Halfway to You(83)

A pang in my sternum.

“It hit close to home.”

“I shouldn’t have published it.”

“At first I was mad,” he continued. “But it was so beautiful, so . . . tender. I forgot what an incredible writer you are. It reminded me of the first time I wrote to you, after I read Chasing Shadows, and then that made me miss you, and . . .”

My heart fractured like a dam pressed by the weight of too much water. A tiny oh escaped my lips, a liquidy breath of emotion. “I’ve missed you too,” I squeaked.

Todd blew out a breath, and then—

—and then I heard a woman’s voice, sleepy and melodic. She was calling from the other room: “Todd, are you coming back to bed?”

And just like that, the dam of my heart burst.

I cleared my throat, but my words still came out unsteady. “I should let you go,” I said, but I was thinking I should’ve let him go a long time ago.

The next morning, I awoke to ringing. I’d fallen asleep with one of Todd’s letters pressed to my face. I flung myself upright and scrambled for the phone, my heart in my throat.

“Hello?”

“I’m ready to make up, are you?” Keith.

“Thank god. Yes. Keith, I shouldn’t have said . . . what I said. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I was frustrated.”

“You were right,” I insisted. “You were so right.”

“Well, I’m one to talk.”

“What do you mean?” I stood, stretched, wandered over to the window. The cityscape beyond my curtains flared bright with sunshine.

“I ran away to Greece when Barbara and I broke up. It’s how you and I met, remember? All three of us were running from our problems.”

“I forgot about that.”

“You were a little distracted.”

I smiled at the memory—smiled. Me and Todd—it had seemed so fraught at the time, but so many years later, I felt only fondness for my former self.

He continued. “When I went to Greece to try to get over Barbara, I almost lost everything. I’d hate to see you do the same.”

The sentence was out before I could think. “But I have nothing to lose.”

The phone line crackled in the pause that followed, crackled through my bones like an electric current. It hurt, this truth, deep in my marrow.

“Well, that’s simply not true,” Keith said. “You have your career. You have me. You have Carmella. And you have Todd, apparently.”

“He told you I called him.”

“Of course he did.”

“He also told you what I, um, heard?”

“Did you think he’d be celibate?”

“I had hoped.”

Keith snorted. “You two are a soap opera.”

I wished he could see me roll my eyes. “Thank you for the tough love.”

“I’m sorry I was more tough than love last night.”

“No,” I said, growing emotional again. “I needed that.” I closed my eyes. “I just . . . I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re Ann fucking Fawkes, that’s who you are,” Keith said. “Internationally bestselling author, honorary Roman, and friend. All things you’re currently thousands of miles away from.”

I fixed my vision on my suitcase. “So, what, I just go home?”

“That’s a start.”

“And then?”

“And then you write another knockout. Not for me, or the money, or your fans—but for yourself.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Okay.”

“Good.” Keith’s chair creaked as if he were leaning back in his seat. “You really should read Todd’s letters.”

I wandered over to the bed and plucked a letter off the pile, which had been strewn about the duvet from my restless sleep.

“I’ll call you when I’m back in Rome.” I wrinkled my nose in a scrunched sort of smile. “It’s nice to hear your voice—even when it’s saying tough things.”

“Yours, too—even when it’s saying stubborn things.”

I laughed.

“Take care, my friend,” Keith added. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Send my best to Barbara. And tape Iris’s play for me.”

We hung up, and I knelt on the bed, the mail scattered before me. I didn’t know what I’d hoped for when I called Todd last night, but hearing the woman’s voice on the line—it stung. I wasn’t sure I could stomach his letters—letters I’d missed while I’d been running all over the globe. Running from him.

There were nine in all. I sorted them by date, then slid my nail under the weak adhesive of the first envelope. The letter was a single page of Todd’s neat, careful writing—and not at all what I was expecting.

Ann,

There are four years and a thousand emotions between us, but: I miss writing to you. I miss getting my thoughts out on paper and having someone on the other end to comment and crack jokes and lend support. I guess what I’m really saying is that I miss our friendship.

Keith said you’ve been teaching in a remote location in Peru, so I know it’s unlikely you’ll receive this letter anytime soon. When you do, I hope it’s not unwelcome.