Dear Emily (2 page)

She pretended to study the car while
stealing glances at him through her peripheral vision. Hmmm... Yes,
I see how that black thing attaches to that other black
thing.

The body of an athlete. Muscles that
shifted under a crisp, cotton shirt. Tanned skin that glowed in the
yellow parking lot lights.

“I think you're right,” he said,
breaking her focus.

“Really?”

He stared at her then--really looked at
her for the first time and she hated the butterflies she felt in
her stomach more than anything she'd ever hated. But it was quite
impossible to be unaffected by Jack Harper's good looks.

“Let's jump the battery and see if that
works,” he said.

Amy nodded and retrieved jumper cables
from the trunk. Jack took them from her hands, and his fingers
brushed against hers. She felt tingles spread from her hand through
her body.

Oh, no, no, no. That did not just
happen. She was not moved by a simple touch from Jack Harper of all
people.

She waited by her front bumper while he
jogged to a blue, Ford pickup a few rows down.

It only occurred to her she could have
asked someone from the pub to help her with the battery. But the
only thing worse than someone she kind of knew seeing her at her
lowest point, was someone she actually knew seeing her life in the
back seat of her car.

The pickup rounded the corner and slid
into the spot next to hers. He prepared his car and began
connecting the battery cables. He gave her the thumbs up and his
truck roared to life.

She was thankful he stayed in his truck
during this process. When he thought it had run long enough, he sat
in Amy's car and lo and behold, it started. She could have done
that part, but he'd beat her to it before she realized it was time
to try the ignition.

Her face widened into a smile, a real
genuine smile, making her face muscles hurt. “Thank you,” she said,
over the sound of the car.

He smiled back at her.

She and Jack Harper were smiling at
each other for seconds.

Seconds.

She undid the cabling and returned them
to the trunk for another unknown date when her car would surely
crap-out on her again. He, however, remained seated in the driver's
seat of her car.

“It's late. How far is your drive? You
should try to drive it for thirty minutes if you want it to keep
the charge.”

“Okay. I'll drive around until I stop
somewhere,” said Amy, realizing too late she should have said the
word home and not somewhere.

His eyes quickly surveyed the back
seat.

A small bookshelf.

A lamp.

Suitcase.

Clothes that didn't make it in the
suitcase.

“What's this?” He held the notice Amy
stupidly left on the passenger seat. His eyebrows shot up to the
top of his head. “Evicted?”

She shrugged. “That's what the paper
says.”

His lips pursed in annoyance as he
rubbed his face with his hand before circling around to grip the
back of his neck. “Are you going to stay with a friend?”

“That's none of your
business.”

“Where are you headed, Amy?”

“A motel. I'll figure things out
tomorrow. Thank you for your help, but you can go now. You've
performed your not-so-random act of kindness for today.”

He leaned his head forward and rubbed
at his neck some more before stopping. One... Two... Three... His
eyes snapped up to hers. “Follow me to my apartment.”

“No.” She had to get out of there. She
shouldn't even consider going with him, but she was.

“It's two blocks away.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“You can stay there tonight and figure
things out tomorrow. It's late. You can't go to a motel.” He was
frustrated with her now and his upper body was tense with
it.

“Jack, you're getting out of my car
right now.”

“Amy, please. For the love of God, let
me do this. Let me help you.” His eyes were pleading. They said
even more than the sharp sound of his voice.

Caught at the moment when Jack needed
to save her so he could feel better, and Amy needing a bailout, she
conceded with a quick nod of her chin.

“I don't trust you, or this car.” He
handed her the keys to his own vehicle. “Follow me in my
truck.”

“Fine.” She attributed her acquiescence
to stress and fatigue.

Amy scrambled up into the cab of Jack's
truck. The controls seemed too far out of her reach. The gear stick
felt like the wheel of fortune.

The leather interior was both tan and
worn like a baseball glove. Nothing was out of place; nothing hung
from the rearview mirror. A wooden case of tomatoes sat on the
passenger floor.

The weight of the truck carried her
forward as she followed her own car to an apartment complex a few
streets down.

Jack signaled for her to park in a spot
she assumed was assigned to him. She turned the key toward her and
the metal beast quieted beneath her. Jack parked her car in a
visitor's spot close by and jogged back over to meet
her.

She should have left.

“I'm not returning your keys until
morning,” he said.

She smiled. “Am I that easy to
read?”

“You've got a certain flighty look at
the moment, yeah.”

“This is...”

“Weird.” He nodded and retrieved the
tomatoes from the truck.

“Well, unlock my car door for me, key
master. I need my bag.”

She could have put up a fight. She
could have caused a scene. But the fight was gone from every cell
in her body. They retrieved the bag and ascended two flights of
stairs to an apartment.

Amy spent the better part of four years
thinking about Jack Harper. Thinking about Emily.

Years passed since the newspapers
stopped the human-interest stories on the eighteen-year-old
overachiever that lost her life on the back roads of Hailey County.
The once lush bouquets of flowers that marked the crash site were
nothing but weeds.

And there was Amy, in Jack Harper's
home.

The two-bedroom, two baths layout was
standard for every other apartment complex in town. The place was
neat with little decoration and furnished with comfortable
furniture.

“You can stay in that room.” He pointed
across the living room with a flick of his chin as he busied
himself in the kitchen. “My roommate is gone for the semester.
You're more than welcome to shower. Clean towels are in the
cabinet.”

A shower sounded incredible. Anything
to get away from Jack Harper. She didn't like one bit that he was
so handsome, or that he'd been her knight in shining armor or the
way a simple look or a brief touch made her breath
catch.

Amy was already messed up. She didn't
need Jack Harper to make things any worse. But a shower, she would
accept.

She supposed showering in a stranger's
shower was no different than showering in a hotel so she would try
not to dwell on her current situation. The bathroom was clean; she
could be thankful for that. There was no conditioner; she could
almost live with that. She could also live with the men's body wash
leaving her smelling like a tree-shaped, car air
freshener.

God, she wanted to leave. But she
couldn't sneak out in the middle of the night even if she did have
her keys. But what did she owe this man?

Her gratitude for his
kindness.

Even if it came from misplaced guilt,
and there was no doubt in her mind it did, it couldn't be easy for
him to be around her.

Amy would think he were older than
twenty-three if she didn't know any better. But, she did know
better. Jack's features had been hardened by something over these
few years. Sun-kissed, golden skin and strong, calloused hands told
her he spent a lot of time outside. Doing what?

He waited for her with his forearms
resting on the kitchen bar. There were two cups in front of him. As
she neared the bar, he pushed one of the cups toward
her.

It was two a.m.

There was cinnamon sprinkled on the top
of a frothy cappuccino.

“Thank you for asking me to stay here
tonight. It's better than a motel.” She placed her palms on either
side of the cup and met his gaze.

“You're welcome.” He nodded his head
and drank from his cup first.

Amy's insides buzzed and warmed as the
earthy coffee, brown sugar, and milk soothed her weary
brain.

“You don't owe me anything, Jack.” As
good of an icebreaker as she was going to find. It was either that
or a long series of questions about coffee.

“Let's not talk about that right now.
Let's talk about you,” he insisted.

“I don't want to talk about me.” Coffee
beans. Roasting. Caffeine content. She could keep this up all
night.

“My first question, is why you haven't
spoken to your parents?”

“Maybe I have.”

He eyed her skeptically. They both knew
Phil and Dianne Knight would never allow their daughter to waitress
in a sports bar, much less live out of her car.

“Did you make this yourself?” The
coffee was better than anything she'd ever purchased at a coffee
shop.

He placed his palms flat on the
counter. The muscles and tendons in his arms twitched as he watched
her down about a third of the cappuccino in one gulp.

“Your parents?” He pressed.

She could ask him for her keys and
leave. But this was so much better than a crappy motel. She was
surprised it was this easy to be around him.

Okay, it wasn't easy, more like not
horribly awful. If she were the type of person to say things were
surreal, she would say it was surreal to be with Jack Harper,
having gourmet coffee at two in the morning. She closed her eyes
briefly. He was a good man from a good family. Her sister's death
did not change those facts.

She stared back at him with her mouth
in a tight line.

“I have a good machine,” he
said.

“A good machine for what?”

“For making coffee.”

She took another sip and closed her
eyes again in delight. “What's with the tomatoes? Who carries a
case of tomatoes around with them?”

“I grew them.”

“Oh,” she said. “Did you know my
parents before the accident?” She hoped this question would make
him uncomfortable. Maybe even stop his probing
questions.

“No, but I knew of them. They were
active in the school and did a lot for the community.”

That's what most people would say about
her parents and it was true. They were very involved in the
community, or, at least, they used to be before the
accident.

“I lost my scholarship last semester. I
couldn't keep the grades up.”

He nodded. “And you haven't told
them.”

“Right.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “They're different,
since...”

“Since the accident,” he
said.

“She was perfect,” Amy said, allowing
the unsaid words to hang in the air between them. Like a negative
to her positive, Emily was perfect and Amy was not. She'd never had
to be. Not when Emily was so darn good at it.

“I'm supposed to honor her memory and
follow her path. Except I'm failing the classes you need to get
into pre-med., I'm doing a rotten job of this school thing. But I
can't tell them because my mom would lose it and you know what's
worse than all of that? Their disappointment. There is nothing
worse than your parents' disappointment.”

Jack winced at her words.

“Shit, Jack. I'm sorry.” She took a
quick breath and did a few quick shakes of her head. “It wasn't
your fault. None of this is your fault. I'm not your fault. Life is
a pain in varying degrees for everyone. We got one of the short
sticks.”

That was the most Amy had ever spoken
to someone about her parents since... well, probably since
Emily.

Jack rinsed their cups in the sink
before leaving them in the dishwasher.

“I am sorry,” Amy continued. “I didn't
mean to dump all that on you.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “My
roommate will be gone for another four months. You can stay here
for free until you get things together.”

“Jack, I can't do that for so many
reasons. The most universally normal reason being that I can't
impose on someone.” There was no need to mention the elephant in
the room.

“I know you think I'm trying to make up
for what happened to your sister...”

“You are trying to make up for what
happened to my sister. Let's not pretend.”

And there was the elephant.

“But I would help anyone I knew if I
saw them in need.”