Mitch blew air through his nostrils. Wasn’t that the truth.
You, however, have a lot of life left to live. I hope you are living it, but I suspect you are not. I know how deeply you’ve felt the loss of your beloved Jeanie, and I with you, albeit not to your extent. She was a uniquely wonderful woman, the kind who left the world a better place for her being in it.
She was cut from the same sturdy and miraculous cloth as my Caroline. Those kinds of woman are rare, although they do, thankfully, still exist.
I suspect your Joyce is one of those. She must be something special to put up with you.
Mitch rolled his eyes, even though he agreed with the assessment.
You haven’t let her go, have you? I hope not. But I’m not writing because I feel the need to tell you whom to employ. I’m writing because you have always been a dear friend. In some ways, like another son to me. And I cannot leave you without a few words of advice and encouragement.
And a request.
Mitch’s brows rose.
Brace yourself, because you’re not going to like it, but you can’t refuse a dying wish, can you? Not in good conscience, so read on. What I want is for you to engage the services of the woman who delivered this letter.
Mitch read that a second time to be sure he’d read it correctly.
She has been a boon to me and my family. I signed an NDA with her, so by sharing this next part, I’m in breach of contract but I doubt there’s a litigator in the land who’d take the case against a dead man.
Harper Calhoun is not only a great listener, and a counsellor of the highest regard, but she is a vault. Nothing you say to her will ever be repeated. It’s what she does, my boy. She’s a professional secret keeper. A confidante. You need someone like that. Someone to unburden yourself to now that Jeanie’s gone. Harper is that person.
Now for the litigious part. She’s the one who convinced Teddy to go to rehab. She’s the one who saved his marriage. She’s gotten me through numerous crises, both personal and professional. And, most surprisingly to you, I imagine, she’s the one who talked me into taking the role as the Doomsday Oracle.
Mitch’s mouth fell open. He’d always thought Arlington had taken the job as a favor to him. Because they were friends. The man was clearly too big of a star for such a role, even if his star had diminished a bit in his later years.
When Arlington had been added to the cast, the show’s numbers had shot up. Not only had viewers been curious to see him in such a role, but he’d beengood. Really good. Viewership had continued to increase as Arlington’s star began to shine again.
The producers had asked for a second contract. Lucinda had asked for more money. Both had been agreed upon.
To think Arlington had to be talked into taking the role…Mitch shook his head. Then he read on.
I apologize if this news comes as a shock to you. I suspect you believe I took the role because of our friendship. In truth, I thought it would loudly announce my position as a has-been, something I didn’t want to admit. Harper convinced me otherwise. She’d read the books and loved them. She told me it was exactly what I needed to be relevant again.
She was right. The day my first episode aired, I had three movie offers. Fifteen total over the following month. I turned them all down, of course. I’d committed to the series. But I wasn’t interested in them, either. The work on the series was enough. I knew then I wasn’t long for this world.
I tell you all this to assure you Harper is worth your time. Seek her out. Engage her services. Let her show you how to find happiness again. I promise you, it’s there. Do that for me, will you?
Don’t make me come back and haunt you.
With the deepest affection,
Arlington
Mitch stared at the paper, the letters blurring on the page as his mind turned the words over. He loved Arlington and he hated to deny the request of a dead man, but there was no way he was talking to that woman. No way she could help him.
He didn’t need help. He needed a few good ideas and to be left alone.
He turned out the light.
ChapterTwenty-Three
“She wants to talk tous?” Harper shook her head as she jumped off the couch and paced toward the kitchen. “You can leave me out of it. I’m not interested. Not in the slightest.” She tipped the bottle of wine to her glass, refilling it and emptying the bottle.
Frankie had imagined Harper being less than pleased about her news, but she’d never imagined this kind of reaction. “Really? Not even a little bit? You don’t even want to see what she looks like? Hear her side of things?”
“I know what she looks like. I can remember her face.” Harper stood behind the couch, glass in hand. “Mostly. But, yeah, I’m good. Her side of things is just going to be…” She shrugged. “She’s had plenty of time to come up with a story that absolves her of all blame, I’m sure. I don’t need to hear it.”
