Deadly Assets

Version 2

But these days I get to spend so little time with my old friends up here.

Old friends. The phrase just kept banging around in Seth's head. Why'd he have to fall in love with her, anyway? A few years back, he thought he had a chance. He'd never forget waking up in the ICU, her beautiful face swimming into focus, crying because she was that worried about him. He fancied he could still feel the smooth, cool skin of her face under his fingertips as he brushed the tears from her eyes. He'd tried to tell her, then, how he'd felt, but the words just wouldn't come.

He poured himself a whiskey. "I know, Ruthie. I know. But I don't indulge very often." He ambled over to the corner, set his glass on the cabinet, and began thumbing through his record collection, pulling out an old favorite. "Rosemary Clooney. Just the ticket." He slid the record carefully from its sleeve and set it on the turntable.

"You might find this hard to believe, Ruthie, but she's grown on me a lot since those early days. I know, I know. You were always a fan. Made me watch her tv show anytime I made it home in time." Seth smiled at the remembrance, and took a sip of whiskey, settling in his comfortable easy chair. "A-yuh. She was pretty, alright. Not as pretty as you, o' course, but still. Easy on the eyes. And she could sing. I'll give you that. But these new records. Well. They're something special and no mistake. I know you'd love 'em even more than I do." He was quiet for a long moment, then he looked at Ruth's photograph that he'd hung on the wall. "I sure do miss you, Ruthie. I do. It wasn't fair. No sir, it wasn't. We did alright, Margie and I. We did. But still. We'd both have done a sight better with you." He raised his glass to her picture. "You sure were something special."

He shifted in his recliner. "Jessica's something special, too. She's a firecracker, just like you, Ruthie. I fell in love with her before I knew what I was about. Didn't mean for it to happen. A more troublesome, fractious woman never lived. She won't agree with you. Not unless she really means it. Never goes along to get along. And I love her." He swallowed a sob. "I'm just a friend. A good friend, I like to think, but a friend all the same." He sighed. "I'm an old man now, Ruthie. I thought I could be content with Margie, with a profession I love, a few good friends*, but it turns out I can't be."

He looked at the paintings he'd stacked in the corner. Couldn't bear to look at them. A gift from Mort, who cared? He didn't expect anything special from him. It was nice to be remembered, of course, but a gift from Mort and Adele didn't have the power to sting. To wound him like a present from Jessica. To think they'd each given him virtually the same painting. And a lighthouse to boot. Is that what she thought of him? Solitary? Isolated? Always in the background, watching, never participating? It was a lonely life; he just didn't think she'd noticed. Or rather, he never thought she'd rub it in. But she had, and it was like salt in a wound…painful, nearly unbearable.

He'd never admit to anyone, but he sometimes read the ladies' magazines that Beverly would order for the waiting room. He was fascinated by the inner life of women. Jessica kept her cards so close to her chest; he could never ask her anything. Not if he wanted to stay in her life at all, which he did. He hadn't been familiar with the term friend zone, but after that disastrous dinner party, it was all he could think of. Jessica had put him firmly in the friend zone. He just had to accept it, somehow.

"But I can't, Ruthie. It's pretty near broken my heart, and I'll tell you the truth, dear heart. I didn't think it could break anymore."

He heard the familiar vamp of one of his favorite songs.

I'm confessin' that I love you

Tell me, do you love me too?

I'm confessin' that I need you

Honest I do, need you every moment

In your eyes I read such strange things

But your lips deny they're true

Will your answer really change things

Making me blue?

I'm afraid some day you'll leave me

Saying, "Can't we still be friends?"

If you go, you know you'll grieve me

All in life on you depends

Am I guessin' that you love me

Dreaming dreams of you in vain

I'm confessin' that I love you, over again

He sang along to the last part of the song. Honest I do, I really love you. You know that I do. He warbled along until he could hear the tone arm mechanism lift the needle to start the record again. He shifted to get out of the chair, but stopped abruptly. "Who's there?"

"It's me, Seth."

"Jessica?" He hastily pulled in the footrest and scooted out of the recliner. He didn't want Jessica to see him struggle to get up. She already thought of him as an old man, he was sure of it. No need to give her any more ammo.

She poked her head around the door to his living area. "May I come in?"

"You're already this far," he said gruffly. How much had she heard? "How long have you been here?"

"Not long." She was fighting a grin.

"Long enough, I'll wager. How'd you get here, anyway?"

"I had Mort run me by. He stopped by the house on his way home." Seth grunted. "Seth, I've been wanting to apologize to you."

"Apologize? What for?"

"I think you know what for," she said quietly, jerking her chin toward the corner where the paintings were stacked. She took a tentative step into the room. "I feel just awful."

"It's alright, Jess," he mumbled.

Jessica tilted her head and listened. "I didn't know you were a Rosemary Clooney fan!"

"A-yuh."

"I used to love her program. Did you watch?"

"When I could. She was Ruthie's favorite singer. Jess, what are you doing here?"

"I told you."

"But why have Mort drop you here at this time of night?"

Jessica took another tentative step forward. "You've been avoiding me."

"I've been busy."

"Even when you're busy, you call or drop by for a quick visit. You're avoiding me. Why?"

"I told you, Jess. I've been busy."

"I don't believe you." She closed the distance between them.

"Believe it," he said weakly.

"Do you accept my apology?"

She was so close, he could smell the delicate scent of her perfume. He felt her breath on his cheek. He hadn't even finished his whiskey, but he felt light-headed, disoriented. "No need, Jessica," he rumbled.

"Seth." She cupped his face in her hands. "I think there is." She moved toward him slowly, so slowly. It was like a dream. His eyelids fluttered shut as he felt her warm lips press against his. He wanted to reach for her, to crush her to him and kiss her passionately, but he felt rooted to the spot. She drew back and eyed him critically. "Are you alright?"

He swallowed. "What do you want from me, Jess?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Jessica slid her arms around his neck. "Only what you can give, Seth."

"And what's that?"

"Only you can answer that."

"I think you know, Jessica. Don't tease me."

She drew him to her in a close embrace, then pulled back to look into his eyes. "I'm not teasing you, Seth. I love you. I have done for quite some time. I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to admit it to you."

Seth's eyes widened and his jaw was moving, but no sound was coming out.

"Seth? Are you alright?"

He nodded, then took in a deep breath. "I'm alright, Jess. I just never expected to hear those words from your lips."

She reached for his hand and squeezed. "I know, my darling. And that's part of why I want to apologize to you." She lifted his hand and pressed it to her mouth. "Now do you understand?"

"I might need one more kiss to be sure."

Jessica laughed as he pulled her to him, but her laughter stilled as soon as their lips met. They kissed for a long, lovely moment. Seth broke their kiss and brushed her hair back from her face. "I should run you home, woman," he said quietly.

"You'll definitely have to, but couldn't we wait till morning?" She stifled a giggle. "Oh, Seth. Your face."

"I don't know which end is up, Jessica. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I'm sure. Is this what you want?"

"Only for the past nine years or so, woman, but, Jess…we don't have to…I mean. "

"Seth," said Jessica firmly. "The only reason I didn't pack a bag is because I didn't want to embarrass Mort. I'll understand if you want to wait, but I've had time to think this over, and I don't want to waste another minute of the time we have together."

Seth felt hot tears spill onto his cheeks. He looked into her eyes, and he saw nothing but love. "I love you, Jessica Fletcher."

She smiled and took his hand. Seth turned to cut off the record player, but Jessica stopped him. "Let it play, dear heart."

He smiled at her and pressed a kiss to her hand. "Shall we?"

Jessica nodded and followed him down the hall and into his bedroom.

A/N: Poor Seth. I feel like he gets pretty short shrift in the later years. Ah well…we can fix that here, can't we. Happy reading!

*Lifted straight from The Life I was Supposed to Have After my Wife Died by KarlieQ. What? You haven't read it? Get outta here and go read it.