everything I told you was true.”

“Except for who you really are. That’s a big one.”

“You know the real me. We’ll get through this, and you’ll learn to trust me. I know you feel the way I do or you wouldn’t be sitting on the phone with me now.”

“You’re pretty confident about that, aren’t you? Is that why you keep calling?”

“No, I just can’t get rid of my thoughts of you. I don’t fucking want to. I used to think people shouldn’t need each other, but I need you, Kate. So we only spent four days together. What does that even mean?” He started to raise his voice. “I knew in five fucking minutes that I had to know you, that I needed you in my life. I’ve never felt that way about anyone, ever. Whatever happens will be up to you, but I’ll be a different man if I can’t have you. I will never breathe as deeply as I did when I was with you. I’ll never see the range of color on a perfectly cloudless sky. I will never smell anything as sweet as you or hear a voice that fills my heart up as much as yours does. That night in my truck, when I had the low, I knew without a doubt, even though I had never been in love before . . . I knew that I was in love with you.”

“Jamie, please.” I could barely speak.

“I’ll do anything.”

“I have a life in Chicago.

“I’ll move there,” he said instantly.

“You can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“You will, I promise.” We both went silent for several seconds, and then he said, “Night, angel.”

“Good night.”

At two o’clock in the morning, I woke up sweating. I’d had the dream again. This time Rose didn’t struggle to speak. Her voice was musical. Take care of each other. She said it the same way she had before. In this version of the dream, I looked down at my neck and could see the necklace Jamie had given me shining brightly. So bright that it looked like the light was coming from the necklace itself. I could hear two sets of heartbeats. When I put my hand over my heart, I felt arms wrapping around me from behind. I looked back and up to Jamie’s face. He held me passionately, but his attention was on Rose. I focused on his lips as he mouthed the words Forever, I promise.

My first instinct after I woke from the dream was to make sure my necklace was still on. It was there, and it felt like a little piece of Jamie was with me. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom for a drink of water. I stood in front of the mirror for exactly two seconds before abruptly turning and stalking back into my bedroom for my phone. I dialed his number.

“Hi,” he said groggily.

I took a long, cleansing breath. “You didn’t name one specific thing you liked about me.”

“I did. You just don’t remember.”

“Well?”

“I like your spontaneity and feistiness.” He sounded half asleep, but sincere. “I like the fact that you called me in the middle of the night because you had to know the answer to this right now.”

“So.”

“Remember that list I started making when you were out here?”

“I guess I do remember that.” I had tried so hard to push the good memories of the time we had together out of my mind, but clearly it hadn’t worked.

“The list is long, but I’ll give you a preview. I like that you’re confident with your body. Jesus, I can’t stop thinking about your body. Do you know what it’s like to walk around here with images of your naked body floating around my head?”

I’d had the same thoughts. Jamie stood so tall and lean and muscular that his body left a visual imprint in my mind. I yearned to feel the strength of his rough hands around my arms. I sometimes closed my eyes and my mind would go directly to images of his cut stomach and the aptly named trail that ran downward. “Uh-huh,” I said, urging him on.

“I love that you have a big heart and that you try to be tough. I love that you cry when you’re touched or moved or saddened or thrilled. I love that you’re so high-spirited that you almost bounce when you walk. I love how strong you were when I had the low.”

“Jamie?” I interrupted him.

“Yes, angel?”

“Do you believe people are made for each other, like there’s a force we can’t see that brings us to the person we’re meant for?”

“Is that what you believe?”

“That’s what I want to believe,” I whispered.

There was a long pause. “My parents were so happy and in love, it’s hard for me to believe that they weren’t made for each other. When my mother was killed, my father began to die, too. He couldn’t live without her.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“Yes, but in a weird way it gave me hope that there’s a bigger plan for us. I think it gave me faith in love. I can’t imagine that what I’m feeling for you isn’t because of some kind of infinite power over our souls. You were the light coming toward me as I stood in the darkness. I only got through losing my father because I thought I was coming home to you. When I found out you were gone, I was crushed. I was fucking crushed, but not ruined, because I still had hope. Just the thought of you gave me enough light to see things clearly.”

“What was the hope?”

“That you were feeling the same thing I was, and that the love couldn’t be torn out of you the same way it couldn’t be torn out of me.”

“I’m overwhelmed.”

“Please don’t overanalyze this. Take your time. Call me when you’re ready.”

After a few moments, I finally resigned myself to Jamie’s suggestion. This wasn’t going to be fixed in a day. “Okay. Sweet dreams,” I said.

“Only about you.”

We hung up. Jamie was truly a conundrum. What a life he had already lived, and now he was this old soul who believed, from the depths of his heart, that I was the one for him.

Coming out of my apartment the next day, I spotted Darlene, the homeless woman, selling a random selection of items on the street corner. She had several articles of clothing, two pairs of shoes, and a few pieces of jewelry spread out on a thick wool blanket. I spotted my black camisole and black T-shirt right away. I also noticed that she was still using my suitcase to cart things around in.

“Hey! Girl!” she shouted at me. “Come over here. I have something you’d like.” I was wearing Mary Jane heels and a black leather jacket over a black-and-white polka-dotted wrap dress.

As I approached her, she held up a pair of bright red cowboy boots. “You’re a seven, right?” She knew that because she was in possession of at least three pairs of my shoes.

“Yes.”

“These would be adorable on you.”

“I don’t know, Darlene. Cowboy boots aren’t really my thing.”

“They’ll keep your legs warmer.”

I laughed and thought, Why not? I was feeling bold. “How much do you want for ’em?”

“A hundred bucks.”

“Ha. You’re insane.”

“Maybe so. Whaddaya got?”

“Five bucks, and I’ll give you these Mary Janes.”

“Deal.”

I looked at the bottom of the boots; they were brand new. After I handed over my shoes and money, I slipped the boots on and clunked my way toward the L.

When I got to the Crier, Beth said, “What’s with the shoes?”

“I’m a little bit country, I’m a little rock and roll? Lay off.” I turned to find Jerry leaning against my partition, smiling.

“Aww, Kate. Remember when you first started working here and you tried to get everyone to wear certain colors on certain days of the week?”

“Yes, I do remember that. What’s wrong with a little team spirit? The assholes in the design department said it would hinder their creativity. Come on.”

“And remember when you petitioned the coffee cart girl to sell gluten-free pastries?” He smirked.

“Those scones were hard as rocks,” Beth said.

“Yes, but the chocolate croissants were to die for.”

“What about when you asked if we could have a mascot and then dressed in that stupid outfit all week?”

“What stupid outfit?” I squinted my eyes.

“It was a pink rabbit, right?” Beth asked.

“No, that was Easter.” Jerry held his stomach and started laughing.

“That was fun, guys,” I fake-whined. “Tell me your kids didn’t love that, Jer.”

“My kids didn’t love that,” he said seriously. “My son Davey was traumatized. He kept saying, ‘Dad, why does the Easter Bunny have boobs?’ ”

“You should have told him the truth, that the Easter Bunny is a girl. It would have been the perfect opportunity to discuss the birds and bees.”

“He was four years old, Kate.”

“What’s this all about, Jer?”

Beth winked at me while I waited for Jerry’s response.

“I just saw you in those red cowboy boots and thought maybe you were gettin’ your spark back, that’s all. Have a good day, ladies.”

“You, too,” I said as he walked away.

“You want to get a hot dog at lunch?”

“Beth, seriously?” I skipped back into my cubicle and opened a fresh Word document on my computer.

I titled it “Whispers in the Dark.” I wrote two, then three, then six, then nine thousand words before shutting down and going home. The next day, I repeated the same thing. There was a story forming, purely fictional, but one that echoed so many themes in my life at that moment. I was getting work done at the paper, but between completing short tasks I would go back to the story, and the words would flow right out of me. On the third day, I had written roughly five chapters. I e-mailed them to Beth without telling her anything.

She came over to my desk, clutching the printed pages. “What is this?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s fucking awesome. It’s fiction?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You have to keep going.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do with it.”

Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re writing a goddamned book, Kate. Keep going and figure that out later.”

What I wrote was dark and unsettling at times, but that’s how my life had been. The only brightness and warmth I could remember was being in Napa. My memories of the beautiful connection Jamie and I had shared started coming back to me, coursing through my veins like a rushing river. I would daydream about his lips on my neck, so tender and warm, and his strong hands on my waist, making me feel safe. The story was about the pain we sometimes have to endure before the universe rewards us with real love. Through the writing, I was able to let go of the idea that I should be alone. I purged all of the feelings and preconceived notions I’d had going into my adulthood. The characters from the story and the memories of my time with Jamie brought me back into the light. They showed me that love was real and burning inside of me, and that no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn’t be able to stifle it.

I avoided Jerry, but I had a feeling he knew what was going on, and I knew that I would be faced with some serious decisions. The Crier wasn’t going to pay me to write love stories, and the idea of writing one more article on the dangers of trans fats made me want to stick pencils in my eyes. On the fifth night, I woke from the fog of writing and realized Jamie hadn’t left me a voice mail in two days. I scurried from my apartment and headed for the mail slots on the first floor.

When the elevator doors opened, Dylan and Ashley came into view. He was standing tall with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Ashley was pink all the way from her cheeks to her neck and down toward the low cut of her shirt. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. They had done it, was my guess—maybe on the roof, maybe in the doorless laundry room—but I was sure, with every ounce of my being, that they had done it.

“Hey, kids,” I said with an ear-splitting grin.

“What’s up, chica?”

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes,” Ashley said so softly I barely heard her.

Dylan gave an awkward, nasal laugh and then cleared his throat. “Where are you headed to?”

“Getting my mail.”

When we reached Ashley’s floor, Dylan turned toward me. “I’m gonna walk her to her door. Hold the elevator and I’ll come with you.”

I held the open-door button and watched as Dylan and Ashley walked hand in hand down the hall. He whispered something in her ear and she smiled with a peaceful and content look on her face. They kissed tenderly for just a few seconds and then he kissed her forehead before she turned and entered her apartment. So sweet.

He ran back toward the elevator, grinning the entire way.

“Well?” I said.

“I’m so fucking in love with her.” He sighed.

“Do you really think it’s love?”

He looked over at me pointedly. “Oh no, you’re not gonna start your cynical shit with me now, are you?”

“No, Dylan, it’s just that sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference between love and lust.”

“I don’t care what the difference is. All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to be with her every second of the day. Not just in that way, either. I want to talk to her and laugh with her and see the world with her. If that’s not love, then I don’t fucking know anything.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“I have to be. I know she’s amazing and she likes me. I don’t think there’s any room for fear or doubt when it comes to love. I’m willing to take my chances. You should be, too,” he said just as we reached the mail slots.

When I stuck the key in and turned the little lock, the door practically jumped off the hinges. The slot was jammed full of mail. Most of it was junk mail that I managed to catch as it came spilling out. One envelope fell to the floor. Dylan and I looked down simultaneously. The return address was the R. J. Lawson Winery. It was Jamie’s answer.

“Is that the guy?”

“Yes.”

“Are you gonna open it?”

“I don’t want to cry in front of you.”

“You’ve cried in front of me about four hundred times since I’ve known you. You’re the biggest crybaby I know.”

“I’m tough,” I declared.

“You wish. Just open the damn envelope.”

I shoved my armful of mail into Dylan’s hands and reached down for the letter. As I tore the flap from the back, I got a paper cut.

“Goddammit, it’s a sign.” I shoved my bleeding finger into my mouth and sucked. “Cay u beweve it?” I mumbled over my finger.

“For the love of God, Kate, open that letter right now.”

I huffed and then finished opening the envelope. I took the familiar paper out and unfolded it. My eyes first went to where I had underlined Jamie’s words, I am completely in love with you, and then in my big letters the word WHY? Underneath that was Jamie’s response. It was two words. That’s it. Two. Simple. Words.

MARRY ME.

I’ll admit, it wasn’t exactly the proposal every girl fantasizes about, yet somehow it was better. It was totally unexpected but completely fitting for the way things had gone down. He knew I needed it all. I put my hand over my heart, took a step backward, and leaned against the mail slots.

“What? What does it say?” I turned the page toward Dylan and began crying. “Holy shit. I mean, wow!” He scanned my face and then one side of his mouth turned up into a lopsided grin. “You’re crying. Are those happy tears?”

“Yes,” I blubbered.

He pulled me into his chest with his free arm and held me tightly.

“What will you do?”

“I’m gonna go out there and . . .” I hiccupped and took a deep breath. Dylan rubbed my back, soothing me. “I’m going to quit the Crier, go to Napa, finish my book, and say absolutely, one hundred percent yes to Jamie.”

“Attagirl.”

I pulled back and wiped the tears away with the back of my sleeve. “Will you do something for me, Dylan?”

“Anything.”

“Will you take care of Anchovy for me?” I asked, sniffling.

He laughed. “You’re such a drama queen. Of course I’ll take your fish.”

“And will you promise me that you’ll always stay this honest and sweet?”

“I’ll do what I can.”

He walked me to the door of my apartment and handed over the giant stack of mail before leaning down and kissing my cheek. “You deserve to be happy. Keep in touch, okay?”

“I will. No more drugs, right?”

“Nah, I’m done with that. I think I’m gonna go to college with Ashley next year and study music.”

“Good boy,” I said, breaking down into tears again. “These are happy tears.”

He smiled. “I know.”

I closed the door and immediately ran for the phone to call Jerry.

“Hello?” Jerry had six adorable kids, and they all happened to be talking at the same time when I called.

“Jerry!” I yelled over the noise.

“Hey, Kate. Let me go outside, hold on.”

While I waited, I heard at least three different tiny voices yell, “Daddy!”

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I don’t want to bother you while you’re with your kids, but I’m going to need to talk with you soon. I’ve made some decisions.”

“Well, I’m going to put the kids down and then meet Beth at Harvey’s to go over a breaking story. Do you want to meet us there at nine?”