Page 114 of The Fixer

Still, she was managing, juggling her clients’ needs with what the estate demanded of her. She paused to pat herself on the back that she’d convinced their one troublesome client to fly out to the Western Slope to meet with her, playing the sympathy card with her mother’s passing. He’d been reluctant until she’d reminded him he’d told Estelle he was willing to go anywhere to meet with her. So meet they would, at Silver Summit.

A sliver of guilt wended its way through her, but damn it, she hadthisproject, which was equally important—one might argue it was more so because it was family—and it required her attention too. She made a note to check in with Estelle tomorrow and find out what more could be squeezed in the schedule, though Estelle had been jumping through hoops for weeks doing just that. Joy would spend at least five minutes of the conversation reassuring her PA that she was, in fact, returning. The right time would soon present itself.

She nearly laughed out loud at herself. Weeks ago, she had practically had an allergy to the town and couldn’t wait to flee. But she’d become attached to Fall River and its caring townsfolk. Exactly when had the tide turned? Had it started the first night she’d slept with Charlie? A compelling motivator, but in truth, the shift had started days before that.

Could a person straddle two distinctly separate lives at the same time? In one dimension, she was old Joy, the uptight workaholic, living in her plush penthouse in the Windy City, wearing the latest fashion—and grappling with anxiety attacks. The woman who spent Friday nights—when she wasn’t working—staring out her windows at the vibrant city below, its lit buildings glittering, imagining the dramas unfolding in each illuminated window that opened onto someone’s private world.

It occurred to her that her lonely existence was why she spun tales. Writing allowed her to connect to the messy world of love and emotions, a luxury she didn’t allow herself otherwise. Penning other people’s imaginary stories kept her loneliness at bay, sweeping her into worldsshecreated, where she controlled the outcomes. No surprise that her heroines overcame the odds of awful childhoods.

In her other life, though—the one she’d adopted since arriving in this quirky little town—she hadn’t needed to jump back into her journals, nor had panic attacks tormented her. She wore fun, comfortable clothes, ate whatever the hell she wanted, didn’t waste time and attention on perfect makeup or nails, and let her mind roam far and wide. Here her passions had been unleashed. They thrived. They vibrated within her in brilliant color.

While they rocketed her to heights she’d never climbed before, they could as easily drag her into an abyss of despair. The threat lived side by side with the bliss, but perhaps that exact dynamic made the soaring that much sweeter. Who knew that asthisJoy, she could experience life full-out as she never had before? And she loved it.

The dogs had been sleeping at the foot of the guest room bed, where she was currently propped against pillows as she worked, and they bolted upright at the sound of Charlie’s truck. He’d come home early. Maybe hehadbeen extra motivated, and the demo had gone quicker than expected. As Joy tied off loose ends, the front door opened and closed, and the click-clack of the pooches’ claws told her they were getting attention from their favorite alpha male.

Soft footsteps crept toward her room, and she looked up at Charlie’s looming shadow, ready with a sultry smile. But the worry lines furrowing his forehead stopped that smile at the first curl of her lips. He leaned a forearm against the doorframe.

“Oh crap. What did you find? Is it going to cost a lot to fix?”

Shaking his head, he closed the distance between them and held out a bundle in his palm. A length of brown twine was loosely tied around a collection of white envelopes yellowed by time. “I found these inside the wall in your mother’s old bedroom. I didn’t know what I was looking at, so I started to read one. When I realized what they were, I stopped.”

Joy’s face tightened into a frown as she lifted the packet from his hand. “The wall? But how …?”

“Someone had wallpapered over a hole in the wall, so I didn’t see it until I destroyed that section. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dig into private family stuff.”

Curiosity piqued by the offering, she absently laid a hand on his wrist. “Don’t be. How could you know unless you took a closer look?” Her gaze moved to the stack. The handwriting resembled her mother’s, though from a time long past when it had been more legible. It was addressed to Joy’s uncle-slash-foster father, Helene’s brother. “How old are these?” she murmured aloud.

Charlie pointed at the top one. “The postmark says 1996.”

Setting down the rest of the envelopes, Joy flipped the top letter front to back and gingerly lifted a flap coated in a shiny, brittle layer of dried glue.

“I’ll, ah, need to pick up a few supplies and check on Felix and the guys.” Charlie jabbed a thumb over his shoulder when Joy raised her eyes back to his.

She stared into those bottomless gray-green eyes that were so filled with concern. For a man who could be a total alpha in the bedroom, he was also a tenderhearted, caringpartnerin and outside of it. Her heart overflowed, and tears welled in her eyes. Yep, she had it bad.

When she heard his truck start, she went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of her favorite white wine he’d stocked for her. So what if it was only four o’clock? Her yappy little voice warned she was going to need the bracer.

After a healthy gulp, she sat back down on the bed, leaned against the pillows, and carefully slid the old pages from the envelope and unfolded them. Another sip, and she began to read her mother’s missive to her brother.

Dear Darryl,

I hope this letter finds you, Louise, and the children well. Physically, we are fine, though still struggling mightily here in Lincoln, trying to pick up the pieces after Sid’s unexpected and untimely death. I thought I had run out of tears, yet they continue to come.

Of the girls, Joy is the most devastated by her father’s passing. They were so close, even though she’d only been with us two years. Though brief, their bond was a strong one, as you can imagine, since he was the one who brought her into our home. I’m saddened she and I never connected. I so badly wanted another child of our own, and when I found out I couldn’t … Well, you know the rest. Sid was terribly attached tothat little girl, and he believed she needed a home as much as he believed we needed a second child, whether it was our biological offspring or not. Of course, that put us in constant peril of losing her, but his wishes overrode mine. Perhaps that’s what kept me from becoming too attached. I might even be guilty of taking the friction it caused between Sid and me and projecting it onto Joy. She didn’t deserve it, of course, but we started off on the wrong foot and never got off it.

I have been studying with a man here in Lincoln who is teaching me how to move through the grief. He believes I need to go someplace with a strong spiritual force. He mentioned the mountains of Colorado, so I began researching different energy fields and found a town I believe would suit me well and help me heal. I know what you’re thinking, but the children are young, and they will survive the upheaval. Adapting will make them stronger adults.

Speaking of the children, what I’m about to ask is a monumental kindness, but one I have sat with and meditated on for long hours. It’s hard for me to admit, but I cannot be a good mother to this child. She is so full of curiosity, and I simply can’t keep up. I worry that she will wither if she remains with me and her sister. And there’s the other elephant in the room I’ve never acknowledged until now. Mary resents her sister with such ferocity that I am deathly afraid she will harm Joy. Mary can be a conniver, perhaps because she is so much older and Joy trusts so easily, but with that temper of hers and little Joy being so scrawny, I worry Mary will break the child in two and we’ll never be able to fix her.

I am so torn, Darryl, but I feel as though this pathway has opened up for me—for us—and it is the way we must go. I do love the girl, but she so preferred her father that I fall short as a substitute. On some level, I believe she blames me for his death, but I’m helpless to do anything with that. She challenges me every day and in every way. Does this make me a bad person? Is it possible for a parent and child to be mismatched, like some couples are? Then again, had I carried her in my womb, my feelings might be different.

This is where you and Louise come in, and I pray you will be able to understand my appeal. I am hoping that you will be willing to take Joy in. I think if she’s in a loving family, with other children around where she can spread that energy, she will thrive and become whatever Destiny has planned for her.

You make a good living, brother, but I know your family budget must be tight with four children of your own. Sid purchased an insurance policy when we first married, and I’m about to receive those funds. I will gladly turn that money over to you if you and Louise would be willing to bring Joy into your home and treat her as your own.

Think about it, talk it over with Louise. I don’t know where else to turn. You and Louise are my last hope. If you’re not willing or able to take her, I will need to look into adopting her out to yet another family, and it breaks my heart to think of her going through that process again, especially now that she’s older and will surely remember the trauma.

Help me, brother.

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