Words Can Never Hurt Me
Seth blew out a long breath. It had been two weeks since Jessica proved that Harry was an arsonist and a murderer. Two long weeks where she'd kept herself apart from everyone. From him. Stayed home, refused invitations from him to hike at Spooner's Mill, go out with Caleb on either of the last two very fine Saturdays, to eat a meal he cooked with his own fair hands. She was in a bad way, and he didn't know what to do about it. What he could do about it. He knew well enough what he'd like to do.
He almost could murder Harry himself—one of the last links to Frank in Cabot Cove, and he had to show the unbelievable lengths he'd go to for money.
Money. It had been so long since he'd had any to speak of, he'd almost forgotten all about it. Almost. He needed money, too. Not badly enough to murder someone or even destroy property, but he wouldn't turn down a generous inheritance from a surprise great-uncle he'd never known.
He felt…loose…inside, untethered ,when he thought of it. The letter was between his thumb and forefinger before he even realized it. Foolish, he thought bitterly. Especially now you know who wrote the letters. Old Harry sure knew how to go for the jugular. He couldn't explain why he kept the letter, why he carried it around with him, not when he had the contents memorized. You'll never have enough money to compete with those fancy men she meets on her tours. Those words had been buzzing in his head for weeks now. The only thing that had put them in the background was Harry's arrest and Jessica's obvious grief.
He had to forget those words. Jessica needed him. Jessica needed him, and that ought to be catalyst enough for him to act. He could be of use to her, and he didn't need anymore than that. But needs don't necessarily cancel out wants, do they, chum? He knew he shouldn't have watched The Maltese Falcon last night. Soon he'd be talking out the side of his mouth like a low-level hood from a different Sam Spade novel.
A quick glance at his watch told him it wasn't too late to make an appearance at Jessica's back door. He'd go around front if he had to. This was too important.
Jessica wasn't prone to exaggeration, and she generally got on with things, no matter how unpleasant the task, but this was hard. Harder than she'd expected. Oh, she knew Harry, or at least she thought she had. A little fuzzy around the edges, the line between right and wrong a bit blurry, but murder? Never that. Not in a million years would she have thought him capable. She hugged herself while she waited for the kettle to boil.
It was fortunate timing, indeed, that she'd sent the galley proofs back about a month ago. Her mind was untethered. She felt woozy, sick even, and when she woke, groggy and bleary in the half-light, she rolled over expecting Frank to be there. That hadn't happened in a long while. Not since Preston.
She hugged herself harder. She did not want to think about him. She turned and busied herself with the mug, the spoon, and the sugar she'd already set out. For a moment, she wished she'd had a reason to set out two mugs, but she'd turned down every invitation Seth had issued. She hadn't wanted to see him. Not yet. Not until she'd mastered this fresh wave of grief. She drew in a sharp breath. She hadn't expected to feel Frank's loss again, so piercingly. No pun intended, Jess, she could almost hear Seth say. Murder always troubled her, but she found a sense of peace, found her equanimity restored when she could see justice being done. Only a few times had she known a killer. Once was too much.
"Come on, old girl," she said, just as the back door opened and Seth walked in.
"You're here," she said dumbly.
"As you see," said Seth awkwardly. "I hope it's not too late."
She began fussing with the tea things again. "I was just heating water for tea. Care for a cup?"
Seth paused for a moment. Her voice sounded reedy, as thin as the china she used only at Christmas. "If it's no trouble," he said quietly, and shut the door carefully behind him.
"No trouble," she trilled, and the false heartiness in her voice broke his heart again.
He sat at the table and waited while she fiddled with the tea bags, then pulled another mug from the cabinet, and poured the water. Seth jumped as she cried out; he was at her side in a moment. "What's wrong?"
"I've been careless," she said, wincing. "I sloshed some water onto my hand."
"Let's have a look," said Seth perfunctorily. He took her hand carefully in his and examined it closely. "A-yuh, Jess. I'd say that's a second-degree burn at least. Is your first aid kit down here?"
She shook her head. "It's upstairs."
"Let's go, then," and he took her elbow and steered her up the stairs.
"Seth, really," Jessica protested.
"I suppose you want a nice burn spot on your hand?"
"Don't you have something in your bag?"
"Faster this way." He cut his eyes at her. "What's the problem, Jess? Didn't make your bed this morning?"
"As a matter of fact, I didn't," she said testily.
Although he appreciated the indignant tone of her voice, it wasn't a good sign that she'd left her bed unmade. He hadn't looked all that closely at her when he came in, but now he noticed her lackluster appearance, a general lack of attention to detail, which was quite unlike her. No matter, he thought. I'll get her burn sorted, we'll talk about this Pierce business, and then we'll tackle the bed. The housekeeping, he corrected.
"I fail to see what's so funny," she said coolly, and Seth realized at that moment he was grinning rather broadly.
"Sorry, Jess," he said. "I shouldn't be having a laugh at a time like this."
"What could you possibly be laughing about?"
"It's just my odd sense of humor, Jess. Don't mind me." He settled her on the edge of the bed. "Now where's your first aid kit?"
"I keep it in the linen closet."
Seth opened the door. "Which shelf?" he asked, just as she responded. "Ah, I see it." He pulled it from the top shelf, then opened the contents, hunting for ointment and sterile gauze. He pulled what he needed from the case triumphantly. "Here we are!" He trotted over to the bed and pulled a desk chair over. "We'll have you sorted in no time," he said cheerfully as he sat down and began to work.
Jessica watched the top of his head as he bent over her hand. His touch was so tender and loving that tears were flowing down her face before she realized what was happening.
Seth applied the ointment liberally, then began to wrap her hand slowly and methodically, looking up only when he felt a tear splash onto his hand. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you, Jess?" She shook her head. "Then what's wrong?" he asked softly, continuing to wrap the bandage around without taking his eyes off her face.
"I don't know."
"Don't you?" he asked gently. Satisfied with the bandage, he tore off a strip of medical tape with his teeth and secured the gauze. He touched her fingertips delicately, then smiled at her. "Whatever it is, Jess, you can tell me. You can tell me anything."
She drew back just a little, and Seth's heart sank. He flattered himself that he was a close friend, a best friend. She certainly was his best friend. Oh for pity's sake, Hazlitt! You're no kind of friend if you don't quit woolgathering and get yourself together. She needs you. She turned to look at the headboard and drew in a shuddering breath. "I hadn't wanted to see you. Not yet. But then, just before you came in, I found myself wishing that I had invited you. That I needed two mugs instead of just the one." Seth allowed himself a small smile. "I didn't want you to see me like this."
"Like what?"
"Like this!" She used her bandaged hand to gesture wildly around the room. "A mess, Seth. Just a total mess."
"Not making your bed for one day, for two weeks," he corrected at a fierce look from her, "does not make you a total mess, woman."
"Then I'm weak, which is worse!"
"Jessica, you aren't weak. You're the strongest person I know," he scoffed.
"That's because I never let you see me like this," she said softly.
Seth leaned in closer. "Like what, Jess? Human? Harry was a big blow, woman. A big one," and he heard Jessica take another long, shuddering breath. Maybe it was time. "Harry was one of your last links to Frank," he said quietly.
Jessica turned sharply toward Seth, but her face crumpled as she saw his gentle, loving expression, and she dissolved in tears. Seth reached to embrace her and she clung to him, moving to sit in his lap. Seth, surprised and a little wary, moved to settle her more firmly in his lap, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing noises in her ear. Her low, mournful sobs broke his heart.
They sat in the lengthening shadows until Jessica finally exhausted her tears. "I'm sorry, Seth," she murmured into his neck.
"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Jess," and he felt her smile in the crook of his neck. "What?"
"I could feel the sound of your voice reverberating through my chest."
"Oh," said Seth, and he sent a silent, heartfelt prayer that she wouldn't feel anything else of his. It wouldn't be easy; she was so soft and warm and she smelled so good.
"You aren't…I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"
"No, no, Jess. Not at all," and even Seth could hear how unnatural his voice sounded in the darkened bedroom.
"Good," she said, and curled impossibly closer to him.
He sat with her in his arms, dreading the moment he'd have to release her. He shifted to settle her more firmly in his lap, and he froze as he heard the crinkle of paper. It sounded as loud as the report of a pistol in the quiet dark.
"What was that?"
"It's nothing, Jess. Just a piece of paper I had in my pocket."
She drew back far enough to see his face. "A piece of paper."
"A-yuh."
"In your pocket."
"A-yuh. I just…put it in my pocket without thinking. That's all."
"Must be a pretty important paper."
"Not really."
"How long's it been in your pocket?"
"I dunno, Jess. It's not important."
"Even in the dark, Seth, I can tell when you're lying."
They sat quietly for a long moment. Why hadn't he burned that paper when he'd had the chance? Several chances? Jessica began smoothing her hands across his face and shoulders. Something felt different about her touch, something he was afraid to put a name to. She leaned in close, and he swore he felt her lips against his ear.
"Why are you lying to me?"
"I'm not lying, Jess. Not exactly." He felt flustered, precarious, his precious control slipping away with each touch of her fingers against his face.
"You never mentioned." She breathed against his ear. "You never mentioned whether you got a poison pen letter, Seth."
"Nothing but foolishness. A beautiful, elegant woman like you…sneaking around with the likes of Charlie?" His voice rose in indignation. "Ridiculous." He felt her hand snaking down his side to rest gently at his hip. His pocket. His pocket.
"I think the letter is in your pocket, Seth. Is it?"
"I don't want you to read it," he said in a tone that nearly broke Jessica's heart.
She sat back on his lap and moved her hands to cup his face. "Why not, dear heart?"
Seth looked at her; there was just enough light to make out her face. It didn't seem like she was teasing him. "What did you say?" he whispered hoarsely.
"You heard me, dear heart," and she kissed him softly.
Seth gripped her shoulders and pushed her back so he could see her face. "Don't tease me, Jess. Please."
"I wouldn't tease you ever, Seth. But especially never about our feelings for each other." Seth stared at her, searching her face for what he couldn't say. "What was in that letter, darling?"
Seth shook his head involuntarily. "Why, Jess? Why do you need to know?"
She smiled, as delicate and knowing as a cat. "I'm nosy."
Seth barked a laugh. "That's true enough."
Her face grew serious. "And it's bothering you. You've tried hiding it for weeks, but it's troubling you, Seth. And that troubles me."
He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then pulled the crumpled letter from his pocket and handed it to Jessica. She unfolded it carefully, then laughed. Seth looked at her, gutted. She touched his face gently.
"I can't read it. It's too dark in here." She was quiet for a moment. "Can you tell me what it says?"
"You'll never have enough money to compete with those fancy men she meets on her tours."
Jessica drew in a sharp breath. She had a fierce sudden gladness at the thought of Harry behind bars. She looked at Seth, who couldn't or wouldn't meet her eyes. She let the letter fall, so that she could lift his face to hers, and kissed him more deeply still, trying to convey in her touch what she had such trouble saying aloud.
They drew apart after a long moment. "Are you sure, Jess? I mean, Harry's note wasn't far off."
Jessica drew up ramrod straight, and even in the dim light from the bathroom, Seth could see her eyes were blazing. "He was as far off course as a man can be, Seth. He didn't know anything about me, about us. He only knew how to hurt you, my darling." She kissed his mouth gently. "I was only waiting for you to say something."
"Me?" asked Seth incredulously.
"Yes, you!" Jessica laughed, and Seth pulled her into a tight embrace.
"I was too scared to say anything. Too afraid to risk what we did have. I should have known."
"Known what?"
"That it would be you to get us here." Jessica squeezed her arms around him even more tightly. "But here's one thing I will say. I love you, Jess. I'll love you forever."
Seth felt Jessica's breath against his neck, a long, slow exhale. She relaxed even further into him.
"I love you, Seth." She began placing gentle kisses on his neck, and she smiled as she heard his soft groan.
"We should go back downstairs, Jess," he breathed.
Jessica drew back to look into his eyes. "We don't have to," she said quietly.
He took her hands from around his neck, careful of her burn, and kissed them. "Let's wait, Jess. At least a little while." He looked into her eyes, which were bemused and a little perplexed. He cleared his throat. "I just want…I'd like a little time to woo you, Jess." He pressed her hands to his lips once more. "Properly. It's no less than you deserve."
Jessica looked at him, at his kind face that had become dearer to her than she ever dreamed possible. "From where I'm sitting, Seth, it feels like you're more than I deserve."
He drew her to him in a fierce hug. "Never."
They held one another for a long moment, each breathing in the scene of the other, savoring the closeness they were finally free to indulge in.
"Seth?"
"Mmm?"
"You ought to burn that letter. Or, better yet, let me."
He loosened his hold on her and leaned down so he could feel for the letter. As his fingers brushed against it, he felt immense relief, a lightness he hadn't felt since he was a young man, if he was being honest. He held on to Jessica and settled himself back in the chair, handing her the letter as he did so.
She stood gracefully and held out her hand to him. She would give him an opportunity to woo her. A little time," he'd said, and she squeezed his hand tightly before leading them into the hallway and down the stairs.
A/N: This episode on which this story is based is titled Sticks and Stones. Hence my title. This is written for a guest reviewer who requested a story where Seth offers Jessica comfort after she confronts Harry Pierce with the proof that he murdered two women. I hope you enjoy it!