I went to the bathroom, grateful for the privacy. First I looked at the necklace. It lay at just the right place, beneath the hollow at the base of my neck. Next I looked at my eyes. They did not reflect joy.
Josh called from the living room, “Hon, I gotta go. I’m meeting Logan and Drew for late-night drinks at the Aviary. Wanna come?”
I left my sanctuary, fingering the pendant. “I’d love to, but I’ve got some editing to do.” I needed to say more. “I’m sad you have to go.”
Josh looked in my eyes, then at my fingers playing with the pendant, and smiled. “I know.” He led the way to the door and pulled me into his arms. “I’m glad you like it. I knew it would look spectacular on you.” He kissed me again, longer this time, and with more authority. “Congratulations. You get your work done.”
He left. And I’m still awake.
MARCH 24
Dear Mr. Knightley,
I just got home from Naples, Florida. If that isn’t an entirely different planet, I’m not sure what is. Wow. It was good, but I’m glad to be home. It was exhausting keeping my jaw from constantly dropping.
We flew down last Saturday, dropped our bags at Ashley’s house, and went straight to her “club” for lunch. Afterwards, lying by the pool, I decided to tell her about the article. I pulled a copy out to show her and started my story. Debbie loved adding her insights.
“So you see, Ash, it totally makes sense now why she had no clue about . . .” And off she went.
Ashley laughed and joined in, especially when we talked about my quotation habit. She’s the only one with enough literary knowledge to understand what I was up to.
Then they took a tangent I never expected: you. Ashley was like Sherlock Holmes meets Nancy Drew. Do I have any clues to your identity? Do you ever contact me? Did I ask Laura any questions? Did I hire a detective? Only Ashley and Eloise, the little spoiled girl who lives at the Plaza, would think of hiring a detective. “Excuse me, I’d like a hot fudge sundae, one private investigator, two forensic analysts, and a cherry soda. ‘Charge it, please, and thank you very much.’” She hypothesized for a full twenty minutes on ways I could hunt you down. Don’t worry—I’m as uninterested in that as I would suspect you are.
It’s ironic that as I grow comfortable being Sam, they suddenly cast me as Orphan Annie or Anne Shirley. From their perspective my childhood began to sound romantic and heroic. And you became Daddy Warbucks or Uncle Drosselmeyer. Ashley suggested that one—she’s seenThe Nutcrackeron Broadway “every year for as long as I can remember.” Again, only Ashley.
The cross-examination and speculation droned on and on. I wondered why I ever hid my past—they found it fascinating. After a couple hours, Debbie jumped into the pool and I noticed Ashley grow quiet. All this was bothering her more than she let on.
I reached over and poked her arm. She swung her head toward me, so sad.
“I’m sorry, Ashley. I hurt you the most. I know that.”
She looked away.
“I hope you understand how scared I was. I started hiding so young, I didn’t know how to stop—even when I felt safe. Please forgive me.”
She looked up with a deep, shuddering breath—a start-over breath. “You know I do. It’s just that you clearly didn’t think much of me or you would have trusted me.”
I raised my eyebrows at her.
She slumped back in her lounge chair. “I did it again, didn’t I? I made it about me.”
“Kind of,” I laughed. “But I understand.”
“Sam? I trust you, you know. There aren’t many people I trust, but you’re one. I wish you felt the same about me.”
“I do. You see me better than anyone. And we’re a lot alike, even though our pasts are very different. I just think it’s hard for us to understand each other sometimes.”
“Agreed, but I’d like to.”
“Me too.” I smiled, leaned back, and closed my eyes.
“I won’t use it against you, Sam,” she whispered.
“And I won’t go after you. I promise, Ashley. I’m sorry if I ever have.”
“Me too.”
We sat silent for a few moments. I think that was enough soul baring for both of us.
