Write to Me (10 page)

Yes. That’s how he always ended things. Stopped calling, stopped coming around. Radio silence. Explanations like “it’s not you, it’s me” were always messy and painful, and women never believed them anyway. It was kinder, wasn’t it, to break things off quickly? Simpler.

Guilt pierced his armor of logic. Simpler, sure. Simpler for him.

Courtney hadn’t finished. “And when you stopped calling, it’s not like I could blame you, right? You made no promises. If I was hurt, confused,
devastated
—well, that was on me. Certainly not your responsibility. And if I had to look for another job because I couldn’t deal with the thought of seeing you around campus, never knowing when I might run into you, that’s on me, too. Nobody forced me. You certainly didn’t. No, you’d already forgotten me and had moved on to your next conquest.” She looked him up and down with contempt. “’Cause nothing ever sticks to you.”

Her disdain scalded him. What he’d considered harmless fun and games looked selfish and short sighted when seen through different eyes.

She was right. His conscience never bothered him, because he never promised faithfulness or a future to any of the women who shared his bed. They were consenting adults, right? He’d go his merry way, never stopping to think that they might be hurt in spite of all his slick rationalizing.

He always believed his cloak of honesty protected him. Except he hadn’t been honest with Gloria.

“So,” Courtney said when he offered nothing in his own defense. “Tell me something. How does it feel to be a robot?”

That kicked him from shame to jalapeno-hot anger. All right, he’d been a prick to Courtney and the others, turning on the charm and seduction to get what he wanted, then switching it off without warning. It was a selfish, thoughtless, even cruel habit he’d grown into. But he wasn’t a goddamn robot, a Tin Man without a heart. “I know it won't change anything, but I’m sorry.”

She changed position, set both feet on the floor and leaned toward him. “I didn’t come here for an apology. I only came to set the record straight. Gloria seems to be under some impression that my parents had a terrible marriage. According to you, they were two screwed up people who took their sickness out on me, each one playing me against the other.” Her lips twisted into a smirk. “That came as news, considering I was raised by a single mom. My father checked out when I was three years old. I think’s that why I’ve always tended to glom onto distant, unavailable men.” Her narrow gaze told him the rest.
Men like you.
“Daddy issues.”

A small sound caught his attention. Gloria stood in the doorway of the back room, silently watching him and Courtney.

Courtney glanced Gloria’s way, then turned back to Bryan. “I couldn’t figure out why you’d told all those lies until it clicked. They weren’t lies. The horrible parents, the fighting, the psychological abuse…that wasn’t my story. It was yours.”

He stared at her stonily.
Neither confirm nor deny.
He wasn’t about to give her any further information to use against him.

She met his stare without flinching. “When you stopped calling, I used to imagine all the things I’d say to you if I had the chance. I never dreamed that ‘I’m sorry’ would be one of them.” She stood. Her features softened and sympathy welled in her eyes. “I am, though. I’m sorry that happened to you. But it explains a lot. At least I won’t have to drive myself crazy wondering what I did wrong.”

“Don’t,” he blurted. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I won’t,” She gave Gloria a nod and turned toward the door. “Not anymore.”

He sat for a moment after she left, marshalling his thoughts. He wouldn’t give in to the humiliation, wouldn’t give Gloria the satisfaction. She had not moved from her position in the doorway. He rose and faced her.

She spoke first. “Is it true? Were you really talking about your parents that whole time?”

He let go a long breath. “Yes.” It actually felt good to admit it. He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me you’re sorry, too?”

She remained expressionless. “No.”

“So how did you, uh, happen to find Courtney?”

“I wasn’t sure she even existed. But my daughter’s girlfriend works in the college library. She knew Courtney.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I salute you, madam.” He gave an imaginary tip of the cap. “That was well played.”

He expected her to acknowledge him with a tilt of her head, a little
gotcha
smirk. Instead, she shook her head in disbelief. “Is that what you think this is? A game?”

“Isn’t it, after all the trouble you went to, setting me up tonight?”

“No. It’s not a set-up. It’s about self-respect. Mine. You can’t play me like you did and think I’ll just crawl off and lick my wounds. That’s not who I am. When someone hurts me and mine, I fight back.”

And in spite of how she’d played him, he admired her. She was a fighter. If she took on the crooked company that got her husband killed, she wouldn’t hesitate to take on the man who lied to her. “So you try to make me look like an ass, all because I didn’t write that ridiculous letter some idiot left in a book.”

She gasped a sharp intake of breath. “You thought it was ridiculous?”

“Oh, please.” His lip curled in condescension. “I teach literature, for God’s sake. I wouldn’t be caught dead writing slop like that.”

“I see.” She turned even colder if that was possible. “Just for the record, though. You made yourself look like an ass. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Fine.” He turned to the door, swung it open with all the dignity he could muster.

He stormed down the sidewalk, his emotions in turmoil. Anger warred with humiliation. She’d set him up. How could she have done that? And that whole thing with Courtney, for God’s sake, was that really necessary?

He felt betrayed.

And how do you think she felt when she found out you lied?

A car’s horn beeped, jolting him out of his thoughts. He’d reached the corner and was about to cross against the light. Luckily, the driver had seen him, in spite of the dark. Bryan stepped back up on the curb and waved the driver on.

Cooling his heels, waiting for the crosswalk signal to change, gave him time to cool his temper.
You kept putting off telling her the truth, thinking you’d get away with it. And when you got caught out, you’re pissed at
her
for not letting it slide. Good job, Professor.

Her parting words rang in his ears.
You made yourself look like an ass.

And that had always been his biggest fear—making a fool of himself.
That was why he’d never fallen in love. He hadn’t let himself. Not because he was someone without emotions, a robot or a Vulcan, but because he was afraid.

The signal changed, giving him the go-ahead. Once he crossed, his steps slowed. Everything he knew about love, he’d learned from his parents and their disaster of a marriage. As a child he’d been confused by these two people who blew hot and cold, too intent on their own drama to notice their son unless one of them wanted to play him against the other. As he grew older, his confusion changed to contempt.

He’d never wanted to be like them. Yes, he’d been afraid. Afraid that love would turn him into a self-pitying victim like his mother or an arrogant, condescending bully like his father. He never wanted to be a fool, to be hurt.

Of course, he was an adult now. He knew rationally that not all marriages were like his parents’. What they had wasn’t love at all but its twisted reflection, the kind one might find in a fun-house mirror.

But the fear was there. Funny how he never recognized it before. He was too busy looking down his nose at all the fools in love. Until he met Gloria.

He had to win her back. No tricks this time. No games. He wasn’t smarter than the rest of the world, didn’t want to be. All he wanted was Gloria.

****

Two hours later, Gloria was in her room, ready for bed. A glass of wine sat on her nightstand. She had dragged herself home, wiped out physically and emotionally. She hadn't known what to expect tonight, but she hadn’t anticipated this sense of loss. Of emptiness.

Oh, she wasn’t sorry she’d confronted Bryan. She’d satisfied her honor. Yet, she felt uneasy. Restless. Disappointed.

Well, what did you want? For Bryan to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness?

In a nutshell, yes. Oh, nothing so melodramatic, but she had expected an apology.

And if you’d gotten it, then what? All would be forgiven, forgotten?

Yes. No. She didn’t know.

Instead, he’d sneered, told her the letter was ridiculous. Meaning she was ridiculous, too.

She took another sip of wine. After setting down the glass, she opened the book she’d purchased today.

Carlos Antonio Lopez—The Early Poems.
It had finally arrived at
The Tattered Page
. She’d picked it up this afternoon but had been too nervous about her anticipated meeting with Bryan to give it more than a quick glance.

Plenty of time now.
Gloria sank against her pillows. She quickly skimmed the introduction, then began to read the poems Lopez wrote when young, before he achieved international acclaim. When she came to the fourth entry,
Carmelita’s Crown
, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The poem was a celebration of a woman’s hair. With the exception of a few words here and there, it was an exact copy of the poem Emilio had sent her when he was stationed overseas.

Or rather, Emilio’s poem was a copy of Lopez’s.

She thumbed through the pages, disbelief rising like fog in her brain. Four other poems were almost exact replicas of ones her husband had sent to her.

Emilio had never written them at all.

She didn’t want to accept it, but it made sense. And if she were to be truly honest, a tiny part of herself had always suspected.

The clues had always been there. The fact that Emilio’s
poet’s
voice was so different from his natural voice. His reluctance—no, horror—at her suggestion that he try to get his poems published. He knew any such attempt would out him as a plagiarist.

Oh, Emilio.
Disappointment welled in her chest, though it was soon eased by a kernel of understanding. He’d wanted to impress her, so he sent the poems, pretending he’d written them. Somehow, he’d found the early poems by Lopez, and because they were so obscure, he must have felt she’d never catch on to the truth. Or maybe he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

It didn’t matter. It was part of his pattern, trying to prove himself to her. Prove he was good enough,
worthy
of her.

Tears of frustration and anger burned her eyes.
Damn it, Emilio! Why couldn’t you have trusted me? My love had nothing to do with where you came from or how much money you made. It had nothing to do with poetry. You never had to be anyone but yourself for me to love you.

Chapter Ten

The familiar
bing bong
greeted Gloria when she stepped through the door of
The Tattered Page.
She’d thought about finding another book shop but knew that would only make her a coward. Why should she give up her routines and the places she enjoyed because she was afraid of running into Bryan? She wouldn’t give him that power over her.

If he wanted to avoid her, let him change
his
life.

Mr. Miłosc was seated behind his big desk. She nodded a greeting at him, about to sweep past when he spoke. “Mrs. Navarro, I have a book here for you.”

She paused and turned to him in confusion. “You gave me the Lopez book the last time I was here.”

“Not the Lopez. This is a different one.”

“You must be mistaken. I haven’t ordered any more books.”

The proprietor sighed wearily, as though he were already tired of the discussion. “Nevertheless, it’s here with your name on it.”

When he handed her the slim volume, she gave a sharp intake of breath.
Sonnets for Every Season.

She unzipped her purse, too flustered to say anything but “How much do I owe you?”

He held up his hand. “It’s been taken care of.”

Numb, she murmured a thank you and stepped away. Bryan had bought the book for her. There was no other explanation.

When she opened the cover, a folded sheet of paper slipped to the floor.

Retrieving it, she recognized Bryan’s hand.

Dearest Gloria,

“The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as

That’s all there was.

She turned to the title page of the book. Another letter.

Dear Gloria,

“I’m sorry” are the two easiest words to say in the English language. The easiest to say and the hardest to hear.

She turned to the Introduction. There was a third letter.

Dear Gloria,

“I’m sorry” are the two hardest words to say in the English language

She found a different letter every time she turned a page. Each one was unfinished, a broken shard.

Dear Gloria,

“I’m sorry” is the most meaningless
expression
phrase in the English language. How can two words erase the hurt
one person causes another
I caused you?

So he acknowledged that he'd hurt her. Took responsibility for it, like a man. The hard knot of anger inside her loosened as respect for him blossomed.

She opened the next folded sheet of paper.

Gloria,

I lied to you. I lied because I wanted you. I lied to keep you. Then I lied to keep from losing you. But my feelings for you were never a lie.

Her throat tightened.
Neither were mine, Bryan.

Her fingers trembled as she turned a page.

I’m a son of a bitch. A lying dick. You have every right to hate me

She blinked back stinging tears. He'd known too much hate growing up, watching his parents' hideous marriage. How could she add to that? No, she couldn’t hate him.

G

I’m sorry. Please give me another chance.

B

Another chance? Did she have the courage?

The last letter read:

It was all my fault. Please forgive me.

She expelled her breath in a whoosh and, with it, released what remained of her anger and hurt.