All Who Dream (Letting Go) (32 page)

He
gut-laughed into the phone again, causing me to momentarily forget why I was so
panicked.

“I’ll let
you go…for now. I’ll call you tonight. Hope you can get to the kissing scene by
then.”

“Whatever.
Bye, Jackson.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

I tossed
the phone on my bed and smiled, replaying his voice in my mind. That word would
never grow stale.
Nor could my feelings for the man who spoke
it.

*********

Lunch turned out to be a lot of fun, although I was fifteen
minutes late.

Pippy
, of course, was a ball of energy, buzzing in and out
of every conversation as many topics were discussed—most lighthearted in
nature. My heart warmed as I looked at each author, appreciating them all for
different reasons. They were a wonderful mix of wisdom, humor and friendship.

The drama
from my interview with
Divina
was not talked
about—and I was incredibly grateful for that graciousness, although they did
address the new forward for my book. My stomach dipped when Mr. Zimmerman
brought it up, but he only offered his encouragement and support. His sincerity
caused my eyes to water. Sue Bolan squeezed my shoulder as we parted ways,
nodding her head at me in affirmation. My relief was apparently quite obvious,
especially to the little spitfire who sat next to me.

“Want to
get Ice cream?”
Pippy
asked as we sat at our now
deserted lunch table.

I smiled.
“How is it that you’re so tiny—when I swear you eat sugar like most people
drink water?”

 
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s the green
smoothies.”

I rolled
my eyes. “I highly doubt that, but I’ll take your word for it.”

She
looped her arm in mine as we exited the building and made our way onto the
street. Instantly, my body craved
the
 
air
-conditioning once again. It was hot—probably
the hottest day I’d experienced while in New York City.
Pippy
didn’t seem bothered by the temperature, and since I was the one who resided in
Texas, I didn’t say a word either.

“I
noticed your dad drinks these green concoctions too,” I said, testing the topic
with her.

She
nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, he’s the one who got us hooked, actually.
They’ve done great things for him since…since his diagnosis.” Her smile
remained intact, and her expression was still light, but the hesitancy in her
words hit home.

“I really
enjoyed meeting your parents,
Pippy
. Cody told me
yesterday how much he missed his
New York
family
.”

“Aww…that
is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, squeezing my arm a little
tighter as we continued to walk.

The Ice
Cream Shop was two blocks away. I had never been more grateful for ice cream in
my life as sweat ran down the back of my neck and into my shirt. My long, black
shorts stuck to my legs with each step we took.

“How’s
Caleb?” I asked.

She
smiled, goofily. “Wonderful.”

I
chuckled. “Good.”

“How’s
Jackson?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she asked. I rolled my eyes a tad
before answering. “He’s…a little bit of wonderful as well.”

She
squealed, scaring an old lady who clutched her chest as she passed out table.

“You
loved the yacht, right?”
Pippy
asked.

The
question startled me. “How did-”

“I know
all things,” she gloated, briefly. “Well, I just know his schedule mostly. I’m
the one who arranged for your car service.”

“Oh,
well…thanks. Yes, it was a great night.” I decided to leave out the part where
I lost my most valuable earthly possession. I was trying to keep my mind
off
 
that
depressing
fact.

“Awesome.”

“Have
you…” I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to know the answer to my next question.
“Have you set up many dates for Jackson?”

Pippy
laughed. She tugged open the door to the Ice Cream Shop
and shook her head.

“Ha!—No,
he’s hasn’t really dated since-”

“Since
Livie
?”
I finished.

She
nodded, touching each flavor label on the glass that protected the ice cream
from the heat. It was as if she was waiting for one to speak to her: “Pick me,”
or “I’m the one you’ve been searching for.” The unconscious action was quite
amusing.

Pippy
finally decided after sampling her top five while I
stuck with my old faithful: Cookies n’ Cream. Who could turn down Oreos crushed
into vanilla ice cream?

We sat
inside the tiny parlor at a table that barely held our cups and spoons.
 
“So, they were really…in love?” I asked
,
trying to sound casual about it all…like I was talking
about a dog I saw at the park.

Pippy
looked at me with compassion. Clearly, she fully comprehended
the intent of my question.

“Yes,
they were really in love…but that was years ago.” She pursed her lips before
continuing, “Listen, Angie…you do not need to worry. He’s had a few dates, gone
out with a couple of women since
Livie
…but there has
been no one like you. Not even close.”

“What was
he like—before he came to work at the publishing house?”

Pippy
smiled as if recalling a found memory. “He was…relaxed.
Weird, huh?
I mean, he’s always been annoyingly
brilliant. Even as a young child I knew that much. But since he’s been here…I
don’t know how to describe it, really. He’s just always on alert. He doesn’t
miss anything, and yet, he misses everything at the same time.”

My heart
seized at her keen judgment of him. I nodded in full agreement.

“The day
he showed up at the office, I was working as an assistant to one of the
secretaries. I was a senior in high school, so I had my afternoons free.” She
scraped the inside of her dish, carefully getting every last drop of ice cream
onto her spoon. “But it was really crazy to see him there…my dad was totally
shocked when he walked into the board meeting and Jackson was there, sitting at
the table.”

I
listened intently. “So your dad didn’t ask him to come?”

She shook
her head. “No. He knew Jackson’s dream was to write—he never wanted him to give
that up, not for anything. He was preparing his successor, but Jackson…”

“What?
Then why did he do it? If someone else could take over the company…then why did
he do?”

Pippy
stared into her dish, suddenly quiet.

I
realized then how insensitive I must have been to ask these questions of
her—when her father, who was the former CEO, was at home, dying.

I reached
for her hand. “I’m sorry about your dad,
Pippy
.”

She
looked up, and smiled faintly. “Thanks, Angie,” she said, spooning her last
bite into her mouth. “That topic doesn’t make me uncomfortable—just so you
know. We’re really open about it within our family. We talk about it a lot.”

Why was
Pippy
suddenly so uncomfortable then…if the issue wasn’t about her dad?
I wasn’t
sure, but I wasn’t about to monopolize the conversation again. I cleared my
throat.

“Jackson
said you all decided together—about his treatments?”

She
nodded, a sweet expression gracing her delicate features.

“Yes,”
she said, tucking her short dark hair behind her ear. “I cut all my hair off
when he did his first round. We matched.”

Her eyes
sparkled as she pulled her phone out to show me a picture. Her dark hair was
practically non-existent in the photo, many inches shorter than the pixie-cut
she sported now, but her warm expression of love was the same one she wore now.

 
My heart broke for her…all over again. “And
you’re okay with his choice? No more treatments?”

She
nodded, her lips turning down slightly as she answered. “The treatments made
him so sick, and when he wasn’t sick, he was exhausted. I’m not going to
pretend that the decision wasn’t hard, it was. But watching someone you love be
miserable is really unbearable.”

I
squeezed her hand, feeling my eyes grow damp. “You’re an incredible young
woman,
Pippy
. I am so glad to know you.”

Her smile
spread wide. “I’m so glad to know you too, sis.”

Grinning
together over melted ice cream, I submitted yet another beautiful moment to
memory. There were some people that just couldn’t be replaced…
Pippy
was in a category all by herself.

“So have
I been replaced—is that why I never hear from you these days?”

I rolled
my eyes at Rosie’s dramatics, though I knew she couldn’t see me through the
phone. Some things never change.

“Yep.
As we speak, I’m actually bursting at the seams with
itty-bitty Latino women for best buds,” I joked, slumping down onto the couch
in my temporary apartment.

She
huffed.
“Very funny,
chica
.
The only acceptable replacement would be in the form of Mr.
I’m-a-hot-brooding-CEO.”

I
laughed—hard. “Well, even he couldn’t replace you.”

“Good
answer. So…I want details. I’ve waited long enough.”

I put my
book down on the coffee table in my mini-living room. I filled Rosie in as best
I could. She, of course, had a lot to say. It was strange to talk to her about
Jackson, stranger still that she had never met him. Up until my trip to New
York our lives were very similar. We lived in the same town, knew the same
people, were invested in the same things. The only big difference was the fact
that I had a son—one she had practically adopted as her own.

“I need
to meet this man. Are you sure there are no secret siblings? Another brother
you could throw my direction?”

“Oh,
Rosie—I wouldn’t hold out on you if there were. I promise.”

“Alright.”
She sighed in true Rosie-fashion. “So
what’s
gonna
happen after you come
back? What has he said? Are you going to try and do the whole long-distance
thing until someone gives in and moves?”

I shook
my head, wishing I had that answer. I had hoped that we were going to discuss
the future last night on the yacht, but the search for my necklace had put
quite a damper on such a conversation.

“I wish I
knew,” I said. “I think he feels for me what I feel for him—though he hasn’t
said it yet.”

“Well, of
course he does! Maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment. You said he’s a
writer—they’re usually dramatic.”

I smiled.
I hadn’t told her about the whole Everett Jr. scandal. I wasn’t quite sure if
it was my secret to share. I’d joked with Jackson about what Rosie’s reaction
would be, but hadn’t actually asked him if I could let the cat out of the bag.
When I did—she would flip.

 
“I don’t know. He’s not super-dramatic—but he
is calculating
So
, maybe it’s that. Or maybe he just
really doesn’t know how it’s going to work out between us?” I said, more to
myself than to her.

“You love
him,” she stated.

“Yes. I
love him,” I confirmed for the first time aloud.

She went
quiet. I was beginning to think she had fallen asleep on me—payback for our
last phone conversation.

“Rose?”

She
sniffled. “It’s like a chick-flick.
So romantic.”

Oh golly. She’s crying.

“Well, we
don’t know the ending yet,” I reminded her gently, touched by her love for me.

“Endings
are only as great as the journey that made them.”

“Where
did you hear that?” I asked.

She snorted.
“How do you know that I didn’t just make that up?” I opened my mouth but she
cut me off first. “Fine, I read it in one of the tabloids at the supermarket.”

I shook
my head. Apparently God had given me several irreplaceable people in my life:
those who had wisdom beyond their years, those who wrote brilliant pieces of
literature, and those who could quote tabloids.

After eating a dinner supplied by the convenience store
next to my building, I curled back into bed to finish my book—
finally!
Things had gone from bad to
worse for sweet Reagan. Not only had she nearly died in the front seat of her
car at the hands of a horrible mongrel named Chaz, she was in a no-win game of
blackmail. If she did not destroy some very particular evidence against their
main suspect, she would be dead within twenty-four hours.

And so
would Quinton.

There was
no choice. Her own life she would risk—but not his.

I bit my
nails as I turned each page faster than the next. As she went inside the
precinct to search Quinton’s computer, I was literally sweating.

She leaned over his laptop, and carefully
entered his password, which she had memorized a long time ago. Her hands shook
as she glanced over her shoulder several times. She scrolled through the
pictures they had uploaded earlier that evening. If he submitted them to
evidence, Quinton and she were as good as dead. But he’d been as tired as she
was, and the submission process was tedious. Reagan prayed he’d left the task
for tomorrow.

He had.

Her eyes filled with tears—relief covering
her like a thick, warm blanket. She cradled her left arm against her side,
fairly certain her shoulder was dislocated. She moved quickly, deleting one
picture after the next. She’d lose her job. She’d lose her good reputation. But
she wouldn’t lose him.

She shook her head, correcting herself. The
thugs wouldn’t kill him, but she
would
lose him.