Angels at Christmas (22 page)

Roy gazed at her with puzzlement and what seemed to be renewed respect. “You're a better person than I'll ever be.”

Anne hated to ask again, but she was curious about her ex-husband. “Is your father…well?”

“What you really mean is, does he have any regrets?” Roy supplied for her.

There was some truth in that. “I don't think your father would admit any regrets to you, would he?”

Roy agreed. “Not in so many words, but it was easy enough to read between the lines.”

Anne held her breath. So often she'd speculated about Burton and his new life. “Other than financially, is everything as it should be?”

“I don't think so. My guess is that Dad's having trouble keeping up with Aimee, uh, physically. Now that he's in his sixties, his work pace is taking its toll. He didn't sound happy.”

“How
did
he sound?”

“Tired, exasperated, overworked.”

“I thought your father would've retired by now.”

“He can't,” Roy said, “not with the speed at which Aimee is spending his money, and that's only the half of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Roy shrugged and she thought for a moment that he wasn't going to tell her. “It also seems that Aimee's taken a liking to some of his clients—men who are seeking comfort after their divorces.”

Anne was shocked. “Your father actually told you that?”

“Not exactly, but close.” He shook his head in disgust. “She spouted all these platitudes about loving my father and building a bridge between us, and it was all lies.” A muscle leaped in the side of his jaw. “She came with a purpose, which she advanced with her lies. She wanted something from me, just the same as Julie did.”

Obviously, it was Julie who was on his mind. “No matter what papers Julie signed,” Anne said, “I still don't think she's anything like Aimee.”

“I've been fooled before, and I'm not going to let it happen again.”

“I know.” It broke her heart to admit that. “I wish I wasn't leaving you over Christmas.”

He frowned, and then smiled. “Do you honestly think it bothers me? Christmas doesn't mean a thing to me.”

“But, Roy, it should.” Her heart ached for her only child. Nothing had worked out as she'd hoped. Her prayers, like so many before, had gone unanswered. Roy would be alone on Christmas Day.

T
hree days before Christmas, Julie knew this was destined to be the worst one of her life. She was already dealing with the loss of her mother and now she'd lost Roy, too.

Even her twin sister's call hadn't raised her spirits. Julie ended the conversation and then wandered into the living room, where her father sat watching the evening news.

One look at her, and Dean grabbed the remote control and muted the volume. “That bad?”

“I feel just awful.”

“Because of Fletcher?”

Slumping into the chair next to him, Julie nodded. “I don't know what happened. I went to see him on Wednesday afternoon, and it was as if he'd shut me out of his life.” Julie still didn't understand it. He'd been so cold and defensive; nothing she said had reached him. And their second meeting, a day later, was even worse.

“Is it the settlement money?”

She shrugged. She'd never intended to accept a dime of that settlement, but Roy had angered her so much she'd agreed to his terms out of pure frustration. He seemed to believe all women were greedy for money and power.

“I was tired of fighting with him,” she said in a subdued voice.

“I know. Fletcher's gone far in the business world by the sheer strength of his determination.”

“Only in this instance, he's wrong.”

“I know, Kitten.”

Her last angry exchange with Roy lingered in her mind. Furious, she'd signed those stupid papers. It was what he'd expected, what he'd demanded she do—and so she had. But oh, how she regretted it. She hated to end their relationship on such a negative note, but what choice did she have? Roy had cast her from his life as if she meant nothing.

“I don't know if he's capable of love,” she murmured, hoping her father had some consolation to offer.

“Every human has the capacity to love,” he said with such confidence that her heart surged with hope. “But a person's ability to love is only equal to his or her openness in receiving it.”

Julie valued her father's wisdom. He was right; nothing she could say or do at this point had the potential to reach Roy. He had certain beliefs about her and about all women, and he'd made certain assumptions as a result.

“I'd like one last opportunity to talk to him,” she said. Not because she expected to change his mind. That seemed doubtful. All she wanted was an opportunity to undo the damage they'd inflicted on each other.

Her father seemed to weigh her words. “Do you think seeing him again is wise?”

“I…don't know. Probably not,” she said, but the need still burned within her. “I just feel so bad about the way we ended everything….”

“Fletcher's been out of the office for a few days, but he's back now.”

“It's almost Christmas and…in the spirit of the holidays I thought…”

“You thought he might listen?”

“At least long enough to understand my reasons.”

“Do you want to do this for you or for Fletcher?” her father asked.

The question was a valid one. Julie mulled it over, then answered as honestly as she could. “I don't know. I guess it's for me. I don't feel right leaving things the way they are. I can't imagine he'll see me, but I have to try.”

“Then write him a letter.”

“A letter,” Julie repeated. “I doubt he'd read it.”

“Does that matter?” her father asked. “You'll have said what you feel is necessary. Then you can let him go.”

“True,” she admitted, the idea taking shape. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how much had been left unsaid.

“Whether Fletcher reads it or not is up to him,” her father said. “When feelings run this strong, sometimes letters are the best form of communication. There's less room for misunderstanding or argument.”

Julie immediately felt relieved. Writing Roy, explaining her thoughts and emotions, was a solution she hadn't considered before. She might never learn if he'd read her letter, but she'd have the satisfaction of knowing she'd done everything she could. If he responded, good; that would mean there was still a chance. If, as she expected, she never heard from him again, she could find peace in the knowledge that she'd tried.

“Oh, Dad, I don't think I appreciate you nearly enough.”

Dean merely grinned and picked up the television remote.

Composing the letter took all evening. Julie read it over repeatedly before she was satisfied. In the first paragraph, she thanked Roy for the good times they'd shared, for opening his home and his life to her for even this short while.

That had been the easy part of the letter. More difficult was discussing his utter rejection of her. Then she related her father's observation, telling Roy he could only trust her as much as he allowed himself to trust. In the last third of the letter, she apologized for her own angry response to his lack of faith.

It was midnight when she finished. Although she'd had trouble sleeping since their breakup, she experienced no such difficulty that night. Once again, she marveled at her father's wisdom. It really didn't matter whether Roy ever read her letter. In the process of articulating her reactions she'd found the peace she sought.

The next morning, the last day of school before winter break, Julie took the letter with her, planning to drop it off at the post office. School ended at noon, but after she'd had a festive lunch with the other teachers and straightened up her classroom, it was nearly three. If she posted the letter as she'd originally intended, he might not receive it until after Christmas. She had no idea what his Christmas plans were; maybe he'd already left for a Caribbean cruise or a country inn in Vermont, she thought whimsically. At one time, she'd hoped to invite him and his mother to join her and her father. She hadn't even had a chance to broach the subject.

Nor had she spoken to his mother since Saturday. Anne hadn't called her, and Julie didn't feel comfortable putting his mother in the middle of this awkward situation.

Although it meant facing Jason, the guard at the entrance, she decided to deliver the letter personally.

Julie felt his gaze on her the moment she pulled into the parking lot. His eyes didn't leave her until she'd parked in an empty slot and then climbed out of her car. Julie half expected the security guard to block the entrance. But Jason sat at his desk, one hand on the phone, obviously ready to call for reinforcements.

He got warily to his feet when she walked in, but remained solidly behind his desk, as if it afforded him protection.

“Stay away from me,” Jason warned.

Startled, Julie glanced over her shoulder. No one else was there. She couldn't imagine why the burly guard would be afraid of
her
.

“I don't know what you did to me, lady, but I don't want a repeat of it, understand?”

“Jason,” she said in her most conciliatory voice, “what in heaven's name are you talking about?”

“You know.” He gestured theatrically. “Just stay right where you are. You're not allowed in this building.”

Actually she'd expected that. “Not to worry, I don't have any intention of storming into Mr. Fletcher's office. I have a letter for him.” She advanced slowly toward Jason's desk, not wanting to intimidate him any more than she already had, although how she'd done that was a mystery.

He backed away until he bumped into the wall behind him.

“All I ask is that you give Mr. Fletcher this letter,” she said, careful to enunciate every word. “You don't need to deliver it yourself,” she assured him, in case it was the prospect of an encounter with Roy that had unsettled him. “I'm sure Ms. Johnson will be more than happy to see that Mr. Fletcher receives it.”

Jason's eyes moved past her and a chagrined expression appeared on his face.

Julie looked over her shoulder again to find Roy standing there. He'd clearly just stepped out of the elevator. Her first instinct, absurdly enough, was to turn tail and run. A second later, she seemed completely incapable of moving. Or breathing. Or anything else.

“What's Ms. Wilcoff doing in the building?” Roy asked the security guard as if Julie wasn't standing directly in front of him.

“She has a letter for you.”

“Yes. I wrote you a letter.” She hated the way her voice trembled, but she hadn't been prepared to see Roy. It wasn't supposed to happen like this!

Jason handed Roy the envelope, which he reluctantly accepted.

Julie's heart pounded in her ears. She had to escape as quickly as possible. “I'll leave now,” she said.

“That would be best,” Jason boomed. With his employer close at hand, he'd apparently regained his nerve. He escorted Julie to the front door, going so far as to push it open for her.

Julie felt Roy's eyes burning holes in her back as she exited the building. She walked at twice her normal speed, intent on getting away.

Then she heard footsteps behind her.

“What's in the letter?” Roy demanded, following her into the parking lot.

Julie fumbled for her car keys. “I suggest you read it.” She stood by the driver's door, while Roy waited at the rear bumper.

“I'll bet you declared your love and described how anguished you are by our parting.”

Julie wasn't taking the bait. Everything she wanted to say was in the letter; she had no intention of repeating it and then arguing over the points she'd made.

“I'm not interested in the account of your undying love.”

Her hand shook so badly she had trouble pressing the button to automatically unlock her car door.

“You're no different from Aimee.” He seemed to want to provoke her into losing her temper. “What's the matter? Don't you have anything to say?”

A painful breath worked its way through her lungs. “Most everything is in the letter, Roy, but I realize now that there are a few things I left out.”

“Good. You can say them to my face.”

She studied him then, really looked at him, and saw how unhappy he was. This was the most joyous season of the year, and Roy was miserable.

“I didn't say I loved you,” she said, her voice gaining strength and control. “As you'll discover if you read my letter.”

He arched his brow in that all-too-familiar sarcastic way.

“But the truth is, I do.”

“Spare me, please.”

“It's foolish, I suppose, but I always did like a challenge, and you, Roy Fletcher, are definitely that.” She even managed a brief smile.

Again the sardonic arched brow.

“The thing is,” she continued, determined not to let his cynicism destroy her, “I do love you and it's up to you to accept that love or reject it.”

He said nothing.

“We haven't known each other long, but in that time, I've learned a great deal about the kind of man you are. You have a tremendous capacity to give of yourself, a tremendous capacity to love.” She thought of the fact that he'd hired her father and that, unknown to his mother, he'd bought her paintings. She recalled the afternoon he'd come to her soccer game—and so much more. His unpretentious enjoyment of her simple meals. The loyalty his staff felt toward him…

He held up his hand. “Not interested.”

“I know, and that saddens me, because I'm going to get in my car and drive away. I didn't come here to argue with you—I didn't even expect to see you.”

“It seems to me you planned it perfectly so you would.”

Did he honestly believe she'd somehow manipulated their simultaneous presence in the company foyer? “I didn't. But whether I did or not is of little concern.”

He shrugged. Julie knew he must have some feelings for her, otherwise he wouldn't be standing here now, wouldn't
be listening to her. If this was her only chance to get through to him, then she might as well give it her best shot.

“You have the ability to decide what you want out of life, Roy. You can go on living behind your hard exterior, blocking out anyone who has the potential to teach you about love, or you can—”

“I already said I wasn't interested in love. I made that clear from the beginning,” he snapped. “What is it with you? Every other word out of your mouth is something about love. Yeah, right! Well, I can't help wondering how much
love
you'd really feel if I wasn't who I am.”

“Who are you, Roy?”

“You know what I mean.” He gestured toward the building that stood as evidence of his prosperity.

“Are you the rich and successful entrepreneur?”

“You know what I mean,” he said again.

“Unfortunately, I don't,” she told him, opening her car door. “I thought I knew who you were, but I guess I was wrong.”