Safe Haven(61)

Dust  and dirt, broken furniture, piles of garbage. Nothing painted, nothing  cleaned. All at once, Katie stepped back on the porch, almost stumbling  off the broken step. No. It wasn't possible, it just wasn't. What had  happened to Jo, and what about all the improvements she'd made on the  small cottage? Katie had seen Jo hang the wind chime. Jo had been over  to her house, complaining about having to paint and clean. They'd had  coffee and wine and cheese and Jo had teased Katie about the bicycle. Jo  had met her after work and they'd gone to a bar. The waitress had seen  them both. Katie had ordered both of them wine …

But Jo's glass had been untouched, she recalled.

Katie  massaged her temples, her mind racing, searching for answers. She  remembered that Jo had been sitting on the steps when Alex dropped her  off. Even Alex had seen her …

Or had he?

Katie backed away  from the decaying home. Jo was real. There was no way she'd been a  figment of her imagination. She hadn't made her up.

But Jo liked  everything you did: she drank her coffee the same way, she liked the  clothes you bought, her thoughts about the employees at Ivan's mirrored  your own.         

     



 

A dozen random details suddenly began crowding her mind and voices dueled in her head …

She lived here!

But why is it such a dump?

We looked at the stars together!

You looked at the stars alone, which is why you still don't know their names.

We drank wine at my house!

You drank the bottle by yourself, which was why you were so dizzy.

She told me about Alex! She wanted us to be together!

She never mentioned his name until you already knew it, and you were interested in him all along.

She was the kids' counselor!

Which was the excuse you used as a reason to never tell Alex about her.

But …

But …

But …

One  by one, the answers came as quickly as she could think of them: the  reason she'd never learned Jo's last name or saw her drive a car …  the  reason Jo never invited her over or accepted her offer to help her  paint …  how Jo had been able to magically appear at Katie's side in  jogging clothes …

Katie felt something give way inside her as everything clicked into place.

Jo, she suddenly realized, had never been there at all.





43





Still  feeling as if she were in a dream, Katie stumbled back to her house.  She took a seat in the rocker and stared at Jo's house, wondering if  she'd gone utterly mad.

She knew that the creation of imaginary  friends was common among children, but she wasn't a child. And yes,  she'd been under a great deal of stress when she arrived in Southport.  Alone and friendless, on the run and looking over her shoulder,  terrified that Kevin was closing in-who wouldn't be anxious? But was  that enough to have prompted the creation of an alter ego? Maybe some  psychiatrists would say yes, but she wasn't so sure.

The problem  was that she didn't want to believe it. She couldn't believe it because  it had felt so …  real. She remembered those conversations, could still  see Jo's expressions, still hear the sound of her laughter. Her memories  of Jo felt as real as her memories of Alex did. Of course, he probably  wasn't real, either. Probably made him up, too. And Kristen and Josh.  She was probably strapped to a bed in an asylum somewhere, lost in an  entire world of her own creation. She shook her head, frustrated and  confused and yet …

There was something else nagging at her,  though, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She was  forgetting about something. Something important.


As much as  she tried, she couldn't seem to place it. The events of the past few  days had left her feeling drained and jittery. She looked up. Dusk was  beginning to spread across the sky and the temperature was falling. Near  the trees, a mist was starting to roll in.

Looking away from  Jo's house-which was how she'd always refer to it, regardless of the  state of mind it implied-Katie reached for the letter and examined it.  The outer envelope was blank.

There was something frightening  about the unopened letter, even though she wasn't sure why. It might  have been Alex's expression as he'd handed it over …  somehow she knew it  was not only serious, but also important to him, and she wondered why he  hadn't told her anything about it.

She didn't know, but it would  be getting dark soon and she knew she was running out of time. Turning  the envelope over, she lifted the seal. In the waning light, she ran her  finger over the yellow legal paper before unfolding the pages. Finally,  she began to read.


To the woman my husband loves,



If  it seems odd for you to read these words, please believe me when I tell  you that it feels just as odd to write them. Then again, nothing about  this letter feels normal. There's so much I want to say, so much I want  to tell you, and when I first put pen to paper, everything was clear in  my mind. Now, however, I find myself struggling and I'm not sure where  to begin.

I can start by saying this: I've come to believe that  in everyone's life, there's one undeniable moment of change, a set of  circumstances that suddenly alters everything. For me, that moment was  meeting Alex. Though I don't know when or where you're reading this, I  know it means he loves you. It also means he wants to share his life  with you, and if nothing else, we will always have that in common.

My name, as you probably know, is Carly, but for most of my life, my friends called me Jo …



Katie  stopped reading and looked at the letter in her hands, unable to absorb  its words. Taking a deep breath, she reread those words: for most of my  life, my friends called me Jo …

She gripped the pages, feeling  the memory she'd been struggling to retrieve come into focus at last.  Suddenly, she was back in the master bedroom on the night of the fire.  She felt the strain in her arms and back as she heaved the rocking chair  through the window, felt the surge of panic as she wrapped Josh and  Kristen in the comforter, only to hear the loud splintering sound behind  her. With sudden clarity, she remembered whirling around and seeing the  portrait hanging on the wall, the portrait of Alex's wife. At the time,  she'd been confused, her nerves short-circuiting in the hell of smoke  and fear.         

     



 

But she'd seen the face. Yes, she'd even taken a step closer to get a better look.

That  looks a lot like Jo, she remembered thinking, even if her mind hadn't  been able to process it. But now, as she sat on the porch beneath a  slowly darkening sky, she knew with certainty that she was wrong. Wrong  about everything. She raised her eyes to gaze at Jo's cottage again.

It  looked like Jo, she suddenly realized, because it was Jo. Unbidden, she  felt another memory float free, from the first morning that Jo had come  over.

My friends call me Jo, she had said by way of introduction.

Oh, my God.

Katie paled.

 … Jo …

She hadn't imagined Jo, she suddenly knew. She hadn't made her up.

Jo  had been here, and she felt her throat begin to tighten. Not because  she didn't believe it, but because she suddenly understood that her  friend Jo-her only real friend, her wise adviser, her supporter and  confidante-would never come back.


They would never have  coffee, they would never share another bottle of wine, they would never  visit on the porch out front. She'd never hear the sound of Jo's  laughter or watch the way she arched her eyebrow. She would never hear  Jo complain about having to do manual labor, and she began to cry,  mourning the wonderful friend she'd never had the chance to meet in  life.


She wasn't sure how much time passed before she was  able to begin reading again. It was getting dark, and with a sigh, she  stood and unlocked the front door. Inside, she took a seat at the  kitchen table. Jo, she remembered, had once sat in the opposite chair,  and for a reason she couldn't explain, Katie felt herself begin to  relax.

Okay, she thought to herself. I'm ready to hear what you have to say.

 … but  for most of my life, my friends called me Jo. Please feel free to call  me either, and just so you know, I already consider you a friend. I hope  by the end of this letter, you'll feel the same about me.

Dying  is a strange business, and I'm not going to bore you with the details. I  might have weeks or I might have months and though it's a cliché, it's  true that so many of the things I once believed to be important no  longer are. I don't read the newspaper anymore, or care about the stock  market, or worry whether it's going to rain while I'm on vacation.  Instead, I find myself reflecting on the essential moments of my life. I  think about Alex and how handsome he looked on the day we were married.  I remember my exhausted elation when I first held Josh and Kristen in  my arms. They were wonderful babies, and I used to lay them in my lap  and stare at them while they slept. I could do that for hours, trying to  figure out whether they had my nose or Alex's, his eyes or mine.  Sometimes, while they were dreaming, their little fists would curl  around my finger, and I can remember thinking that I'd never experienced  a purer form of joy.