Second Thoughts
By Felicia Ferguson
Author's Note: As much as I love both Treasure Box and From Paris With Love, the letter discrepancies have bugged me to no end. After rewatching Treasure Box during the marathon, I finally managed to talk the muse into leaving married ShOliver enjoying their happy-ever-after and seeing what she could do about fitting these discrepancies into the canon. (Sorry, Christine, this isn't your big one—too much plotting needed—but it's coming!)
It took a lot of finagling, multiple watches of Treasure Box and A Hope and A Future (yeah, like that's a sacrifice, lol), and long conversations with Oliver, but I think we've finally reached something that nestles nicely into the canon. Give it a read and let me know!
As always, I own none of the characters or any of the words you recognize from the series. They belong to the brilliant Martha Williamson, Eric Mabius, and Kristin Booth. I'm just happy to play in the DLO for while.
And now, for your obligatory writer girl processing (feel free to skip to the story, lol):
The premise: There have to be two different letters to Holly. Why? There is no way Oliver wrote the letter Shane reads in From Paris With Love while he was trapped in the vault, reluctantly, but eventually not only participating in Shane's word association game, but also enjoying it. A) he's too much of a gentleman to flirt with and reminisce his times with Shane while offering to change for Holly so she would come back, B) there's the obvious greeting and wording discrepancy, and C) Eric has even said he wrote a different letter in the vault scene.
Which raises two more canon conundrums in A Hope & A Future: 1) the opening ShOliver DLO scene and 2) the suddenly addressed envelope in Oliver's desk drawer.
The opening scene between Shane and Oliver just doesn't fit with where we left our couple at the pageant Saturday night. That night they were happily cheering Rita on, Oliver flicked interested glances to Shane as if seeing her with new eyes (perhaps even wanting to experience more of the feelings their time in the vault provoked), and Shane readily grabbed and held his hand to pray. But by Monday, their connection and vulnerability in the vault Friday and mutual admiration during the box delivery to the Walkers on Saturday seem to be packed away (although they do both dance around the vault experience and the subtext certainly makes it feel like they both want to remember the emotional intimacy).
One could argue that their behavior is because they are at work and are focused on being professionals. And that is a valid point, except that it doesn't account for Shane's snippiness with Oliver as she talks about her college degrees and points out Oliver's lack of interest in her life experiences. Oliver likewise is back to being more formal and a tad stand-offish with her, sure signs he is trying to put emotional distance between them.
And at this point in the show (pre-Dale), we've seen this type of tense interaction only when they've bumped up against one person: Holly. So, that means something related to Holly occurred between Shane and Oliver off-camera Sunday and into Monday morning. And I believe that something has everything to do with Oliver's two letters and the now present address.
And I will say this, Second Thoughts is different from my usual writing fare. It's much more of a character study although still a fill-in-the-gaps story. Hope you enjoy!
For the Canon Timeline Nerds like me:
Friday evening/night: pageant semi-finals announcement, Oliver and Shane locked in bank vault
Saturday afternoon, into evening/night: Oliver and Shane deliver the treasure box, pageant semi-finals
Sunday into Monday morning: Second Thoughts
Monday morning: Oliver watching Shane hang the sign, Rita chooses the letter about Joshua
Tuesday: Shane finds the now-addressed envelope to Holly
1/1
Over the past few months, Oliver O'Toole had experienced the oddest sensation. A vague sense of movement, yes even a warming, in his heart. Though he was hard pressed to fully give it a name, it felt nearly akin to happiness. He'd found himself smiling at jokes, teasing and enjoying being teased, even catching himself staring at the very source of those jokes and teasing.
Was this happiness? Or was it something else? It had been three years, possibly even more, since he'd experienced such a sensation, so he was certainly out of practice with its familiarity and feeling. But he could pinpoint when he'd first experienced the burgeoning sensation, at the coffee kiosk when he met and first conversed with Ms. McInerney.
This and many other conundrums had rolled through his mind since his ill-timed lunch at the Mailbox Grille during Rebecca Starkwell's visit, in which he overheard Ms. McInerney's monologue of his attributes followed by her hesitant denial of her interest. The discussion, while immensely uncomfortable, opened his eyes to the disconcerting concern that Shane, Ms. McInerney, might return with her friend to Washington D.C., leaving hi—uh, the team and taking this odd, but intriguing sensation with her.
He had already experienced the twinges of its loss when her excuse of searching for coffee appeared to be near-acceptance of Andrea's offer of a transfer to Direct Line Operations after Charlie Riggs's release. After she'd left, he had collapsed in his chair, oddly deflated. As if the sun had disappeared behind a bank of clouds leaving only gray sky in its wake.
But what would it be like now, several months later? She had a desk, a station, which would remain at her departure. He had grown even more accustomed to her physical presence. He sought out her skills for not only information but brainstorming theories and solutions. In short, he relied on her and looked forward to seeing her every day.
But thankfully, that question became moot as Ms. Starkwell returned, unaccompanied, to D.C and Ms. McInerney remained in her role as tech support for the DLO. Allowing him to continue enjoying her company, her agile mind, and open, eager heart. Nevertheless, there was an unintended side-effect of his enjoyment: a deepening appreciation for Ms. McInerney as a woman, as Shane.
However, Oliver was a married man. And Shane was not his wife. His wife was absent while Shane was present. And so, as the days passed and he began to contemplate the new development, the question of his interest and appreciation thus evolved into one of proximity. Would he be so engaged by Shane's character, her intellect, her care if Holly were here? Perhaps it truly was only a matter of Shane's presence and Holly's absence which had fostered his admiration. Ergo, if Holly were returned to him, would he still feel what he felt for Ms. McInerney? Or would his interest be more appropriately redirected to his wife?
Much as Oliver would prefer it not be so, by the time they were locked together in the bank vault, he was cognizant that his interest in Shane had reached a point where it could no longer be dismissed or denied. Therefore, while confined with no immediate exit, he decided to use the time until their rescue to seek a solution for his conundrums. And so he wrote a letter, to Holly, the woman who was his wife.
Yet he also found himself drawing upon Shane's presence, their connection, and even their shared humor to further clarify his thoughts as he wrote that letter to Holly. When he was finished, he placed it in the envelope, savoring a sense of accomplishment. Although his quandary remained, he had at least managed to put it down on paper, thus giving it form instead of continuing to be only thought. Invigoration had coursed through him, imbuing him with a renewed sense of purpose and direction, and he set out to impart some amount of pride in one's work in the lackadaisical Jason.
But reading the Walkers' love letters with Shane had the unsettling result of bringing her even deeper into his appreciation. Their shared glances and common memories melted a few more inches of the ice around his heart. Aroused in him a disconcerting awareness that his care for her heart and happiness had at some point increased. A fact which became fully evident when they finished Jonathan's last letter. As Shane desperately searched for signs of life in the face of certain death, her given name fell from his lips in the hopes of soothing her devastation. When it did not, he felt compelled to pull a bereft Shane into his arms for comfort in the midst of her sorrow and fear.
Then somewhere between their shared looks during the delivery of the box and the end of the pageant when their eyes met again, Oliver fully awakened to his attraction to Shane. And not merely as a friend or co-worker with commonalities, but as a woman. A woman who, he was beginning to realize, possessed her own personal and deep feelings for him. And with that revelation, he was whirled from his quiet quandary and into an inescapable Catch-22.
##
Begging off lunch with the other choir members, he returned home Sunday after a lovely church service in which he had partnered Dale for an offertory duet. Oliver now stood in his sitting room and stared at his briefcase. The letter he had written to Holly was secure in the exterior pocket after falling from his interior suit pocket during the release from the vault. It was written and ready to send. But was it truly?
He debated what he remembered of its contents with his recent revelations regarding Shane. He had written this letter prior to his full awareness of his attraction to her. Would its wording still bear out as meaningful in light of this new knowledge? Had he asked the right questions of Holly? Provided the most accurate reasonings for himself?
Perhaps another reading of the letter was in order. To be certain that all that needed to be said and asked was indeed said and asked. He slipped his hand into the pocket and withdrew the small envelope.
Holly O'Toole, written in his perfect script, stared up from the paper. His brow wrinkled. Should he have addressed it as Mrs. Holly O'Toole? She was still his wife in fact, if not in deed. And determining her commitment to being such, after all, was the reason for writing the letter. But, if it was as Shane intimated, that Holly, now likely months into her three-year lease, was perfectly content in Paris, then the lack of a title was apropos. Oliver gave a quick nod. Yes. Better to make no assumptions and proceed without a title.
He slipped the stationary out of the envelope. Holly. His lips twisted. Omitting a title was appropriate, but perhaps he should he have written Dear, Holly? That was a more customary greeting, especially between spouses. His cheeks wrinkled with consternation as his eyes moved to the margin. No, there was no space to add the word dear without it cramping her name and obviously appearing as an afterthought.
Again, best to leave it as it was. However, if there were other corrections that necessitated writing a new letter, then he could change the greeting at that point. Oliver eased onto the chair at the sitting room table as the light glinted off the gold band on his finger.
Like his, Holly's had been a simple band. Both were purchased after their City Hall ceremony in a giddy afterthought for her, but a treasured necessity for himself. Had she kept hers? Did she still wear it? Or had she sold it in Paris for living expenses? Or even in Washington D.C. to purchase her plane ticket?
Something stabbed at his heart. Was that hurt? Anger? Disappointment? He couldn't be certain. Undecided, he allowed his gaze to drift out the window. It was the perfect vantage point to view Washington Park Road and the entrance to the house.
How many times had he sat in just this spot, looking at just this view, in the weeks and months after he'd returned alone from Washington D.C.? Logically, he'd understood she had left him—she had even said she was moving to, not merely visiting, Paris. But still, he had watched for her, waited for her. She had made a commitment to him as he had done to her. Surely, that had meant something to her, and, after her curiosity and restless spirit were sated, she would return to him.
But no. She had not. Nor had she ever sent the promised forwarding address.
Oliver's gaze fell on the words he had written.
Holly,
So much time has passed since we last shared a moment. I find much has changed in your absence, so much in fact. But I presently find myself in circumstances which have tried my gentleman ways and brought forth in me emotions that have been long dormant. I wish to do the right thing, but I can do nothing while living in this limbo of your absence. I have always desired to experience a lifetime love, though I have no real understanding of how that might be attained. Please write to me, tell me your thoughts on the matter of our marriage.
Yours,
Oliver
He studied the words, felt for the intent behind them. Yes, they continued to fit his new emotional awareness. But upon reading them again, they seemed incomplete. Rambling. There was no definitive yes or no, merely a disjointed voicing of his personal state when what he needed to know was if Holly ever planned to return. He sniffed as a dissatisfied hum buzzed his lips.
He glanced to his wedding band, another thought suddenly forming in his mind. What if Holly had never returned because he never gave her a reason to do so? Hadn't he scoffed at her gift of the dancing lessons? Denigrated her desire to be a poet? Even doubted her longing to travel the world? Would she have never even left if he had been more respectful? If he had listened more? Supported her dreams, laying aside his own? Wasn't that what a godly husband was called to do? To love sacrificially? Yet, he had done the exact opposite.
Under the onslaught of condemnation, his resolve faltered. He tried to reach for the elusive emotion, the happiness, the physical pull of attraction Shane engendered within him, but to no avail. He remained transfixed by his words. They now glared at him, questioning his actions, or lack thereof, with every pen stroke. Turning his statements into accusations.
When had he been a gentleman with Holly's dreams? When had he done the right thing by undertaking activities of her interest? When had he actually thought he could love her for a lifetime?
The answer was simple, singular, and condemning. Never.
So her leaving him was warranted. In plain vernacular, she was right.
Oliver twisted his wedding band. He was a fraud. Yes, he had clung to his vows. But he hadn't lived them out. He hadn't honored her by encouraging her to pursue her hopes. He hadn't even given their marriage an opportunity to be what he hoped and desired marriage to be. And that was utterly unfair of him.
The ring slipped above his knuckle. Shocked at the sensation, Oliver's gaze dropped to the white tan line on his skin. He had never removed it since she'd first slid it in place in the jewelry store. It had remained unchanged. And so had he.
What if that was all she was waiting for in order to return? For him to change so she could then make their marriage a priority? Then this letter, speaking only of his personal struggles, was the absolute wrong missive to send.
Oliver slid the ring back into place as he took in a fortifying sniff. The letter must be rewritten. Adding not only a more endearing greeting, but offering compassion and understanding, and an honest willingness to change. To make a true effort to see the marriage succeed. That was the only gentlemanly action to take.
Again, a sensation clenched his heart. But this time, it was different, an even odder and deeper stirring of his emotions.
Oliver closed his eyes, hoping to better discern its origins and intent. Shane's beautiful features and teasing gaze filled his view. His mind was now able to recall her joy during her word association game and her tears as he held her in his arms to soothe them. Her ready smiles and hesitant looks. How she looked to him for courage when they first danced in the studio and her light tones as she teased his old-fashioned sensibilities.
And then there was the evening in the DLO when she introduced him to the new song. His breath caught at the memory of their near kiss. A shiver slipped over his skin.
From the moment they'd met, they'd had a connection. He could not and did not deny it.
He shook off the memories, the sensation, the emotions. Because a connection wasn't a vow.
He opened his eyes and stared at the letter once more. But Shane, Ms. McInerney, again appeared before him. Her engaging smile, teasing him and urging him to share in her laughter, her joy.
But she still was not his wife. And he had not tried hard enough for the woman who was. A near unforgivable error, but not an uncorrectable one.
His Catch-22 now solved, his fingers moved to the top of the letter. The paper bent then tore under his decided grip as he ripped it down the middle. Then again, in half.
His stomach turned over. Tears pricked his eyes. The odd sensation in his heart deepened into an ache.
Oliver swallowed hard. Blinked rapidly. Settled himself with a determined, forthright effort. He would do the right thing. The gentlemanly thing. And he would rewrite the letter. Offer to change. To be a man Holly could love and someone with whom she would want to be. And whatever attraction he felt for Sh—Ms. McInerney would simply have to be set aside and ignored.
He laid the torn papers on the table and removed two pieces of stationary from his leather binder. It was time to write. But how did he start out? Grand adventures had piqued her interest and led to her leaving. Perhaps opening with his experience in the vault might hold her attention long enough to reach the true reasons for the letter? He shut his eyes for a moment, called once again on that sensation of danger, and then put his pen to the paper.
Dear Holly,
So much time has passed. And there is so much to say and perhaps little time left to say it. I currently find myself in a position where my life may be at risk, and there was never a better example of that than the night we met.
I suppose I should not have been surprised. I had a feeling that from the day we met, you began leaving me. What I knew of the world could never compete with your dreams of discovering it for yourself, of traveling the uncharted course, of living the bohemian life of artist and poet.
If you have left me behind forever, I will accept that. But if you regret your decision and simply do not know how to find your way home, then come back. I am here willing to try again, to see your dreams through your eyes.
Until I hear from you, I remain faithfully.
Oliver
Oliver set the pen down and reread the letter, word by word. Did it call their original connection back to mind? Yes. Did it honor Holly's dreams? Yes. Did it offer a true option of reconciliation? Yes.
The only item that remained lacking was an address. Which Ms. McInerney possessed and was a simple matter of a request for its provision. He would do so first thing Monday morning.
Ignoring another stab of that unnamed, yet poignant, emotion, he nodded once then folded the paper and slid it into the envelope.
##
Monday morning, Oliver pushed through the DLO doors with a forced brightness and cheerful greeting. "Good morning, Ms. McInerney."
She looked up with a wide, genuine smile that tugged once again at his heart. "Good morning, Oliver." Her eyes twinkled, inviting him to share the warmth of their connection.
He sniffed and with a quick nod, brushed passed her desk intent on the coat rack and the removal of his coat and briefcase. As he hung both on their hooks, he flicked a quick glance to her. Gone was the warmth and delight, and instead uncertainty and disappointment flickered in her gaze. He had hurt her with his abruptness. Again, the unidentified emotion sliced at him, rapidly becoming a familiar sensation despite its lack of a name. He was not fond of its increasingly frequent presence.
Lifting his brows, he pushed it aside and forced his gaze to absorb the rest of the DLO confines. A red lobster balloon bobbed and swayed next to his desk and two stands of helium balloons bracketed the posts behind it. A bouquet of fresh flowers lay on one of the armchairs next to the chess set. But as for human occupants, there was only himself and Ms. McInerney. "And where might Norman and Rita be?"
The question seemed to shake off Ms. McInerney's despondency, and her smile returned. "Oh, well Rita went to the Terminal Annex for the latest delivery, and Norman said he forgot something in his locker. They should both be back in a few minutes. But that gives me time to finish setting up."
Oliver clasped his hands behind him and rose on his toes. "Setting up for what, might I ask?"
Ms. McInerney pulled a rolled piece of fringed fabric from behind her desk and a hammer from her purse. "Just a little congratulations for Rita to celebrate her victory on Saturday." Her lips lifted in a quick, mischievous smile. "Be ready to sing the pageant song when she comes in."
Oliver nodded. "Ah." He glanced from the rolled fabric back to his briefcase. The absence of Rita and Norman afforded the perfect opportunity to conclude other business as well. "Before you embark on finishing the decorations, Ms. McInerney, I believe you previously located an address of personal importance to me." He paused and lifted his brows as an arched tone laced his request. "I would appreciate your sharing it now."
The fabric slipped in her grip and the glow in her eyes dimmed once again. But a moment later, she seemed to rally, her lips flinching into a quick smile of understanding. "Oh, ah, yes. I have it …" She turned back to her desk and pulled open one of the small drawers, then another. "Uh. Here." She held out a small piece of paper bearing a Paris address written in her flowing script.
Oliver took it from her with a nod. She licked her lips, flicked a quick look from the note to his eyes, then away. She wanted to comment about the request, possibly even the note itself, but apparently thought better of it. Instead, she flashed a weak smile and grabbed a step ladder, pulling it to one of the posts behind his desk and allowing the fabric to unfurl in her grip.
Oliver removed his ink pen and the envelope from his suit jacket pocket. Again, Holly O'Toole stared at him from the paper. And again, that disconcerting, unnamed sensation stabbed at his heart. He flicked his eyes to Ms. McInerney and found her back to him as she began tapping a nail, securing the fabric to the post.
Lips flinching, he pulled himself back to the task at hand, set the envelope and note on Norman's desk and neatly printed Holly's address. He then affixed three forty-nine cent stamps from Norman's stamp pad and finally tucked all three, the envelope, his pen, and the address, into his suit jacket pocket. He would drop it at International Shipping on his way to the department meeting later today.
He returned his gaze to Ms. McInerney and read the tense line of her shoulders. Tension that only his absent wife engendered between them. He winced at the realization. But then, even more tension between them was likely if Holly answered in the affirmative and returned. Perhaps even more than tension would result. Perhaps Ms. McInerney would finally leave herself.
Oliver gulped. His eyes strayed to his suit jacket as concern flickered across his brow. The letter might now be ready to send. But was he truly ready to send it? He had lived in a frozen limbo for three years and within days his world could be upended.
Concern disintegrated into fear. As much as he needed her answer, had committed to changing himself if she did come back to him, Holly's return would significantly alter his well-ordered life. Was he ready for that outcome? Ready to become someone other than himself if she did agree to try again? Ready to completely lose the warmth, happiness, and connection he shared with Ms. McInerney?
He had no idea.
The silence continued punctuated only by the tapping of hammer against nail. But that tapping at least drew him from the whirl of his emotions and back to the stable and familiar ground of their work in the DLO. His eyes once again moved to Ms. McInerney's back. Thankfully, the tension had eased during his contemplations. Deciding to focus the present rather than ponder the uncertain and unknowable future any further, Oliver's lips parted as he crossed his arms over his chest. He took in a quick breath and surveyed her congratulatory banner as genuine admiration infused his words. "That is a beautiful sign, Ms. McInerney. I had no idea how much artistic ability …"
