“They don’t matter now. When Melissa falsely claimed to be pregnant, I couldn’t stand it anymore. There was no way I would stay with such a conniving woman another minute when she pulled out the pregnancy claim to the press. That’s not the last of it, Bertie. I have to tell you everything she did to keep us apart.”
Roberta had faltered, weak-kneed at the word “pregnant,” but she roused to hear what more Taylor had to say. “What did she do?”
“It’s a long story. But before I tell you, I need to feel you in my arms again. Please, Bertie?”
Roberta hesitated as her mind, and her heart gave opposite directives. As Taylor walked forward, her heart won the battle, and she held open her arms. His arms encircled her, squeezed her to him, and didn’t let go. He whispered in her ear, “I have dreamed of this moment the entire six hours it has taken me to get here.”
As the hug broke, she held on to him still, looking into his eyes, looking for the love she once thought she saw there. Her heart leaped to see it burning clearly in his steady gaze. Roberta pulled him back to her, crushing her lips to his with a hunger that curled her toes. Minutes later, Taylor broke off the kiss. “I have to tell you what’s happened.”
Overturning another weed bucket beside Roberta’s, they sat hand in hand by the fire, and he told her all his mother had revealed. How Melissa had garnered his mother’s cooperation with a promise of a grandchild. How she had been the person who called to report the water problem with her house. And she had hired some thugs to perpetrate the dognapping. How she commanded his mother to call about the non-existent urgent screen test in LA. How she had his mother steal his cell phone to call Roberta for the ransom.
Roberta’s heart leaped in her chest. “S-so it really wasn’t you. I didn’t want to believe you had anything to do with the dognapping, even though the ransom call had your phone number.”
“No, it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t you who called me either.” He squeezed her hand. Then he continued with the story. Melissa’s thugs had stolen Roberta’s cell phone at the warehouse after knocking her out, and Melissa had used it to lure him to the restaurant. He described the meeting with her at the restaurant with the press and the blackmail photos. And the last straw was the claim of pregnancy on the red carpet in front of the media.
Well over an hour later, with the fire burning low, Taylor concluded his story.
“So, that’s what she did. We’ve been pawns in Melissa’s scheme. The Melville police have warrants out for her arrest on several charges, so if she shows up in Pennsylvania again, she’ll be picked up for her crimes.”
Roberta’s head reeled with the facts. The woman’s diabolical scheme had been heinous on so many fronts. Red, hot spears of anger had shot through her chest at the telling of Melissa’s involvement with the dognapping. At last, she had a name and a face responsible for stealing her fur babies, even if some thugs had been hired to do the dirty work. She would see what she could have Melissa charged with and sue for the refund of her money. “I hope they catch her soon.”
Taylor pulled her on his lap, hugging her close. “Don’t worry. She’ll get what’s coming to her.”
Snuggling against Taylor’s chest, the chill of the night closed in around them despite his warmth. Silence cloaked them, punctuated by the sounds of the night creatures. Katydids and crickets sang in a chorus.
Taylor suddenly sat up straight, almost knocking Roberta off his lap, and looked at Roberta with wide eyes. “Hey, you’re near a fire! What happened?”
“I’m confronting my PTSD and de-cluttering. It was to be a cathartic moment in more ways than one.”
“You made the fire yourself?”
She nodded, smiling.
He gave her a squeeze. They sat silent again a few moments before Taylor interrupted the insect chorus again. “The fire’s going to go out. I’ll find more wood.”
Roberta stood. “I’m not burning wood.”
“What are you burning?” he stood, hands on his hips, looking around for more logs.
“Manuscripts.”
His eyes popped wide open, and his voice rose. “What! Please tell me you’re joking.”
Shaking her head, a twisted smile on her face, she said, “No joke. I’ve given up on writing. I’m no good. And I’m tired of having all those manuscripts hanging around collecting dust.”
“Oh Roberta,” he cried, “God, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. I have something for you. Please tell me you didn’t burn everything.” He jumped up and ran to the car. Returning, he handed her a large envelope, then sat down beside her.
Roberta looked inside the already opened envelope. “It’s been opened.”
He nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead. It came addressed to me, but it’s for you.”
She slid out the contents. Relief swept through her as her missing manuscript fell into her hands. She stared up at him, willing him to say something while praying he said nothing. The sinking in her solar plexus intensified as he remained silent. The longer he waited to say anything, the more she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.
“What happens next?” he asked. His eyes held hers, waiting for an answer.
“I can print you the next fifty pages,” Roberta said. An ache started in her jaw, threatening to stretch across her forehead and down along the base of her skull unless he told her soon, flat out.
“No, Bertie, tell me what happens until the end.”