Chapter 10
Not my characters. No profit.
Carol, I know this one was a bear because it's so long!
Thanks so much for the incredible way you beta for me. Sharing our ideas and opinions is great fun, and you are the best.
This is really long. I thought about dividing it but to those of you who like long chapters. This is for you!
Steph POV
My stomach was a jumble of nerves. I'd showered, shaved my legs, washed my hair twice and now needed to find a way to feel confident without applying a hundred layers of mascara. Whenever my hand touched the mascara tube, I felt Joe holding me tenderly and washing off the disguise I'd hidden behind. He'd forced me to look at myself—really look. He'd been so gentle, sweet and loving. How—after everything I'd done to him—had he been so patient and understanding with me? What man would give compliments and encouragement after having been so horribly wronged and totally betrayed? He'd given me so much to think about, and not a day had gone by that I hadn't done a little more soul-searching.
After hearing that Joe was having trouble facing his world without me, I knew it was my turn to help him. I'd do anything to take away the pain I'd inflicted upon him even though it was going to be heart wrenching to see him again. I knew I'd want to throw myself into his arms and never let him go, however, I also knew I couldn't disrespect his wish that we stay apart. For once I had to let my feelings go in deference to his. I had to be there for him, yes, but I also needed to keep his needs above my own. There had to be a way to accomplish both at the same time.
Trying to decide what to wear, I tossed so much of my clothing on the bed my closet was almost empty. What in the heck did one wear to an ex-boyfriend's house to persuade him to go back to work?
Ex- boyfriend.
The idea stopped me in my tracks. Boyfriend had never been a good enough word to describe what Joe Morelli meant to me, and I'd hated using the word during our entire relationship when he'd meant so much more. I could never find the right word to describe him.
Husband would have been perfect. Husband would have made him mine forever. Husband would have encompassed everything he was to me—my partner, my friend, my ally, my protector, my bantering companion, my lover and my life.
Now I would never have the right to use the ideal word—the one that would finally have signified what he meant to me.
After riffling through about twenty outfit possibilities, I settled on the real me—jeans with an emerald green V-necked t-shirt that Joe had loved, due to its excellent cleavage-viewing potential. I had no false hope my attire would change anything between us, but I figured it couldn't hurt either.
I stopped at the grocery store on my way to his house, picking up all his most favorite deli items. Grabbing my big black bag and the two sacks of groceries from the car, I immediately saw that all the gossip had been true. There was a trail of mail spilling out of the box onto the small cement porch, and at least two weeks worth of newspapers had accumulated, now scattered all over the front lawn. Joe loved to read the sports section first thing every morning, so it wasn't a good sign to see them sitting there unopened and unread.
I knocked on the door, waiting a minute to no answer. Repeating this procedure three more times to no avail, I leveraged the groceries to the floor of the porch and searched for my key. A ping of pain zinged through my heart when the key no longer fit the lock. I was the only reason he'd had for changing the lock.
Maybe this was a mistake. What if he'd hate me coming anywhere near him. I wondered if I should just turn around and go home, but I couldn't. Something inside me had to see him—to see for myself if he was okay. If Joe didn't want to see me, well too damn bad!
I pounded harder on the door and raised my voice to a shrewish scream. The neighborhood would be buzzing about it in a matter of minutes, but I didn't care. I pounded harder and yelled louder.
Finally after what seemed like ages, the door opened a tiny crack. "Go away!" Joe's husky, boozy-laden voice called out to me, but I couldn't see even see a trace of him.
"Joseph Anthony Morelli, let me in this instant!" I ordered firmly. He opened the door a little more. I could see his bloodshot eyes and his bristly, scraggly beard.
He was looking at me as if he was seeing an apparition. "Well there you are again! I knew after finishing that last bottle, I'd see you!" His eyes rolled back in his head. "You look almost real this time!"
"I am real, Joe. Now let me in." I tried to pull open the screen door but the damn thing was locked too.
"Oh nooooo…you're not!" I heard his garbled voice and saw his body weave back and forth uncontrollably. I also saw the source of his wayward behavior. He held an almost-full whiskey bottle tightly in his hand. Bob ran toward the screen howling woefully when he saw me still stuck on the wrong side of the door.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I'd never seen Joe in such disarray.
"I want to get back to my bottle. You go away now, Step-a- knee!" he ordered me as he attempted to close the door. Bob jumped up, as if on cue, hitting at the screen with his paws and preventing Morelli from closing the door. He cried plaintively, staring eagerly up at me while on his hind legs.
"Down, boy!" Morelli ordered the mangy mutt. His eyes rolled a little further into his head as he looked through the screen. "She's not reallllllllllly here. We're just magining her again."
I was more determined than ever to get into the house. Joe definitely needed me. Big Dog, Carl and Eddie had been right to be concerned. I doubted he had left the back door open since he seemed to have created a fortress for himself, but I had to try it. My stomach somersaulted with burgeoning worry about Joe.
Stepping down off the porch, I headed to the backyard. I could hear Morelli still talking to Bob. "See, Bub, I told you she's not zeally here." Bob answered back, barking repeatedly that I was indeed there.
I tried the back door, and sure enough it was locked. There was only one window in the house that was impossible to lock, and it was on the second floor in the guest bedroom. I'd always been a natural climber, having had a lot of practice sneaking in and out of my parent's house when I'd been grounded.
Thanking God for my sneaky skills, I shimmied up the tree outside the blessed window—grateful I'd chosen the jeans. I pushed up hard on the pane, and presto I was in the house. I'd already made my way down the stairs to the living room by the time Joe had the front door closed and locked.
I saw him look back at the door, then at the stairs and then he closed and opened his eyes doing one last double take.
"Ah Shit!" he mumbled.
Raising his beloved bottle to his lips, he managed to pour most of it down the front of his wrinkled t-shirt.
"Damn bottle, they don't make the damn mouth big enough!" he grumbled to himself. "Now slook what you did!" He looked at me, pointing the bottle in my direction and firmly placing the blame where it belonged.
I decided feeding him and making coffee would be my first priority. I quickly unlocked the front door and decided to keep the screen propped open by my body so Joe wouldn't be able to get the impulse to shut it on me. Rescuing both bags of groceries and my skip bag in one hand, I quickly made my way back inside, stepping carefully over a trail of debris. There was quite a mixture of take out boxes and leftover uneaten food, along with empty whiskey bottles strewn on the countertops and the floor. I took the groceries and set them on the kitchen counter. I then poured water into the coffee maker and added a filter filled with fresh coffee grounds.
Bob apparently had no doubt I was real because he bounded over to me, wagging his tail happily and lapping at me with his tongue. He finally relaxed on his laurels with a big doggie grin, and I knelt on the floor to pet him.
"What a good boy. I've missed you too. Yes, I have. You're such a good boy!" He answered me with more slobbery, licking affection.
I looked up to see Morelli shaking a finger admonishingly in Bob's direction.
"Bob, you are delusional. She's not here. She's not coming back. She's toast!" He laughed sardonically. "She's toast, and she's supposed to buy the bread—or am I? I can't remember."
He scratched his head, obviously perplexed. "Who needs the damn bread anyway? Funny, huh!" He weaved over to the couch and planted his inebriated body down with a loud plop.
I went about fixing him a turkey sandwich the way he liked it with mayo, mustard, cheese and just a dash of ketchup. I heard funny, humming noises coming from the living room, so I decided to investigate. Morelli had never been much of a singer, but he was giving it the old drunken try. I don't think I'd ever heard a more soulful rendition of "Mac Authur Park". Of course he was making up his own strange lyrics as he was singing, and apparently he only knew the chorus.
"My heart is melting in the dark. All my cupcake's life is over now. Someone took my Cupcake, and I can't cry, but I feel like I might just wanna die. Cuz my heart is melting in the dark. All the green icing is sliding down. And I don't think that I can take it. Cuz it took too long to bake it, and I'll never have that recipe again…"
He jumped at the sight of me as if he was surprised to have an audience. "Stupid song. What the hell does it even mean?" He slid down on the couch, trying to prop up his feet, but they hung over the end of couch by about a foot. He managed to hold his bottle of whiskey upright, but he looked extremely uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he draped the bottle-free arm over his forehead.
I walked over closer to survey the damage. He was wearing the t-shirt I'd given him shortly after we'd started seeing each other. It was one of his favorites—totally threadbare now because he'd worn it so much. A pair of raggedy cut off jeans accompanied the shirt. As usual he needed a haircut only instead of being one month past due it was more like two.
He opened one eye, suspiciously gazing up at me like a drunken pirate. "Why don't you just disappear? That's what you do best!" he yelled out, still oblivious to the fact I was real.
"Joe, it's me, Steph. I am really here."
"NO! No! No. She doesn't live here anymore. She never really did, you know! She was in and out like a thief in a burglary! She liked to wear masks like a little raccoon, and she liked to hang out with the guys in black. So now she's gone," he informed me, waving the bottle to show my "exited-stage-left" status.
"Do you miss her?" I asked, wondering if he would admit it.
"Nah—just every time I breathe."
"She misses you too." I felt tears threatening.
"She used to be my Cupcake. You know, you kind of look like her, except you're not really here, and there's like six of you—or maybe five." He squinted and showed me three then four fingers, as if he couldn't decide which. "Well way more than I usually see. Usually I just see the one," Morelli informed me, nodding his head with a confused laugh.
"That's good." One of my eyes betrayed me, and a single tear escaped.
"Yeah, believe me, ONE of her is enough! She used to be my Cupcake, you know. Cuz when we made love the first time, she had a cupcake on her breast—chocolate—my favorite. Do you know about my Cupcake?" he asked. His weary eyes, accompanied by his head tilted to the side, made him look like a sad, curious puppy.
"Yes, I know."
"Ohhhh, that's too bad. She's not my Cupcake anymore— did you know that? I can't even call her that anymore, I have to call her somthin' else."
I couldn't resist asking. "So what do you call her now?"
"My… Brussel Sprout!" he yelled emphatically.
Laughter was mixing with my tears. I'd never seen Joe this inebriated or adorably vulnerable. I wanted so badly to hold him in my arms and push the unruly curls back from his forehead. "Why a Brussel Sprout? That's a long way from a Cupcake." I questioned him lightly.
"You're damn right!" He agreed, nodding drunkenly. "I loved my Cupcake, but now she's a brussel sprout, cuz I HATE those!" His eyebrows rose, and then lowered sadly.
"You hate her?" I felt the lead shrapnel hitting my gut.
"YEAH! Of course I do. She's been a bery, bery naughty Cupcake! You know her?" he asked, totally pie-eyed.
"Yes, I do."
"Well then you know she's in love with a Stove…or a Superzero…Ranger! Deranged is more like it! It's a stupid, stupid name, right?" he asked, and his little-boy-like innocence touched me. I watched as he took another long swig from the bottle.
"Yes, very stupid," I agreed. Reaching for the bottle, I gently tugged it out of his hands.
"BABE!" he drawled the word out with loathing. "That's what he calls her all the time. I think she likes it. But what is she to him—a storybook pig? What the hell does she see in that guy!"
I had to play keep-away with the bottle as Morelli tried repeatedly to filch it, getting increasingly aggravated when his efforts to swipe at air were in vain. Giving me one of his "knock-it-off" looks, he stood and staggered a bit. I turned and walked toward the kitchen, and he followed me—probably hoping I'd change my mind about the bottle.
"Hey, give that back! I'm not finished. You gotta finish the bottle otherwise people go thirsty in foreign countries. Don't you know that?" he asked inquisitively.
"This isn't going to quench your thirst." I responded, taking it to the sink and pouring the remainder down the drain.
"Nope," he agreed morosely. "She's the only one who can do that."
I turned from the sink to face him, hearing the wistful sadness. I hoped to God it was true. If he would give me a chance, I'd make everything right between us again.
He stumbled to the fridge and took out a beer. I promptly wrestled it from his intoxicated fingers and poured it down the sink as well.
"Hey, you're not nice! No wonder you look like Stephanie—my little Cake. Did you know you can't have your Cake and eat it too? I found that out. You're better off without cake." He shook his head sullenly.
"Really? Is that so."
"Yep, that's so," he agreed, nodding emphatically. He leaned his head tiredly against the kitchen wall as though it was the comforting breast of his mother.
"Joe, you need to sit down and have some coffee and something to eat."
"NOPE! I gave up food for Lent."
"Joe, it's not Lent."
"Okay, well I think food is highly over-rated. It keeps you from being drunk."
"Yeah," I nodded back, deciding it was high time to get some food and coffee into him. I put the finishing touches on his turkey sandwich.
"Here—sit down."
"I can't eat. I think I'm going to be sick." He wobbled toward the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. I heard the click of the lock. Shit!
"Joe, are you okay?"
"Go away! Who are you anyway?"
"I'm your worst nightmare." I decided if I had to break the damn door down I would. He was used to strong, threatening women, so I'd try that first. "Come out and have something to eat, or I'll call your Mom and Grandma Bella. By the way you're acting, Bella will definitely put the eye on you!"
"Geesh!" He opened the door. "Get a grip—I'm coming. You sure are bossy!"
"You sure are drunk!" I swiped back at him.
"Damn tootin," he agreed. "And I plan to stay this way for a long, long, time."
"You're going to lose your job!"
"I hate it! I see dead people all the time." He cut an imaginary knife across his throat.
"I know."
I felt so bad for him. I'd seen his disillusioned cop face too many times. I'd watched him stumble out of bed in the middle of the night to face another grizzly crime scene. It broke my heart to see how exhausted he'd become from facing it all on a daily basis.
"It's hard to do that every single day, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Dead, dead people all the time," he echoed. "And I don't think I'm dead. Am I? Sometimes I'm not sure anymore."
"Don't worry, you're alive."
"It doesn't make any difference anymore. Dead or alive, I'm still dead inside." The disillusionment in his eyes hurt my heart.
"You're very much alive, Joe."
"If you say so, but I know I'm dead." He used his fingers as an imaginary gun and pretended to shoot himself.
"You have to eat." I handed him half the sandwich, and, in spite of his resolve not to eat anything, he quietly took a bite.
"I don't know if you're really here or not, but if you are, please stop it." He looked like he was about to cry.
"Stop what?"
"Making me love you when all I want to do is hate you." His face looked so forlorn.
"I don't want you to stop loving me," I confided in a low whisper.
"What do you want?" he asked me, looking deeply into my eyes. I could see a bit of sobriety was muddling through the drunken stupor.
"I want you to drink some coffee."
I held the cup to his lips, and he looked up at me like a lost little boy, obediently taking a few sips of the coffee. I wished I could tell him I really wanted him. I wanted to stop the pain I saw in his eyes—to stay there forever and make him smile again. He was my dream. He'd always been my dream.
Joe took a few more nibbles of his sandwich, and I felt this swell of love for him. It was so indescribable and all-consuming it took my breath away for a few seconds.
"Can I have my bottle back now?" he asked, looking for it longingly.
"No, you don't really need that, Joe."
"You don't have a clue about what I need," he informed me scornfully.
"Maybe I know more than you think I do."
"Yeah—like what?" Joe's eyes challenged me to prove it.
"Like the fact that right now you need to go upstairs, get in the shower and clean yourself up. Then I'm going to tuck you into bed and wait until you wake up so we can talk."
"Ohhhhh. I hate talking." Joe's eyes glazed again as he stared at my face. "Damn it!"
"What?"
"There's only one of you now, and I'm thinking you'll disappear just like you always do."
"I'm not going anywhere," I promised, gently helping him off the chair.
"That would be a first, wouldn't it?" Joe said sadly as I lead him up the stairs.
Joe's POV
My eyes flickered in the dim, lamp-lit room. It felt like some evil construction crew was hammering away in my head. Wriggling around in the bed, I tried to remember how I got there. I could see through the curtains it was dark outside. I vaguely remembered someone hauling me into the shower. Someone had washed my body, helped me into fresh clothing and guided me into bed. It hadn't been me. There was no way I could have done it by myself. Why couldn't I recall what had happened? Suddenly, Stephanie popped into my head, but I knew it was just wishful thinking.
I'd just pushed myself up into a sitting position on the bed when the door opened and the overhead light flicked on. I looked up to see my daily mirage arrive carrying a tray. She was so damn beautiful! I wished I could stop seeing her. It only made being without her that much harder. I watched as she moved toward the bed, setting the tray down on the dresser.
"You're awake."
"Am I?" I answered automatically. I knew the vision never lasted.
"You've been asleep for a long time." She planted herself on the edge of my bed. I actually felt the mattress reverberate as she sat down. "Are you hungry?"
"I have a headache."
"I'd be shocked if you didn't. You've really been tying one on." I felt her hand on my arm, and there was no more denying it. This was not my imagination at all.
"What are you doing here?" I asked in a raspy whisper. She was real, and I was in deep shit.
She stood to get the tray of food. There was soup, a sandwich and McDonald's fries and a Coke. Reaching out to take the cup, I felt the icy condensation. The feel of the cold, waxy cup made it real. This was Steph's sure-fire method for getting past a hangover. I'd brought it to her on numerous occasions, rescuing her from morning-after headaches. I remembered all the grateful kisses I'd received once she'd come back to the land of the living.
"Everyone's very worried about you, Joe."
"Yeah? Well EVERYONE should just mind their own goddamned business."
"What are you doing?"
I heard her voice imploring me to see I was on a path to self-destruction. A part of me acknowledged it, but mostly I didn't care.
"What I do or don't do isn't your business anymore. What the hell are doing here, Stephanie? Did you come to rub salt in the wound? I told you it's over. You have no reason to be here. I need to get on with MY life!"
"Exactly! You need to get on with your life—NOT wallow in self-pity and drink yourself into a stupor! What are you thinking? I'm not worth this! You're going to lose everything. I can't let this happen to you, Joe—not after all the hard work you've put in. You're better than this!"
She was nearly in tears. I could always tell when those damn things were imminent, and I hated to see her cry.
"Look, I'm entitled to take a fucking break without everyone—including you—going ballistic." I pushed the tray off my lap and over to the far side of the bed—her side.
"That's what you call this—a break? I call it a breakdown!"
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm doing just fine without you!"
I'd always been a horrible liar, and we both knew I was doing anything but fine. I hopped out of the bed, noticing for the first time I had no shirt on.
The sight of me without a shirt drew a deep, unmistakably turned-on sigh out of Stephanie. I'd seen that look in her eyes before, and I knew what always happened to me when I saw it. I couldn't afford to have it happen any longer and quickly grabbed a t-shirt out of my dresser.
I couldn't believe she was really there. The t-shirt apparently did nothing to dissuade her thoughts because she continued to look at me as though she wanted to rip the shirt right back off my body. I only had to make a single move, and she'd be back in my arms. It'd be so easy to give into the mushrooming temptation and forget the last two weeks had ever happened. They'd been the two most intolerably, lonely weeks of my life, and I was overcome with the need for her.
"Joe," she uttered my name so softly it felt like a caress.
The electricity in the room was palpable—like a Mexican standoff. Who would move first? I was afraid to move in fear of total capitulation, and I was afraid to move in fear of once again becoming her second choice—the one she settled for in between her torrid trysts with Ranger. No way in hell was I going back to that!
"You should leave," I said, trying hard to control the inner voice whispering take her, be with her, ask her to stay with you, live with you marry you, never leave you again.
"I need to get some things straight with you," she informed me. Her raised eyebrows were giving me a womanly, almost wifely look, that screamed, "don't cross me".
"Like what?" I asked, leaning against the bedroom wall with my arms folded tightly in front of my chest.
"Like, you need to get a grip! You're jeopardizing everything you have to go on this drunken binge. What for—me? You know I'm not worth this! You'll soon find someone else who fits into your future perfectly. There are hundreds of women who will be leaping for joy at the news Joe Morelli is back on the market. You'd probably better forget locks on your doors—you'll need iron bars to keep them away."
I felt incredible anger quickening within me. How dare she belittle what we had so easily?
"Shut UP!" I warned.
"Why? You know it's true! You won't have any trouble finding a replacement."
For the first time, I saw her pain. Tears were streaming down her face.
"I'm not looking for one." My hands ached to touch her. I hated seeing her cry like this.
"Why not? You made your choice. Why pine over it? Be a man about it and move the hell on!"
"Like you are with Ranger?" I accused scathingly.
Steph shook her head at me sadly. "It doesn't matter what I say to you. You'll never believe it anyway."
"Try me."
"What Ranger and I had—or rather didn't have—is over. I have no intention of moving on with him."
"Yeah right, until your next big emergency comes along. Who you going to call then?"
"Ghostbusters!" she snapped in frustration.
"I wish."
"I have Tank to call. I told Ranger to stay the hell away from me for the foreseeable future. I can't see him right now."
"Like that's going to last," I answered skeptically.
"What do you want me to say, Joe? You obviously don't have any faith in me, and I know you can't trust me," she responded with a belligerent glint in her eyes.
"There's nothing left to say, Steph. I'm worn out, okay? It's a lot to deal with all at once."
"Is it really the job too? Are you burned out from it?"
"Yeah. So you see it's not entirely about you. I'm at a crossroads. I'm thinking of leaving—maybe moving away."
Her shocked expression said it all. I knew it would be shattering to actually leave Trenton and try to find a new life, but the thought of running into her all the time was unbearable.
"Where?" Her breathy question pierced my heart.
"I don't know, but it might be best."
"You'd be leaving your whole family."
"Well there's a silver lining if ever there was one." I laughed mirthlessly.
"They'd miss you!" She choked back a sob. "I'd miss you. I already do miss you!"
"I miss you too," I admitted. Why hold anything back? It was good to stop putting up defenses and just speak the truth for a change.
"Please don't leave—don't go away!" Steph tried vainly to swallow back tears. "It feels like you're going into the Navy all over again."
"You didn't want me to go into the Navy?" I asked her, totally surprised.
"No! It was awful without you around. I hated it!" Stephanie's voice sounded almost like the teenager she'd been as she said the words.
"I didn't even think you cared. I mean I obviously knew you were angry later on when you ran me over with the Buick, but—"
"I've loved you for so long, Joe Morelli, I don't even know what it would be like not to love you."
"Even then?" I asked, realizing she actually did have feelings for me too.
"Forever," she admitted softly.
Her eyes begged me to see the truth.
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's not exactly like I was immune to you either."
"Don't you see, Joe? We were meant to be. As far back as I can remember you've been on my radar. If you leave now, I won't ever be the same. Even if I can't have you, you just have to be here. My world without Joe Morelli is unthinkable—you can't go."
"Why do you even care? A lot has happened between us, and even when I thought you loved me—"
"I do love you!"
Her voice was aggravated. I didn't know what to believe anymore. How could I ever believe another word she said?
"I don't know what to believe," I admitted. "I don't know if I can accept you really loved me at all."
She had that defiant look in her eyes—the one that reminded me of a dog with a bone—filled with tenacity.
"Fine. You're never going to believe anything I say now, but what about when I was nine—and ten—and eleven— and twelve—and all the way up to my twenties. Will you believe that?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked, completely clueless.
She quickly walked to the space on the floor beside the bedroom door and bent down to pick up her skip bag. I watched as she took something out of it and promptly walked back in my direction. Taking a stance in front of me, her hands shook as they held some kind of book. She extended it to me with both palms. What in the heck was she up to now?
"This will prove to you my love has never been a lie."
She looked deeply into my eyes, and, in that moment, I saw her love for me clearly. She had no defenses up. It was obvious how much giving me this book meant to her, so I took it.
Looking down at the pink flowered cloth journal, I couldn't help smiling a little when I saw the title of it. It was done in bits of colored lace trim and tiny, multi-colored stones that formed the words I spoke aloud.
"Morelli, Moments?" my eyes were questioning, I was totally dumbfounded.
Stephanie blushed a little, and bit her lip. I could see she was nervous about exposing this part of herself to me in a way she had never done before.
"I bet you never knew you had a stalker," she gave a nervous laugh.
"I did?" Even as I spoke the words, my heart softened slightly.
"I've kept this journal since I was about nine and half years old. I probably would have started it sooner, but I didn't know how to spell very well before then." She nodded her permission shyly. "Go ahead—open it."
Opening the cover, the first thing I saw was a newspaper picture of me when I was eleven, wearing a baseball uniform and cap. I read the childish scrawl aloud,
"Dear Journal,
Joe Morelli is the cutest guy I've ever seen. He looks so adorable in his baseball cap. I wonder what girl he likes now. I wish I were the same age as him, so I could play on his team. I bet I'd pitch better than he does!"
"Whoa, you were a dreamer. Pitching better than me? I don't think so, Cupcake." I smiled fondly, remembering what a little spitfire she'd always been. I knew she was slightly embarrassed as I took in her sheepish grin and wrinkled nose. She was awaiting my reaction to this latest "Stephanie revelation".
"I never realized I was being watched."
"Oh yeah, you were—very closely," she assured me.
"That's sweet." I couldn't keep the nostalgic feelings at bay.
"You're really going to like the next one," Stephanie teased, her eyes indicating it was time to turn the page.
Following her instruction, I did so and immediately remembered the exact day the photo was taken. I'd been about to eat lunch at school when I'd caught Mary Lou and Steph out of the corner of my eye—first whispering—then bursting into a fit of giggles. I'd wondered what could possibly be so funny and had kept an eye on them as they hid behind a tree across from the lunch tables outside. The picture was of me taking the first bite of my sandwich.
"Joe likes food. I do too. I wonder if he likes cake as much as I do? I wish I could talk to him sometime, but I bet he wouldn't even want to talk to someone younger than him. Darn, I wish I were his age! Then he'd have to talk to me. Oh! Now that mean Teri Grizzoli went over and sat next to him at lunch. She's a witch! I hope she gets a big, green wart on her nose, so Joe won't even think she's pretty!"
My laughter filled the room. Oh God, it felt so good to laugh again. I smiled at Steph knowing that she had given me something to treasure.
"I'm loaning it to you for awhile, but I want it back," she said quietly. "It's part of who I've always been. I just don't want you to ever doubt your place in my heart, Joe. No matter what happens, you'll always have it."
I blinked twice and swallowed hard. I'd never expected Stephanie had given me more than a passing glance over those years. I've never known what was truly in her heart—not even then.
"Joe, I really don't want you to leave."
Her eyes were dewy, and I knew she was trying not to cry again. "Promise me you won't leave. I know everything is bad now, and the job is a killer—" She flushed with embarrassment. "Excuse the pun. But you're the best of the best. No one is better suited to being a cop and keeping our community safe than you. If you don't do it, then who will? You have a right to be exhausted, and God knows you're in a lot of turmoil over us, but please don't leave!"
I'd never been able to refuse her anything. Suddenly it hit me that while seeing her from time to time would be painful, not ever seeing her again would be excruciating.
"I'll be around, I promise."
"Thank you!" she breathed gratefully.
My heart lurched as I heard her deep sigh of relief. Holding up the journal, I shook my head. "You sure don't make it easy on a guy!"
"I know. I'm a handful." Her beautiful grin widened. "You know you love me anyway!"
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" I complained, feeling amusement mixed with pain.
"I'm not going to let you go so easily either!" she retorted saucily, determination and something else beseeching me with her eyes. Somehow I knew this wasn't the end.
"You're not going to run me over with a car again, are you?" I couldn't resist joking.
"Would it keep you with me?" she asked hopefully, and then added with her eyes dancing, "No, I won't run over you again—even if you do call me Brussel Sprout."
"What?" I was totally stymied.
She shook her head, refusing to spill the beans. "Don't worry, Morelli. I'll tell you all about it someday." She raised her eyebrows at me teasingly.
"I hope so, Cupcake."
"If you'd change your mind about us, I'd tell you everything right now."
She drove a damn hard bargain. I wanted to know, but something inside me couldn't completely let go of the doubts I was still harboring about us.
I relented a bit. "You need to let me go—at least for now."
"Why won't you just give me one more chance?"
"Because I need this time to see where we are, or even if we are after I get my bearings again. Cupcake, you're a part of me and have been for a long time. Letting you go is a bitch!"
"Then don't!" she begged.
"It would be so easy to take you up on that, but I'd be lying to myself and you if I did. I can't trust you won't go back to him. Ranger will always be in your life. He's your mentor, and he's important to you. But I won't take a back seat to that any longer. I refuse to be second string in this relationship, because there've been three people in our bed for way too long. I don't want him anywhere near us, and you'll never accept that ultimatum."
"I will if you'd just give me the chance. We could compromise. Why can't we try to figure out some way?"
"There is NO way, okay! I've turned the other cheek so many times, I've lost face."
"I could help you. I could be here for you through all the job stuff. I'd be here every single day—I promise."
"You don't know how tempting that is to me, but the answer is no."
"I want you back, Joe."
I knew this was costing her, and I didn't want to hurt her.
"I wish I could take you back, Steph. I really wish I could tell you everything that's happened is forgotten. But I can't, and I won't. You're right about me. I need to get my life back on track, and I need to figure out how to do it." My eyes entreated her to understand. "And you need to let me."
"Okay." Stephanie's head bowed briefly in resignation, but then she looked me in the eye. "As long as there's no more crazy behavior. You need to stay sober and at least go back to work. I refuse to stay away if I know you're in trouble."
"Deal." I smiled that we could agree on that much. I needed to get my head on straight and work was the best way to do it.
I held out my hand to shake hers but surprised both of us by drawing her into my arms instead. The kiss was sweet and hot, hard yet hopeful. I felt her hands run up and down my chest longingly.
My mind pictured my fingers gently removing her clothing and showing her she was and always would be the only love of my life. I knew she'd let me take her right then and there, but I couldn't do it under false pretenses. No matter how much I wanted her, neither of us was ready.
She sensed my hesitation, and our lips parted. Taking a step back, her hand still clung to my t-shirt as she whispered, "I love you so much, Joe. I always will."
I was rendered speechless.
"I cleaned a little downstairs, and I packed up all my things."
Stephanie's voice sounded lost and childlike. It broke my heart. I didn't want her to go. God, I wished I could give her what she wanted—never let her go, hold her, make love to her, marry her and live happily ever after.
"Thanks for being here. It means a lot. And thanks for that." I nodded toward the journal resting on the table. "I'll get it back to you someday, Cupcake."
"Sure." Steph's eyes were cloudy with unshed tears. She walked up to me and kissed me softly on the cheek. "Take care."
"You too." I watched her pick up her bag and walk toward the door. Turning around, she took one last look at me and then was gone. The front door opened and closed for the last time.
Joe's POV
I hated the silence and emptiness that enveloped me the moment Stephanie left. I was sorely tempted to head downstairs and start drinking again, but I couldn't do it. I'd promised her I would get my life in order.
While I couldn't be sure I'd be successful, I wanted her by my side, although it would be a mistake at this point. Too much had happened, and I was dealing with too much anger to be around her every day. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her. In spite of everything, I'd never willfully hurt her.
I looked down at the table where the journal she gave me was waiting. By the look that had been in Stephanie's eyes, I knew it was something she cherished. I couldn't believe she'd been my secret admirer all this time, sensing how important it was to her that I believed her words. I picked it up, and then immediately put it back down.
It became a war within myself—read it or drink. Forget her or love her. Loving her was like breathing, and I had to keep breathing. And drinking wasn't going to help anything. I needed to get my act together before I ruined my entire life. So there really wasn't any other decision. I picked up the journal again and sat down in the navy recliner by the bed. Opening it to the third page, I started reading right where I'd left off.
Joe was at McDonald's today. I saw him sitting with his brothers. His eyes melt my heart. Ever since he pulled me out of those rose bushes when I flew off the roof of our garage, I've loved those eyes. If my mom knew, she'd kill me. I'm not even supposed to think about any of the Morelli boys—especially Joe!
I flipped the page again.
Joe was helping his mom shop today. My heart flips whenever I see him. He waved at me. I made sure my mom wasn't looking and waved back.
I couldn't help but remember Stephanie as a sweet little girl with pigtails and big, blue eyes—eyes I could still get lost in. I wondered if it was really possible to fall in love at eight years old. If this book was anything to go by, maybe it could even happen at age six.
I saw him today. He didn't see me. I watched him for a really long time. I wish I'd had a camera to take his picture. He was just kicking rocks, but he looked so sad. I wonder what happened to make him look like that. I heard his dad takes the boys to the garage and whips them with a belt when they're bad. I hope Joe didn't get hit. He's so much nicer than his brothers.
My mind drifted back to those days in my dad's garage. I hadn't allowed those thoughts in for a long time. It felt comforting somehow to know my sweet Stephanie had witnessed my pain. It wrenched the heart of that hurt little boy still lingering somewhere inside of me. I felt my eyes fill when I thought of Stephanie sensing it when she was only nine years old. Somehow it made the little boy inside of me feel a little less alone.
I wish I was high school so I could see Joe. It's been an awful long time since I had a Morelli Moment. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to talk to him. I have this whole conversation between us in my head, and I wonder if Joe and I hadn't gone to the garage if we would have been friends this whole time. I don't know why, but I feel like I could talk to him for hours. I think we'd be best friends forever.
I smiled, because I was as sure as she was we would have been great friends. And I was equally as sure the friendship would have turned into deeply held passionate love. Once again I regretted listening to my brothers' threats and dares. At least Steph and I had finally talked about it, and I'd gotten to tell her the whole truth. Thank God I'd had that last night with her. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Wondering how many years this journal encompassed, I knew it didn't matter. Now that I'd started it, I couldn't put it down.
I heard Joe is taking Teri Grizzoli to the freshman winter dance. What the heck does he see in her? She's the meanest bitch I've ever known, and if Joe Morelli wants to take her to the dance, he can go to hell!
I snorted—eyebrows raised in surprise. Potty-mouth Stephanie started at an early age.
Yes! Nancy Bowman spilled her red punch all over Teri Grizzoli's white dress. Thanks to Nancy—there is a God! Okay, now I'm going to have to go to confession. Damn! Oh great, now I'll have to confess I swore too. I hope Joe had a horrible time at the dance. He needs to get a brain!
I chuckled out loud. "Don't worry, Cupcake, I got a brain."
My eyes began to burn as I read the next page.
Joe's father died. Oh my God, I can't imagine how sad he must be. If I lost my dad, I'd cry forever! I hope he's going to be okay. I know his dad wasn't very nice to the boys, and he was mean to Mrs. Morelli. Grandma Mazur says he cheated on her all the time. But losing a Dad has to be so hard—maybe even harder when you aren't close to him. I wish I could go up to Joe and give him a hug. Valerie said he hasn't been in school the last few days. I hope I can go to the funeral, so I can at least see if he's okay. I feel sick for him—like I want to throw up. I can't seem to stop thinking about Joe today. I hope he knows he's loved.
My eyes blurred, remembering the feeling of relief when my father died. I didn't shed a single, goddamned tear. I was taught never to cry by my dear father, so I sure as hell wasn't about to start when he died. For some inexplicable reason, the tears now fell hot and fast down my cheeks. I was mourning for the father I never had. I wished Stephanie were here, so I could lay my head on her chest and feel love. I really needed to feel love right then.
I went to the funeral. Everybody and their brother were there. I didn't want to see the open casket. Joe was present looking pale and stoic. I didn't see him cry, but my heart cried for him. His life is never going to be the same. I hope he can leave the sadness behind and be happy again someday. I wish I could have hugged him. I was able to take his hand in mine for a few seconds in the receiving line. He looked right into my eyes, but he didn't seem to see me. I think he's still in shock.
Wiping my eyes, I turned the page.
He came back to school. Val saw him in the hall. She said he was joking around and laughing with his friends. I guess that's good. But sometimes people do that when they're hurting. I do it all the time. God, I wish Joe and I were friends, so I could know what he's going through. I'd like to be there for him, but sometimes I don't think he knows I even exist.
My mind drifted back to the day of my father's funeral. I remembered people coming up to tell me they were sorry, but it was a blur. I wished now I'd been paying more attention. Steph was such a sweetheart to be so worried about me.
I saw Joe and his family at Point Pleasant. Oh my God, he's cute! He had his shirt off. Mary Lou and I giggled the whole time because he forgot to put sunscreen on and was turning red as a lobster. I wanted to go up to him and warn him, but my mother would've killed me if I went anywhere near him. I wish mothers weren't so darn over-protective. What could he do to me with both our families all over the beach? Oh—and afterward he went swimming. His hair was all wet and curly and so damn sexy. His chest was so muscular. He should be a movie star. I wonder if he'd give me his autograph.
"Anywhere you want it, Cupcake." I smiled, turning to the next page.
I'm finally in High School! Damn, I wish I had at least ONE class with Joe, but it isn't likely since he's two years ahead of me. Sigh—Why can't I just be older already! I heard he and Teri broke up, and now he's dating that redheaded cheerleader with the freckles all over her face—Maggie. I prefer Maggot! Geesh! What does he see in her?
I had to hand it to my girl, she'd been right about every female I'd ever dated. No one else could ever hold a candle to my Stephanie.
I'm going to a dance I don't even want to attend. Gordon Stemple asked me. Yuck! I wish I were going with Joe, but Mary Lou was dying for me to make it a double date with her and Lenny, so I said yes. I wish I could get out of it. I wonder what Joe's favorite color is? I think he'd like blue. I'm going to look for a really pretty blue dress. It's going to suck if he's at the dance with Maggot. I heard he might be breaking up with her to date Teri again. If that's true, then Joe Morelli can go to hell. He's scum! Okay, he's not scum, but he sure has terrible taste in girls!
I shook my head slightly, amused by her one-tracked train of thought.
I hate what they did to my hair. I want to tear out all the pins, wash it and wear it wet. What the hell! I should have done it myself. I'm going to put three layers of mascara on to make up for it. If my eyes are beautiful, maybe no one will notice this hair from hell!
My dress is perfect. It's blue satin on top and tulle on the bottom with little rhinestones sprinkled all over the tulle. It matches my eyes perfectly. I bet if Joe saw me in it he'd smile—well maybe not once he got a look at my hair. I bet then he'd run away screaming.
I spent way too much money on my dress to have it wasted on Goofy Stemple. What a nightmare of a guy. He hasn't left me alone all week. He's everywhere I turn. Blech! Is it not enough I'm going to the dance with him? Do I have to be nice to him before we even go? I hate dating. It's way too aggravating. I think I'd really like it if I was going out with Joe. I imagine what it'd be like to be in his arms all the time. I think I'd practically faint if he was dancing with me. I wonder if I could ask him to dance with me just once? No, I'd never have the nerve, but I sure wish he'd ask me.
The dance was worst than I expected. I got to watch Joe play tonsil hockey with Teri, and I got the date from hell to boot. I had to pretend it was Joe I was dancing with to get through one damn song. I never want to date again. Okay, I would if you-know-who asked me. All men are scum! Well, except Daddy.
I took a deep breath and shook my head to clear the cobwebs. I wished Stephanie were with me. If she was, I wouldn't be able to resist her knowing how absolutely adorable she was in those days when I'd been so clueless about her devotion to me.
I'd always kept an eye on her too. I couldn't help it, especially when she came into high school. I'd seen her in that dress and she'd been breathtaking. Okay, the hair was over the top, but the dress was perfect, and it had been my favorite color. How did she know?
I watched her at the dance that night and remembered thinking if I saw the guy she was with touch her inappropriately one more time I'd deck him. It turned out I didn't have to worry because the next time it happened Stephanie gave her now legendary knee to the groin. The poor guy hadn't even known what hit him. If I'd known about her feelings for me, there was no doubt I'd have asked her for that dance.
There were many similar entries of her observing me from afar after attending sporting events; talking about how many points I'd scored. She also wrote about sightings at Uncle Mo's ice cream shop. Every moment she'd ever laid eyes on me was totally recorded, and every single one of them brought back those crazy school days. She wrote consistently, and it was all sweet, funny and sad. Yet lying underneath was a thread of love and anger at my stupidity for not seeing what I was missing in front of my eyes.
The next entry really caught my attention. It was dated a month prior to me leaving for the Navy.
Joe Morelli has waved and smiled at me twice in the last two weeks! I thought I imagined it at first, but he did it a second time! TWICE! Oh my God, he does know I'm alive. He's going to graduate soon, and then he'll probably be going to college. I hope he stays here. I can't imagine never running into him. I'm getting older, and he finally noticed me. Once I become a senior, I bet he'd like me. I'd be closer to his age, and lots of senior girls date college guys—right? God, I hope he waves at me again tomorrow. I wish I could tell him how I feel. I bet he doesn't have a clue.
The date on the next page was two weeks later, and my heart jumped. The page was wrinkled and shriveled as though it had gotten wet. The writing was erratic and slightly blurred, but I could still read it fairly well.
OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! What have I done! I was a virgin! But it was Joe! He came into the bakery right when it was closing. I swear my heart stopped. He was drop dead gorgeous. He's a senior! And he's leaving Trenton to go into the Navy! I almost cried when he told me. My life won't be the same now—not ever.
I couldn't have stopped it if I'd wanted to, and I hadn't! He helped me put away all the cakes and donuts and—sure enough—klutzy me managed to get a cupcake to take a dive down my cleavage. We laughed, and I blushed red to the roots of my hair. And then it happened. Oh God, why did I let it happen? I was going to wait until I got married! But it was Joe. It was Joe! And he's leaving. I might not ever see him again. What if something horrible happens to him? I won't be able to breathe.
Maybe he'll call me—maybe he won't. I've heard he has all kinds of girls at his feet. Am I just one more now? The way he looked at me—the way we kissed. My mother would kill me if she knew, not to mention my dad. No one can ever know!
Oh my God, what if I'm pregnant! He's leaving, and I could be having his baby. What in the hell was I thinking? I just ruined my life! But it was Joe. When he kissed me, I felt like I'd been waiting forever for that kiss. I kissed him back and I didn't even know what to do. It just came naturally. I hope he didn't think I was a horrible kisser. I wonder if he thinks I'm a slut because I practically attacked him? I couldn't stop myself! His arms felt so amazing around me—and his lips! They weren't Lizard-like at all. They were so hot and demanding and sensual. I wish I could kiss him every day of my life. Everything I ever imagined sex would feel like didn't even come close. It was more than I ever could have imagined
I felt him inside of me, and it hurt for bit, but after—OH. MY. GOD! It felt like it was meant to be. I never knew my body could feel that good. He knew exactly what to do. He tried not to hurt me. He looked into my eyes and asked if I was okay, and when I nodded, he thrust himself into me, and fireworks exploded in my body and my heart. I never wanted it to stop. Joseph Anthony Morelli and I became one today.
I can't stop thinking about him. I wonder if he's going to call me tomorrow. Will I see him before he leaves? Will he come back to me? Was he taken by me asI was by him? He called me the sweetest cupcake ever. He wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it, right? I don't know what I'm going to do if he doesn't call me. He has to call me! We were meant to be; I know it in my heart. He's the one who pulled me out of the rose bushes. He's the boy I've always loved. I hate him for leaving me like this. My world will be over if he doesn't come back.
I swiped at my eyes repeatedly. Reading Stephanie's frantically written repercussions following our stolen moments brought home the fact I'd left her in turmoil. I dashed all her hopes of hearing from me. I never wrote, called or considered what I'd done to her. I knew she was innocent and naïve, and I'd been beyond insensitive to do that to her. I'd felt guilty afterward, but I didn't know what could be done to fix it. I was leaving for the Navy. I couldn't carry on a long distance relationship with a junior in high school. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us.
The thought of her came intermittently to me while I was away. I'd see a girl who reminded me of her—someone with the same shade of her eyes, or I'd walk down a street and see the same brown curls. But they weren't her curls or her eyes.
She haunted me—always in the back of my head lurking somewhere. I'd been wild and loose with plenty of flings along the way, but I'd never forgotten the sweetness of Stephanie—of how she'd made me feel. I'd always treasured the fact I was her first lover. She'd given me something precious, and, as much as I had tried to fool myself, it had meant something. It absolutely had. I was her first love, and I knew in my heart and soul I wanted to be her last as well.
As I read on I could see how much pain I'd caused her, and how much anger she'd experienced.
He hasn't called. It's almost graduation, and I haven't seen him or heard a word. Damn him! I hate him! Scum, Morelli—you're pure scum! The scum of the earth! I hope you come home someday, so I can tell you what a jerk you really are. If I don't see you before you leave, then I don't know when I'll see you again. Scum!
I grimaced at that last entry, feeling like the scum she'd thought I was. I'd never meant to hurt her, but I was eighteen years old—selfish and hormonal and really ignorant.
He's gone. I saw him get his diploma and willed him to look at me, but he didn't. I think I would have shown him a nice Italian hand gesture if he had. He's gone, and I may never see him again. I hope he's going to be okay, because if I never see him again…well that just can't happen.
I exhaled loudly, trying to relieve the tension in my body, but then my breath caught as I read the next entry.
Thank God, I got my period! I'm not pregnant, and I can breathe again! Five days late—I've never been so scared in my entire life. I can't even picture the look on my parent's faces if I'd been pregnant. Oh God! And Valerie would have moved up another hundred steps on the favorite daughter ladder. I don't think Joe would have cared at all. So it's over, unless maybe he writes or calls.
Sighing deeply, I couldn't help but wonder now if things would have turned out differently had she been pregnant. There was no doubt in my mind I would have taken care of her and stood by her and our child. After the childhood I'd had, I'd never have been able to let my child go—to allow my own flesh and blood to be ignored. And I would have been a great father. So even though she may not have trusted me, had I known she needed me, I would have come back. Of course she had no way of knowing that, but someday I'd tell her. She deserved to know. That young, innocent teenager still inside her needed to know I would have made everything right.
The next several entries were all the same.
No letters. No postcards. No phone calls.
I guess he forgot all about me. Well I'll be happy to return the favor. Asshole!
I felt the pain she'd endured along with the anger. Poor Stephanie. God, I wished I'd called her even once. I could have spared her so much agony. But then I read the next entry and realized the agony was just beginning.
Oh My God, he wrote all about me at Mario's Subs in the bathroom! He wrote a freaking poem about his conquest of me and left it for everyone to see forever! I want to kill him! I want to kick him in his happy place! I want to make him regret the day he was born! Everyone knows! My parents know! My dad's so mad he won't even look at me, and my Mom's done nothing but iron and shoot me dirty looks all day. They'd probably send me to a convent if they could. Too bad they didn't install a chastity belt; I bet they wished they had! I wish I could crawl into a ball and die. The guys at school are giving me these creepy looks, and five guys have asked me to go out. As if I don't know why—they think I'm a cheap slut! Thanks a lot, Joe! You'd better never show your face in Trenton again, because if you do, you'll regretit! I hope you rot in hell! Am I ever going to live this down? Why would you do this to me?
I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat. I couldn't even remember doing it very clearly. I'd been drunk and somehow had divulged my tryst with Stephanie to Mooch, Tony, and Paulie. The next thing I remembered was scrawling a badly rhyming poem on the walls of the bathroom at Mario's Subs. I vaguely remember getting in the back of a truck and going to a sports stadium too. God, what a selfish, inconsiderate bastard! I wondered how Stephanie could have ever given me a second glance.
Turning the page, I knew it was only going to get worse.
I dreamt about him again. Why does he always get to me—even in my dreams? I wish I could erase him from my memory, but how can I stop these damn dreams! In them, we're together. That's how I always know they're dreams, because that's never going to happen again in reality. In this one, we were at Point Pleasant, holding hands and walking on the beach. We must have had fun at the arcade games because I was holding a stuffed dog with its tongue hanging out. I wonder if I won it or if he won it for me? I hate how dreams are never from beginning to end—just bits and pieces. We were walking and talking and laughing, and he looked at me as though I was the only other person alive. And now I feel like crying. I wish I could go back to sleep, so the dream would continue. It's funny how you can hate and love someone at the same time.
God, how many times had I dreamed of Stephanie when I was in the Navy? I shook my head in wonder as I turned the page.
Today I FINALLY got the SON OF A BITCH back. Joe Morelli's home from the Navy, and when I saw him, I gave him a proper welcome home present. I ran over that scum with the Buick! I don't know what happened to me. I just went crazy. I thought I was past everything that happened between us. After all, it's been two years. But seeing him walking down the street, knowing he never did ONE thing to keep in touch with me PLUS remembering that DAMN poem he wrote on the wall—WELL all I could see was red!
Afterward I got out of the car to ask him if he was okay. That's the least I could do after running someone over, right? He told me I broke his leg, and I said GOOD! Can you believe that jackass looked up my dress? Who in the hell does that! He has a broken leg, and he's staring up my dress. I didn't even call 911. I figured he could stay there till hell froze over! If I never see that no good scum again, it'll be TOO soon! I hate you, Joe Morelli. I hate you for being so damned stupid, and I hate you because you never loved me! And God help me, I've never gotten over you!
There was only one more entry in the book. I wondered if it was more recent because Stephanie and I had never had any contact again following the incident with the Buick.
Today I'm marrying Dickie Orr—not the man of my dreams. I guess it's the right thing to do. I mean a girl is supposed to get married and have a family and cook and clean and take care of everybody else, right? I'm not really sure about all these expectations, but I know I'll never be a conventional Burg housewife. I'm keeping my job, and I'm not going to give up on my Wonder Woman dream. I'll be Stephanie Plum Orr, but I won't conform to anyone's idea of who I should be. While I'll do my best to make him happy, I know this is what my parents want for me, and I suppose I want to be happy too.
I guess since I'm getting married, I need to say goodbye to Joe and my Morelli Moments, and yet some part of me feels like crying. I wish it were Joe waiting at the altar for me today. If it were, I don't think I'd be so scared and feel like throwing up. I know I should hate him, and I haven't seen him in ages, but something about those moments I had with him—I want to feel like that again.
I took a deep, cleansing breath. My eyes were burning because that last entry had hit me like a freight train. Poor Steph—thinking she had to marry that bastard. My sweet girl settling for Dickie, and all this time I'd never known. I wished with all my heart it had been me too. Oh God, it would have made everything so much simpler. If only she'd never married Dickie. I could've helped heal her of all the things I'd done, and I could have spared her having to spend a single moment with that low-life, no-good, demoralizing snake.
By the time Ranger came into Steph's life, he would have been too late. I would've been married to her, and she would've been mine. And God help the man that tried to poach my wife!
It was fruitless to even give any of it a thought because it was too late. Maybe if there'd been no Ranger when we got back together, we'd have had a fighting chance. But Manoso had been there, and no matter how much I wished him away, he never disappeared.
He was always interfering. He did it blatantly and openly. The anger in me was constantly stirred, although it hadn't helped anything. I'd flown off the handle way too much and blamed her instead of talking to her. If I'd done things differently, she'd have known how much she meant to me. I'd missed so many chances to reassure her because I'd been too afraid of losing her. At times I felt paralyzed—my heart in my throat, preventing me from saying the words.
I wished I could call and tell Steph what all these revelations in her journal had done for me. At some point, I would. I needed to talk to her about all of it. But the first thing I had to do was get my anger and pain under control.
There was no doubt left in my mind that Stephanie had loved me devotedly for a very long time. I had loved her as much and for just as long. Maybe this would become a new beginning for us. I had to believe the door wasn't locked. I had to have faith we were going to be together one day. And when it happened, it would last forever—no more good-byes or doubts or fears—only deep abiding love.
I turned the blank pages left in the journal and saw the back inside cover was filled with different versions of her first name combined with mine—scrawled sideways, diagonally and upside down.
Stephanie Morelli, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Morelli, Mrs. Joseph Morelli.
Big hearts with our initials filled in whatever empty space was left on the cover. I felt my heart lighten a million pounds as I realized our dreams had been the same all along.
I finally felt at peace—as though I could face my job again. The world wasn't as over as I had perceived it was. I got out of the chair and pulled back the covers on my bed. Lying down, I held the journal to my chest near my heart.
"I love you too, Cupcake, and you're going to know how much someday soon." I whispered to the empty room.
I hoped my dreams would always be filled with Stephanie Morelli.