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Julie valued her father’s wisdom. He was right; nothing she could say or do at this point had the potential to reach Roy. He had certain beliefs about her and about all women, and he’d made certain assumptions as a result.
“I’d like one last opportunity to talk to him,” she said. Not because she expected to change his mind. That seemed doubtful. All she wanted was an opportunity to undo the damage they’d inflicted on each other.
Her father seemed to weigh her words. “Do you think seeing him again is wise?”
“I … don’t know. Probably not,” she said, but the need still burned within her. “I just feel so bad about the way we ended everything….”
“Fletcher’s been out of the office for a few days, but he’s back now.”
“It’s almost Christmas and … in the spirit of the holidays I thought …”
“You thought he might listen?”
“At least long enough to understand my reasons.”
“Do you want to do this for you or for Fletcher?” her father asked.
The question was a valid one. Julie mulled it over, then answered as honestly as she could. “I don’t know. I guess it’s for me. I don’t feel right leaving things the way they are. I can’t imagine he’ll see me, but I have to try.”
“Then write him a letter.”
“A letter,” Julie repeated. “I doubt he’d read it.”
“Does that matter?” her father asked. “You’ll have said what you feel is necessary. Then you can let him go.”
“True,” she admitted, the idea taking shape. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how much had been left unsaid.
“Whether Fletcher reads it or not is up to him,” her father said. “When feelings run this strong, sometimes letters are the best form of communication. There’s less room for misunderstanding or argument.”
Julie immediately felt relieved. Writing Roy, explaining her thoughts and emotions, was a solution she hadn’t considered before. She might never learn if he’d read her letter, but she’d have the satisfaction of knowing she’d done everything she could. If he responded, good; that would mean there was still a chance. If, as she expected, she never heard from him again, she could find peace in the knowledge that she’d tried.
“Oh, Dad, I don’t think I appreciate you nearly enough.”
Dean merely grinned and picked up the television remote.
Composing the letter took all evening. Julie read it over repeatedly before she was satisfied. In the first paragraph, she thanked Roy for the good times they’d shared, for opening his home and his life to her for even this short while.
That had been the easy part of the letter. More difficult was discussing his utter rejection of her. Then she related her father’s observation, telling Roy he could only trust her as much as he allowed himself to trust. In the last third of the letter, she apologized for her own angry response to his lack of faith.
It was midnight when she finished. Although she’d had trouble sleeping since their breakup, she experienced no such difficulty that night. Once again, she marveled at her father’s wisdom. It really didn’t matter whether Roy ever read her letter. In the process of articulating her reactions she’d found the peace she sought.
The next morning, the last day of school before winter break, Julie took the letter with her, planning to drop it off at the post office. School ended at noon, but after she’d had a festive lunch with the other teachers and straightened up her classroom, it was nearly three. If she posted the letter as she’d originally intended, he might not receive it until after Christmas. She had no idea what his Christmas plans were; maybe he’d already left for a Caribbean cruise or a country inn in Vermont, she thought whimsically. At one time, she’d hoped to invite him and his mother to join her and her father. She hadn’t even had a chance to broach the subject.
Nor had she spoken to his mother since Saturday. Anne hadn’t called her, and Julie didn’t feel comfortable putting his mother in the middle of this awkward situation.
Although it meant facing Jason, the guard at the entrance, she decided to deliver the letter personally.
Julie felt his gaze on her the moment she pulled into the parking lot. His eyes didn’t leave her until she’d parked in an empty slot and then climbed out of her car. Julie half expected the security guard to block the entrance. But Jason sat at his desk, one hand on the phone, obviously ready to call for reinforcements.
He got warily to his feet when she walked in, but remained solidly behind his desk, as if it afforded him protection.
“Stay away from me,” Jason warned.
Startled, Julie glanced over her shoulder. No one else was there. She couldn’t imagine why the burly guard would be afraid of her.
“I don’t know what you did to me, lady, but I don’t want a repeat of it, understand?”
“Jason,” she said in her most conciliatory voice, “what in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“You know.” He gestured theatrically. “Just stay right where you are. You’re not allowed in this building.”
Actually she’d expected that. “Not to worry, I don’t have any intention of storming into Mr. Fletcher’s office. I have a letter for him.” She advanced slowly toward Jason’s desk, not wanting to intimidate him any more than she already had, although how she’d done that was a mystery.
He backed away until he bumped into the wall behind him.
“All I ask is that you give Mr. Fletcher this letter,” she said, careful to enunciate every word. “You don’t need to deliver it yourself,” she assured him, in case it was the prospect of an encounter with Roy that had unsettled him. “I’m sure Ms. Johnson will be more than happy to see that Mr. Fletcher receives it.”
Jason’s eyes moved past her and a chagrined expression appeared on his face.
Julie looked over her shoulder again to find Roy standing there. He’d clearly just stepped out of the elevator. Her first instinct, absurdly enough, was to turn tail and run. A second later, she seemed completely incapable of moving. Or breathing. Or anything else.
“What’s Ms. Wilcoff doing in the building?” Roy asked the security guard as if Julie wasn’t standing directly in front of him.
“She has a letter for you.”
“Yes. I wrote you a letter.” She hated the way her voice trembled, but she hadn’t been prepared to see Roy. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!
Jason handed Roy the envelope, which he reluctantly accepted.
Julie’s heart pounded in her ears. She had to escape as quickly as possible. “I’ll leave now,” she said.
“That would be best,” Jason boomed. With his employer close at hand, he’d apparently regained his nerve. He escorted Julie to the front door, going so far as to push it open for her.
Julie felt Roy’s eyes burning holes in her back as she exited the building. She walked at twice her normal speed, intent on getting away.
Then she heard footsteps behind her.
“What’s in the letter?” Roy demanded, following her into the parking lot.
Julie fumbled for her car keys. “I suggest you read it.” She stood by the driver’s door, while Roy waited at the rear bumper.
“I’ll bet you declared your love and described how anguished you are by our parting.”
Julie wasn’t taking the bait. Everything she wanted to say was in the letter; she had no intention of repeating it and then arguing over the points she’d made.
“I’m not interested in the account of your undying love.”
Her hand shook so badly she had trouble pressing the button to automatically unlock her car door.
“You’re no different from Aimee.” He seemed to want to provoke her into losing her temper. “What’s the matter? Don’t you have anything to say?”
A painful breath worked its way through her lungs. “Most everything is in the letter, Roy, but I realize now that there are a few things I left out.”
“Good. You can say them to my face.”
She studied him then, really looked at him, and saw how unhappy he was. This was the most joyous season of the year, and Roy was miserable.
“I didn’t say I loved you,” she said, her voice gaining strength and control. “As you’ll discover if you read my letter.”
He arched his brow in that all-too-familiar sarcastic way.
“But the truth is, I do.”
“Spare me, please.”
“It’s foolish, I suppose, but I always did like a challenge, and you, Roy Fletcher, are definitely that.” She even managed a brief smile.
Again the sardonic arched brow.
“The thing is,” she continued, determined not to let his cynicism destroy her, “I do love you and it’s up to you to accept that love or reject it.”
He said nothing.
“We haven’t known each other long, but in that time, I’ve learned a great deal about the kind of man you are. You have a tremendous capacity to give of yourself, a tremendous capacity to love.” She thought of the fact that he’d hired her father and that, unknown to his mother, he’d bought her paintings. She recalled the afternoon he’d come to her soccer game—and so much more. His unpretentious enjoyment of her simple meals. The loyalty his staff felt toward him …
He held up his hand. “Not interested.”
“I know, and that saddens me, because I’m going to get in my car and drive away. I didn’t come here to argue with you—I didn’t even expect to see you.”
“It seems to me you planned it perfectly so you would.”
Did he honestly believe she’d somehow manipulated their simultaneous presence in the company foyer? “I didn’t. But whether I did or not is of little concern.”
He shrugged. Julie knew he must have some feelings for her, otherwise he wouldn’t be standing here now, wouldn’t be listening to her. If this was her only chance to get through to him, then she might as well give it her best shot.
“You have the ability to decide what you want out of life, Roy. You can go on living behind your hard exterior, blocking out anyone who has the potential to teach you about love, or you can—”
“I already said I wasn’t interested in love. I made that clear from the beginning,” he snapped. “What is it with you? Every other word out of your mouth is something about love. Yeah, right! Well, I can’t help wondering how much love you’d really feel if I wasn’t who I am.”
“Who are you, Roy?”
“You know what I mean.” He gestured toward the building that stood as evidence of his prosperity.
“Are you the rich and successful entrepreneur?”
“You know what I mean,” he said again.
“Unfortunately, I don’t,” she told him, opening her car door. “I thought I knew who you were, but I guess I was wrong.”
“I thought I knew who you were,” he retorted, his eyes blazing, “but you proved me wrong. All you care about is the size of my checking account and what you can get out of me.”
She refused to listen to any more. With a heavy heart, she climbed inside the car.
“You’re—”
She closed the door to drown out his words, then inserted the key into the ignition. When she glanced in her rearview mirror, Roy was gone.
Julie exited the parking lot, and as soon as she was out of sight, she pulled to the curb and wept tears of pain and grief.
Leaning her forehead against the steering wheel, she knew she’d never see Roy Fletcher again.
Twenty-Four
“This is absolutely terrible,” Goodness lamented. All afternoon, they’d watched Julie put on a good front for her father’s sake. She could just picture the scene in Heaven when they returned only seven hours from now. It was Christmas Eve, their deadline. Soon they’d be required to stand with the angelic host singing praises to the newborn King. Except this year, Shirley, Goodness and Mercy would arrive from Earth without having fulfilled their mission. Goodness wouldn’t be able to look a single friend in the face. Well, she wasn’t accepting defeat that easily.
“It can’t get much worse,” Mercy agreed.
“We’ve got to do something.” Shirley was back to her pacing in front of the Wilcoffs’ Christmas tree. The living room was empty, with Julie in her room and Dean overseeing a last-minute security check of the Fletcher building.
“This is your fault,” Goodness said, glaring at Mercy. “If you hadn’t been so busy tossing salmon in Pike Place Market and holding security guards by the knees, we might’ve made some headway.”
“Give it up,” Mercy growled. “Besides, we both know you had a hand on Jason, too. I couldn’t have held him back all by myself. That guy has muscles.”
“Stop.” Shirley planted herself between the other two and shook her head. “We don’t have time to play the blame game.”
“You’re telling me,” Goodness moaned. “It’s already five o’clock.”
“That means we have seven paltry hours,” Shirley said, glancing at the old-fashioned clock on the fireplace mantel.
“Woe is we.” Goodness couldn’t believe that a prayer request could go so wrong. They’d worked harder on this one than on any previous request. In years past, they’d each received separate assignments, but she’d assumed that with their combined efforts this one would’ve been simplicity itself. Not so. And if there was anything Goodness hated, it was having to admit she’d failed. “We’ve just got to do something.” They had a few hours left. Just a few.
“But what?” Mercy cried.
“Think,” Shirley ordered. “There’s a way. There’s always a way.”
Defeated and depressed, Goodness walked into the darkened kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door. For a long moment, she studied the contents. It was easy to understand why so many humans turned to food for comfort. A pan of something dipped in chocolate was bound to improve any situation.
“I had hope until Roy threw out her letter,” Mercy said. “Without reading it.”
“How could he?” Shirley asked, although the question was rhetorical. “I thought humans were curious about things.” That was a characteristic they shared with angels.
“I’m sure he was tempted,” Shirley said, sadness weighting her words. “However, his fear was even stronger.”
“He was afraid?” Goodness was unable to decipher human reasoning. “Of what?”
“Of changing his mind,” Shirley explained. “He knew if he read Julie’s letter, he might be swayed. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t hold on to his anger if he allowed himself to feel her love.”
“But love is what he needs!”
Goodness wanted to weep with frustration. Shirley was right. Roy had closed himself off from love, even though he needed it, even though he wanted it. He equated love with pain. Opening his heart made him vulnerable, and he couldn’t risk that after what his father and Aimee had done.
“I’d so hoped for a better outcome,” Shirley murmured forlornly, “especially for Anne’s sake.”
“Anne,” Goodness repeated, remembering Shirley’s previous connection to Roy’s mother. She studied the former Guardian Angel and detected a suspicious smile in her eyes. Quickly Shirley looked away.
“Shirley,” Goodness pressed, certain now that her friend was up to something, “you’re holding out on us.”
“Shirley?” Mercy joined in. “What did you do?”
A giggle escaped, followed by another. “I made a quick trip to New York, and … well, you’ll see soon enough.”
“Tell us!”
“And ruin the surprise?”
“Does it have to do with Roy and Julie?”
The laughter in Shirley’s eyes faded. “Sorry, no.”
“With Anne?”
The humor was back and she nodded. “All in good time, my friends, all in good time.”
“But what are we going to do about Roy and Julie?” Even with the clock ticking away the last hours, Goodness refused to give up. Somehow or other, they had to accomplish their goal.
“That letter could always find its way back into his life,” Goodness suggested. Of course, that might entail a bit of detective work …
“I will serve the Lord with my whole heart,” Mercy said,
“but I am not digging around in someone’s garbage. That just isn’t me.”
“You would if it meant we could answer this prayer request, wouldn’t you?”
Mercy looked uncertain. With her arms crossed, she cocked her head to one side and shrugged. “Well … maybe.”
“Then let’s get to it,” Goodness said with renewed hope. “We’ll find the letter, and we’ll make sure he reads it.”
“How are we going to do that?” Shirley asked.
“We’ll figure it out when the time comes,” Mercy assured her. “You can’t expect us to have all the answers, can you?”
“I don’t expect all the answers,” Goodness said, “but one answer would be nice.”
“Why make things easy?” Mercy asked pertly.
“Right.”
With renewed purpose the three hurried to Roy’s condo. This was their last chance, and they had to make it work.
Roy picked up the remote control and automatically flipped through the channels. He didn’t stay on any one for more than a few seconds. His patience was nonexistent, and his irritation mounted by the minute. Roy didn’t understand why he felt like this. He should be thrilled. His company had just had its best year to date. When any number of dot-com businesses were fast becoming dot-gone businesses, his own was thriving. Money and happiness, however, didn’t seem to be connected.
Roy had dreaded spending Christmas with his mother. Being continually reminded of everything she’d lost in the divorce was too much for him, especially during the holiday season. Pretending was beyond him. Now she was in New York with her college friend and he could do as he pleased.
Only nothing pleased him.
“What did you do in other years?” he asked himself out loud.
Work had dominated his life for so long that he had no idea how to relax. Christmas Eve should be special in some way, except it wasn’t. If he was with Julie, it would be … He refused to think about Julie. She was out of his life and he was out of hers. Good. That was exactly how he wanted it.
With nothing on television to intrigue him, Roy sat down at his computer. Because he felt he should know what was going on in the world, he left the local news channel playing in the background. He decided to surf the Internet. Maybe he’d get so absorbed investigating Web sites that the evening would vanish without his realizing where all those hours had gone; it had happened often enough before. Then he could forget that it was Christmas Eve, forget he was alone.
That didn’t seem to work, either.
No Web site interested him for more than a few minutes.
“A Christmas story of generosity that’s guaranteed to touch everyone’s heart,” the newscaster said from behind him. “Details after a word from our sponsors.”
Roy was in no mood to be cheered by anyone’s generosity. He turned around to reach for the remote so he could switch off the TV. Love and goodwill were not in keeping with his current mood.
The remote was missing.
It had been on the coffee table just a moment ago and now it was nowhere in sight. He started lifting papers and cushions in his search, but he always kept it in the same place on the coffee table. It was gone.
A sentimental commercial about a college student arriving home on Christmas Eve began to play. It was a sappy ad, meant to tug at the heartstrings. Roy had never liked it. He groaned and renewed his search for the remote.
Then the female newscaster was back. “Tonight we have the story of a single gift of twenty-five thousand dollars donated anonymously at a Salvation Army bell station.”
The scene changed to one outside a local shopping mall. Cars whizzed past as the camera zoomed toward a lone figure standing in front of a big red pot. Dressed in his overcoat and muffler, a scarf tied around his neck, the volunteer diligently rang his bell, reminding everyone that there were others less fortunate this Christmas.
Roy continued his search with one eye on the television screen. He knew he should simply lean over and hit the power switch, but for some reason, he didn’t.
“An anonymous donor came up to Gary Wilson yesterday afternoon and slipped a cashier’s check for twenty-five thousand dollars into his collection canister. This is the largest single donation a Salvation Army bell ringer has ever received in our area.”
Roy froze, rooted to the spot, his quest for the TV remote forgotten.
“Gary, can you tell us anything about the person who gave you that check?” the reporter asked, shoving a microphone in front of the volunteer’s face.
The poor man looked like a deer caught on the freeway, lights coming at him from every direction. “No,” he finally blurted. “I didn’t notice anyone who seemed rich enough to give away that kind of money.”
The reporter spoke into the microphone again. “That money will go a long way toward making this Christmas a happy one for a lot of community families, won’t it?” Once more she thrust the microphone at the Salvation Army volunteer.
“I think it was a woman,” Gary Wilson said. “It was about the middle of my shift, I’d say. Things were moving pretty briskly and then this tall gal came up.” He paused. “She said Merry Christmas, and she smiled. But I don’t know if it was her or not. It could’ve been.” He punctuated his comments with a shrug. “Or maybe not. Could’ve been that short fellow who wouldn’t look me in the eye. Real short, he was.”
“Elf-size?” the reporter asked with a grin.
Gary nodded. “Yup, elf-size.”
“Well, it looks like Santa won’t have to work nearly as hard in the Seattle area this year. Back to you, Jean.”
“Thank you, Tracy,” the female announcer said.
Roy sank onto the edge of his plush leather sofa. It was Julie; she had to be the “tall gal” the volunteer had mentioned. This was a calculated move on her part. She’d …
His thoughts ground to a halt. Julie hadn’t done it for the publicity. With a cashier’s check, she wasn’t expecting to be honored for the donation. The truth was, Roy couldn’t prove it’d been her. But it seemed more than a coincidence that the donation was the same amount as the check he’d given her.
Leaning back, he rubbed his face, then glanced at the coffee table. To his utter astonishment, there sat the remote control. He looked again, harder. Nah, couldn’t be. He leaned forward again. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. That wasn’t the only thing on the coffee table, either.
Julie’s letter lay there, right in front of him.
This was the envelope he’d recently discarded. The envelope with his name carefully written on the front in Julie’s smooth and even cursive hand.
Roy gasped, leaped up and quickly looked around. Something very strange was happening.
He’d been working too hard, he decided, brushing the hair away from his forehead. He left his hand there as he tried to reason this out in his troubled mind.
The pressure had become too much for him. That was it. What hadn’t made sense a few minutes ago now seemed perfectly logical.
The envelope almost glowed, daring him to open it. When he’d originally received the letter, the temptation to read it had been almost overwhelming. But instead, Roy had tossed it in the garbage as soon as he got home. Then, because he couldn’t get it out of his mind, he’d carried the garbage from his kitchen to the chute in the utility room. The chute deposited all garbage in a Dumpster in the basement.
Yet here was the letter, back in his possession.
“Obviously I should read it,” he muttered to himself, wondering if he should look for the phone number of a psychiatrist first. This couldn’t be happening. But it was.
Sinking back onto the couch, he picked up the letter. He didn’t want to read it, yet from the first word on, he felt compelled to continue. His cynicism gradually eroded as he recognized her sincerity with every sentence. He understood her exasperation with him and respected the honesty and integrity that underlined her actions, her beliefs. The most powerful of all the emotions that flowed through him as he read her letter was love. Her love.