"Meredith has never met him, but I've known him for eight years. We were neighbors in California, in Carmel." Matt watched her lean slightly forward, her attention riveted on him, and sensing her wish to learn everything she possibly could from him, he added, "We were also limited partners in several business ventures. When he went to prison, Zack entrusted me with his power of attorney, which gave me the right and responsibility to handle all his financial affairs."
"It's wonderful of you to take all that on," she said graciously, and Matt caught his first glimpse of the rare, unaffected warmth she must have shown to Zack when he most needed it in Colorado. "He must like and respect you very much to trust you so completely."
"We feel the same way about each other," he replied awkwardly, wishing there were some way to ease into the purpose for his visit.
"And that's why you came here from California—" she suggested helpfully, "because as Zack's friend, you wanted me to know you approved of what I said during the press conference?"
Matt shook his head, stalling by digressing to minor details. "We only vacation in Carmel now," he explained. "Our permanent residence is Chicago."
"I think I'd prefer Carmel, although I've never been there," she responded, following his lead and switching to polite small talk.
"We live in Chicago because Meredith is president of Bancroft & Company, which is headquartered there."
"Bancroft's!" Julie exclaimed, impressed by the mention of the elite department store chain and smiling at Meredith. "I've been to your Dallas store and it's wonderful," she said, refraining from saying it was also much too expensive for her. Standing up, she said, "I'll get the coffee, it should be ready by now."
When she left, Meredith touched her husband's sleeve and said softly, "She's already sensed that you've come here for a purpose, and the longer you delay, the more nervous you'll make her."
"I'm not exactly eager to get down to business," Matt admitted. "I've come a thousand miles at Zack's request to ask her bluntly if she's pregnant and pay her off with his check. You tell me a subtle way to say, 'Miss Mathison, I've brought you a check for a quarter of a million dollars because Zack is afraid you're pregnant and because he feels guilty about it and because he wants you to pay a lawyer to hold off the press and the legal authorities.'"
She started to suggest a more obvious and more tactful way to go about it, but before she could speak, Julie returned with a china coffeepot and began filling their cups.
Matt cleared his throat and began in a blunt, awkward voice, "Miss Mathison—"
"Please call me Julie," she interrupted, straightening, automatically tensing at his tone.
"Julie," he agreed with a slight, grim smile, "I haven't actually come here because of your press conference. I'm here because Zack asked me to come and see you."
Her face lit up like sunshine bursting out of the clouds. "He—he did? Did he tell you why?"
"He wants me to find out if you're pregnant."
Julie knew she wasn't, and she was so startled and embarrassed by the unexpected topic that she started to shake her head in denial before Meredith came to her rescue. "Matt has a letter to give you that will probably do a much better job of explaining all this than my flustered husband is doing," she said gently.
Julie watched him reach into an inside pocket of his sport jacket and extract an envelope. Feeling as if the world was beginning to spin and tilt around her, she took it from his outstretched hand and said shakily, "Would you mind if I read this letter now—in private?"
"Not at all. We'll enjoy our coffee while you do."
Julie nodded and turned. Quickly opening the envelope with her thumb, she started out of the living room, intending to go to her room, but the dining room was closer so she went there instead, neither caring nor realizing she was still partially in view of her guests. She braced herself for another condescending lecture from Zack about the infantile absurdity of giving any importance to their relationship in Colorado, but when she unfolded the pages and began to read, the tenderness and joy that exploded in her heart healed all her wounds. The world fell away and all that existed for her was the unbelievable words she was reading and the incredible man who had written them to her without ever intending for her to see them…
My darling Julie, I know you'll never see this letter, but it helps to write to you every day. It keeps you close to me. God, I miss you so. You haunt every hour of my life. I wish I'd never met you. No—I don't mean that! What good would my life be without my memories of you to make me smile.
I keep wondering if you're happy. I want you to be. I want you to have a glorious life. That's why I couldn't say the things I knew you wanted to hear when we were together. I was afraid if I did, you'd wait for me for years. I knew you wanted me to say I loved you. Not saying that to you was the only unselfish thing I did in Colorado, and now I regret even that.
I'd give up all my life to have one year with you. Six months. Three. Anything.
You stole my heart in just a few days, darling, but you gave me your heart, too. I know you did—I could see it in your eyes every time you looked at me.
I don't regret the loss of my freedom any more or rage at the injustice of the years I spent in prison. Now, my only regret is that I can't have you. You're young, and I know you'll forget about me quickly and go on with your own life. That's exactly what you should do. It's what you must do. I want you to do that, Julie.
That's such a lousy lie. What I really want is to see you again, to hold you in my arms, to make love to you over and over again until I've filled you so completely that there's no room left inside of you for anyone but me, ever. I never thought of sexual intercourse as 'making love' until you. You never knew that.
Sometimes I break out in a cold sweat because I'm afraid I got you pregnant. I know I should have told you to abort my baby if I did get you pregnant. I knew it in Colorado, but God, I didn't want you to, Julie.
Wait—I just thought of a solution that never occurred to me before. I know I have no right to ask you to have my baby, but there's a way to work it out, if you're only willing: You could take a leave of absence and go away—I'll see that you have plenty of money to compensate for what you lose from your job and to pay all your expenses. Then when the baby is born, I'd like you to take it to my grandmother. If you're pregnant and you're willing to do this for me, I'll write to her in advance and explain about everything. For all her shortcomings, the woman has never turned away from a responsibility in her life, and she'll see that our baby is properly raised. She has control of what would have been a very large inheritance of mine; a tiny part of that inheritance will be more than enough to pay for all the baby's expenses and education.