Chapter Forty-Seven

May. Three endless months had passed since those few days at Rocky Point Inn. Before their rendezvous at that snowbound bed and breakfast, Matt thought Jesse had traded him in for something bigger and better. Now, he knew better. The snow had melted long ago and he was impatient for the chance to discover what dark secrets kept them apart. He saw a window of opportunity, a chance to get away from writing, his readers, and most importantly, from Stephanie.

The thick, warm air held the fragrance of lilacs and forsythia as he and Allen sat on the Sullivans’ front porch. Allen nursed a Bud, Matt a Pepsi. Matt thought about his plans. He paused and closed his eyes, pretending for a moment that the intervening years were an illusion. Meeting Jesse was still a month in his future.

“I’m proud of you,” Allen intruded. “It took a long time, but I think you’ve finally grown up. Lucky for you, too, ’cause I’m not here to help run your life anymore,” he said with a satisfied look.

Matt turned. “It just took a kick in the ass.”

“It was her, wasn’t it?”

“Her?”

“Jesse,” Allen answered. “Something happened when you saw her in Maine. I ran into Mario. I asked him what happened.”

“What is he, the six o’clock news anchor?”

“C’mon, Matthew, since you came back from Alice’s funeral, you’re a different man. You only drink at communion. You’re involved in everything good in this city. Mike Barnacle referred to you as Boston’s young literary Messiah.” He stared at Matt. “We all knew she was there and wondered. Didn’t want to pry. But if it wasn’t something between you two that’s responsible for this transformation, what is it?”

“I found something I’d lost,” Matt acknowledged.

Allen raised his eyebrows.

“Hope,” Matt answered. “For the first time since she left, I found hope.”

Allen started to speak. Matt interrupted.

“I don’t know what it is. I only know we still love each other.” He stood up, walking to the railing as he looked at the darkening, cloudless sky. “I was a fool five years ago, Allen. I pushed her out of my life. I can’t write again until I can find some answers. Before I punch another keyboard, I have to find out what’s keeping us apart.”

“Have you asked yourself what happens if she’s right?”

Matt’s brow wrinkled.

“What if these things, her secrets, really are too ugly?” Allen continued.

“Nothing could be that ugly.”

They heard Daniel approaching the door.

“My God, Matt. I just figured it out. Maybe Jesse’s a Republican.” Allen looked at Daniel and then back at Matt, a grin spreading across his face. Daniel opened the door. He came out and sat down.

“What’s all the noise about?”

“Nothing important.” Allen looked at Matt. “Our boy here is going on a search, a holy quest. He’s going to—”

Matt shook his head violently.

“It’s nothing, Dad.” Allen nodded and got up to leave.

“Did I hear someone say Republican?” Daniel asked as if the word had a bad taste.

“God forbid. Not around these parts.” Allen motioned for Matt to follow him. “I’ve got to get back to Belmont, where we have nothing but Republicans. Caitlyn’s got a soccer game under the lights.” He waved at Daniel. “It’s been great. Don’t forget. You’re both coming over on Memorial Day. Jeannie’s already buying the food. And some of the neighbors will be there, Dad, so please no politics.”

“All right. I’ll be on my best behavior.” Daniel scowled.

Matt walked Allen to his car.

“About this quest of yours.” Allen began, looking back at Daniel sitting on the porch. “What about your publisher? You’re a rising young star, Matt—a household name right now. Can you just leave?” Matt wasn’t sure he knew the answer. “And here’s the real big one—what about Stephanie? You’ve been together a long time. How does she feel about this?”

“I haven’t told her.” Matt knew Allen was right. She was his biggest challenge.

Allen looked into Matt’s eyes. “Good hunting.” He held out his hand. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Later on, Matt called his publisher to tell them he needed a leave of absence. The news wasn’t well received. He explained he needed some time to settle some personal affairs—which, of course, was true. They reluctantly agreed, but insisted he be back by the fourth of July. His new book was an historical novel about Washington’s attack on Trenton. They were using Independence Day to launch it.

Matt should have notified them through his agent, but he hadn’t told her yet. He had to admit it—he was afraid of her reaction. He and Stephanie shared an upscale condo on Beacon Hill and there was one subject that never failed to raise the anxiety level in their household—Jesse. The mention of her name flushed his partner’s face, sending her into a tirade.

And Jesse was everywhere. Her musicals had served as a springboard. She leveraged her popularity and talent, selling compact discs and tapes by the millions. She quickly became the darling of the talk show hosts. Jesse’s poise, charm, and beauty were captivating, especially when coupled with the dramatic, often told story of her meteoric rise from Portland’s worst slum. She’d been the host of Saturday Night Live twice and rumor said she was heading to Hollywood to make at least one major motion picture. Matt had no intention of telling Stephanie why he was leaving, but then he didn’t have to. She had an uncanny knack for getting at the truth.

“You’re doing what? Taking time off to do special research?” Stephanie asked, biting her lip. It was a sure sign she was angry. “Research on what?” It was an accusation, not a question. “How long will you be gone? We have a book tour coming up, a dozen signings and those charity things…”

“Enough! They’ll have to wait. Let it go,” he demanded.

She bumped his chest with her hand.

“You’re not fooling me.” She pushed her finger at him. “This is about her, isn’t it? It’s always about her. You don’t think I know where you were in February and why you’ve been moping around like a lovesick puppy ever since? Well, I do, my sweet.”

He grabbed her wrist, bending it back roughly. She flinched but refused to back down. He let it go and turned away.

“I knew it.” She came around to face him, continuing her assault. “You can’t fool me, Matthew. You can smile at me and kiss me and screw me, but it’s her you think of while you’re doing it, isn’t it?” she exploded. “Isn’t it? Damn you!”

“No!” he lied, not wanting to hurt her. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That’s because she sleeps with the biggest producer on Broadway.” She turned away, tears running down her cheeks. “If Lawrence Webb was hit by a truck tomorrow, you’d be sniffing around that cocky bitch in a minute. I’m second best. I always have been,” she spit the words at him.

He began to protest. She wouldn’t let him.

“Okay, you go off and do your research about Miss Portland. Maybe I’ll be here when you get back, maybe I won’t.” She headed for the door, turning as she wiped her eyes. “By the way, find yourself a new agent. I quit.” She slammed the door and left.