6

 

“Is that her?” Jack stood and walked over to the refrigerator, taking a photo from the collage Misty had tacked together with magnets. His fingers trembled as he studied the image of the little girl, her contagious smile captured in time. The child’s long, black hair echoed his texture and Misty’s length. Her eyes mirrored his while her button nose had a gentle slope, just like Misty’s. “Is this Allie?”

“Um…” Misty hesitated. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as if itching to snatch the photo from him. “Yes, that’s her.”

“She’s beautiful.” Jack’s gut tumbled. “My daughter.”

“Quit saying that.” Misty leapt from the chair, jarring the table so coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug and splattered the file folders scattered there. “Having a child doesn’t make you a father, Jack. Being there for the child…that’s what makes a man a father.”

“So, now you’re an expert?” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, holding tight to the photo as a storm swept through, threatening to rip his insides apart. A huge, bushy-haired black cat wandered into the room to see what the commotion was all about. He took one look at Jack and then wandered over to Misty, plopping onto the floor and curling into a fuzzy ball at her feet. “Come on, Misty. Give me a break.”

“Give me a break, Jack. Five years—almost six—of changing diapers, soothing nightmares, reading bedtime stories—” Misty tore a healthy wad of paper towels from the holder beside the sink, “—and helping with homework, to name just a few things, has made me an expert.”

“Ouch again.” Jack rubbed his eyes, turned slightly so she couldn’t see the tears that burned. Outside the bay window, he noticed toys scattered along the overgrown lawn. The space could use a decent play set and maybe a sandbox. Did little girls like to play in sandboxes? “How many daggers do you have in that pouch you’re carrying, Misty? You can’t know how much it hurts to hear this.”

“No, I can’t.” She sopped up the spilled coffee and lobbed the soiled towels into a trash can tucked beneath the sink. “And you can’t even begin to know how much it hurt the day you left here—just walked away without a second thought.”

“That’s not true. I’ve thought about you every day.” His heart fractured in a way no spackle could mend. “And the only reason I didn’t think about Allie is because…well, I didn’t know about her.”

“Yeah, right. Nice cover.” Misty grabbed her mug, marched to the coffeemaker and filled it again. “Does the lie ease your conscience?”

“I’m not lying, Misty.” Jack turned back, his gaze capturing hers. “I’ve never lied to you. I didn’t know about Allie. Really, I didn’t.” He tugged a letter from his pocket.

“That’s the letter I wrote you. So you did get it. I’m not hallucinating.”

“Yeah, I got it all right…in the mail yesterday. It’s the first I heard…the first I knew.”

“That can’t possibly be true.” Misty shook her head vigorously. “I came to see you the night before you left for California. I left you that letter. I told you about Allie, Jack, and that I wanted to work things out. I was willing to go to California with you.”

“I know that now.”

“I guess it didn’t matter. By that time, maybe my offer just wasn’t good enough. I guess you weren’t willing to compromise…not even a little bit.”

“But I was, Misty. I would have.” Jack walked to the window, rested one hand on the frame as he peered into the roiling sky. “I loved you.”

“Don’t, Jack. Don’t say that.” The sink drain gurgled as she dumped the coffee she’d just poured. Ceramic clattered when she tossed the mug against the stainless steel. “I waited for you at the Landing just like I said I would—I waited most of the night, making excuses for why you were delayed, and how apologetic you’d be for making me wait—for scaring me—when you finally showed up.”

“I would have come.”

“But you didn’t.”

“How could I, when I didn’t know you wanted me to until yesterday?” He crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them. “Look at it, Misty. Look at the letter.”

“I don’t have to look at it. I wrote it. I remember all-too-well exactly what it says.” She shook her head. “It’s…embarrassing.”

“There’s more.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses.” She shook her head once more. “No. This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.”

“Would you just stop for a minute—stop being so pigheaded and stubborn and read what’s in the envelope?” He shoved it into her hands. “Please.”

 

****

 

The urgency in his voice startled her.

I’m not lying, Misty. I’ve never lied to you.

Misty bristled at the words, because she knew, deep in her heart, that they were true. Jack had always been brutally honest—sometimes to the point that it hurt. But if he was being honest, then this…all of it…just didn’t make sense. She’d gone to his apartment that last afternoon, left a letter with his roommate. Though Jack wasn’t there, his roommate had promised to give it to him as soon as he returned.

“Please, Misty.”

She reached for the crumpled manila envelope, her fingers trembling, and lifted the flap. The contents spilled…a sheet of plain white paper enfolding her letter, still tucked carefully in its own matching envelope.

She hesitated. “Jack, I don’t think…”

“Read it, Misty.” The longing in his gaze could have melted the polar ice caps. “If we’re going to work this out, you have to know the truth—and so do I. It’s the only way.”

“OK.” She unfolded the paper carefully, scanned the words as she read silently.

Jack,

I’m selling the apartment complex and found this letter wedged behind one of the dressers while I was cleaning. Thought about opening it, to see if it was important after all this time, but that just didn’t feel right. So, I’m forwarding it. I figured you’d like to have it. Better late than never, right?

“No.” Misty dropped the paper, her fingers scorched by the words, her pulse like rapid fire. She backtracked, trying to make sense of things. “It can’t be.”

“But it is, Misty. Do you believe me now?”

The room swirled, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She grabbed onto the counter, her hand tangling in the coffeemaker’s cord. The carafe slipped free, tumbling. Glass shattered across the tile and what was left of the coffee splattered her jeans, stinging her legs though the fabric.

“Stay with me, Misty.”

“I can’t…” A wave of chills swept over her as the room went black. The last thing she remembered was the sound of Jack’s voice echoing through an endless, tunnel.

“It’s going to be OK, Misty. I promise…everything will be OK.”