Message in a Bottle (27 page)

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s not in my contract, for starters. Besides, I have to do a lot more than sit at my computer and write. Often, I have to interview people, so there’s time involved in that—sometimes even a little travel. Plus, there’s all the research I have to do, especially when I write about medical or psychological issues, and when I’m in the office, I have access to a lot more sources. And then there’s the fact that I need a place where I can be reached. A lot of the stuff I do is human interest, and I get calls from people all day long. If I worked out of my home, I know a lot of people would call in the evenings when I’m spending time with Kevin, and I’m not willing to give up my time with him.”

“Do you get calls at home now?”

“Occasionally. But my number isn’t listed, so not all that often.”

“Do you get a lot of crazy calls?”

She nodded. “I think all columnists do. A lot of people call the paper with stories they want printed. I get calls about people who are locked up in prison who shouldn’t be, I get calls about city services and how the garbage isn’t being picked up on time. I get calls about street crime. It seems like I’ve gotten calls about everything.”

“I thought you said you write about parenting.”

“I do.”

“Then why would they call you? Why don’t they call someone else?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure they do, but it still doesn’t stop them from calling me. A lot of people begin their calls with, ‘No one else will listen to me and you’re my last hope.’ ” She glanced at him before going on. “I guess they think I’ll be able to do something about their problems.”

“Why?”

“Well, columnists are different from other newspaper writers. Most things printed in the newspaper are impersonal—straightforward reporting, facts and figures, and the like. But if people read my column every day, I guess they think they know me. They begin to see me as a friend of sorts. And people look to their friends to help them out when they need it.”

“It must put you in an awkward position sometimes.”

She shrugged. “It does, but I try not to think about it. Besides, there are good parts about my job, too—giving information that people can use, keeping up with the latest medical data and spelling it out in laymen’s terms, even sharing lighthearted stories just to make the day a little easier.”

Garrett stopped at a sidewalk store selling fresh fruit. He picked out a couple of apples from the bin, then handed one to Theresa.

“What’s the most popular thing you’ve ever written about in your column?” he asked.

Theresa felt her breath catch. The most popular? Easy—I found a message in a bottle once, and I got a couple of hundred letters.

She forced herself to think of something else. “Oh . . . I get a lot of letters when I write about teaching disabled children,” she said finally.

“That must be rewarding,” he said, paying the shopkeeper.

“It is.”

Before taking a bite of his apple, Garrett asked: “Could you still write your column even if you changed papers?”

She considered the question. “It would be hard to do, especially if I want to continue to syndicate. Since I’m so new and still establishing my name, having the Boston Times behind me really helps. Why?”

“Just curious,” he said quietly.

*  *  *

The next morning Theresa went into work for a few hours but was home for the day a little after lunchtime. They spent the afternoon at the Boston Commons, where they ate a picnic lunch. Their lunch was interrupted twice by people who recognized her from her picture in the paper, and Garrett realized that Theresa was actually more well-known than he had thought.

“I didn’t know you were such a celebrity,” he said wryly after the second person walked away.

“I’m not really a celebrity. It’s just that my picture appears above my column, so people know what I look like.”

“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

“Not really. Maybe a few times a week.”

“That’s a lot,” he said, surprised.

She shook her head. “Not when you consider real celebrities. They can’t even go to the store without someone taking their picture. I pretty much lead a normal life.”

“But it still must be odd to have total strangers coming up to you.”

“Actually, it’s kind of flattering. Most people are very nice about it.”

“Either way, I’m glad I didn’t know you were so famous right off the bat.”

“Why?”

“I might have been too intimidated to ask you to go sailing.”

She reached over and took his hand. “I can’t imagine you being intimidated about anything.”

“Then you don’t know me very well.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Would you really have been intimidated?” she asked sheepishly.

“Probably.”

“Why?”

“I guess I’d wonder what someone like you could possibly see in me.”

She leaned over to kiss him. “I’ll tell you what I see. I see the man that I love, the man who makes me happy . . . someone I want to continue to see for a long time.”

“How come you always know just what to say?”

“Because,” she said quietly, “I know more about you than you would ever suspect.”

“Such as?”

A lazy smile played over her lips. “For instance, I know you want me to kiss you again.”

“I do?”

“Absolutely.”

And she was right.

*  *  *

Later that evening Garrett said, “You know, Theresa, I can’t find a single thing wrong with you.”

They were in the tub together, surrounded by mountains of bubbles, Theresa leaning against his chest. He used a sponge to wash her skin as he spoke.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked curiously, turning her head to look at him.

“Just what I said. I can’t find a single thing wrong with you. I mean, you’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect, Garrett,” she said, pleased nonetheless.

“But you are. You’re beautiful, you’re kind, you make me laugh, you’re intelligent, and you’re a great mother as well. Toss in the fact that you’re famous, and I don’t think there’s anyone who can measure up to you.”

She caressed his arm, relaxing against him. “I think you see me through rose-colored glasses. But I like it. . . .”

“Are you saying I’m biased?”

“No—but you’ve only seen my good side so far.”

“I didn’t know you had another side to you,” he said, squeezing both of her arms simultaneously. “Both sides feel pretty good right now.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean. You haven’t seen my dark side yet.”

“You don’t have a dark side.”

“Sure I do. Everyone does. It’s just that when you’re around, it likes to keep itself hidden.”

“So, how would you describe your dark side?”

She thought for a moment. “Well, for starters, I’m stubborn, and I can get mean when I’m angry. I tend to lash out and say the first thing that pops in my head, and believe me, it’s not pretty. I also have a tendency to tell others exactly what I’m thinking, even when I know it would be best just to walk away.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You haven’t been on the receiving end yet.”

“It still doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Well . . . let me put it this way. When I first confronted David about the affair, I called him some of the worst names in the English language.”

“He deserved it.”

“But I’m not sure he deserved to have a vase thrown at him.”

“Did you do that?”

She nodded. “You should have seen the look on his face. He’d never seen me like that before.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing—I think he was too shocked to do anything. Especially when I started in with the plates. I cleaned out most of the cupboard that night.”

He grinned in admiration. “I didn’t know you were so feisty.”

“It’s my midwest upbringing. Don’t mess with me, buster.”

“I won’t.”

“That’s good. I’m much more accurate these days.”

“I’ll remember that.”

They sank deeper into the warm water. Garrett continued to move the sponge over her body.

“I still think you’re perfect,” he said softly.

She closed her eyes. “Even with my dark side?” she asked.

“Especially with your dark side. It adds an element of excitement.”

“I’m glad, because I think you’re pretty perfect yourself.”

*  *  *

The rest of their vacation flew by. In the mornings Theresa would go into work for a few hours, then come home and spend the afternoons and evenings with Garrett. In the evenings they would either order something in or head to one of the many small restaurants near her apartment. Sometimes they rented a movie to watch afterward, but usually they preferred to spend their time without other distractions.

On Friday night Kevin called from the soccer camp. Excitedly he explained that he’d made the all-star team. Though it meant more games would be played outside of Boston and they’d have to travel most weekends, Theresa was happy for him. Then, surprising her, Kevin asked to speak to Garrett. Garrett listened as he described what had happened that week and congratulated him. After hanging up, Theresa opened a bottle of wine and the two of them celebrated Kevin’s good fortune until the early morning hours.

On Sunday morning—the day he was leaving—they had brunch with Deanna and Brian. Garrett saw immediately what Theresa loved about Deanna. She was both charming and amusing, and Garrett found himself laughing throughout his meal. Deanna asked him about diving and sailing, while Brian speculated that if he owned his own business, he’d never get anything done because golf would simply take over his life.

Theresa was pleased that they seemed to get along so well. Excusing themselves after they’d eaten, Deanna and Theresa headed together into the bathroom to chat.

“So, what do you think?” Theresa asked expectantly.

“He’s great,” Deanna admitted. “He’s even better looking than he was in the pictures you brought back.”

“I know. My heart skips a beat whenever I look at him.”

Deanna primped her hair, doing her best to add a little body to it. “Did your week turn out as well as you hoped?”

“Even better.”

Deanna beamed. “I could tell by the way he was looking at you that he really cares about you, too. The way you two act together reminds me of Brian and me. You seem like a good match.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Deanna took some lipstick out of her purse and began to apply it. “So, how did he like Boston?” she asked offhandedly.

Theresa took out her own lipstick as well. “It’s not what he’s used to, but he seemed to have enjoyed himself. We went to a lot of fun places.”

“Did he say anything in particular?”

“No . . . why?” She looked at Deanna curiously.

“Because,” Deanna answered evenly, “I was just wondering if he’d said anything that might make you think he’d move here if you asked him to.”

Her comment made Theresa think about something she’d been avoiding.

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” she said finally.

“Were you planning to?”

The distance between us is a problem, but there’s still something else, isn’t there? she heard a voice inside her whisper.

Not wanting to think about it, she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s the right time—at least not yet.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I mean—I know we have to talk about it sometime, but I don’t think we’ve known each other long enough to start making decisions about the future. We’re still getting to know each other.”

Deanna eyed her with motherly suspicion. “But you’ve known him long enough to fall in love with him, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Theresa conceded.

“Then you know that this decision is coming, whether you want to face it or not.”

It took a moment for her to answer. “I know.”

Deanna put her hand on Theresa’s shoulder. “What if it comes down to losing him or leaving Boston?”

Theresa pondered the question and its implications. “I’m not sure,” she said quietly, and looked at Deanna uncertainly.

“Can I give you some advice?” Deanna asked.

Theresa nodded. Deanna led her out of the bathroom by the arm, leaning toward Theresa’s ear so that no one could overhear them.

“Whatever you decide to do, remember that you have to be able to go forward in life without looking back. If you’re sure that Garrett can give you the kind of love you need and that you’ll be happy, then you have to do whatever it takes to keep him. True love is rare, and it’s the only thing that gives life real meaning.”

“But doesn’t the same thing apply to him? Shouldn’t he be willing to sacrifice as well?”

“Of course.”

“Then where does that leave me?”

“It leaves you with the same problem you had before, Theresa—one that you’re definitely going to have to think about.”

*  *  *

Over the next two months, their long-distance relationship began to evolve in a way that neither Theresa nor Garrett expected though both should have foreseen.

Working around each other’s schedules, they were able to get together three more times, each time for a weekend. Once, Theresa flew down to Wilmington so they could be alone, and they spent their time holed up in Garrett’s house, except for an evening they spent sailing. Garrett traveled to Boston twice, spending much of his time on the road for Kevin’s soccer tournaments, though he hadn’t minded. They were the first soccer games he’d ever attended, and he found himself caught up in the action more than he thought he would.

“How come you’re not as excited as I am?” he’d asked Theresa during one particularly frenzied moment on the field.

“Why don’t you wait until you’ve seen a few hundred games, and then I’m sure you could answer your own question,” she’d replied playfully.

When they were together during those weekends, it was as if nothing else mattered in the world. Usually Kevin would spend one of the nights at a friend’s house so they could be alone, at least for a little while. They spent hours talking and laughing, holding each other close, and making love, trying to make up for weeks spent apart. Yet neither of them broached the subject of what was going to happen to their relationship in the future. They lived moment to moment, neither of them exactly sure of what to expect from the other. Not that they weren’t in love. Of that, at least, they were certain.