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Chapter One
You hold my heart. Even when you didn’t want it anymore. I waited for you since the beginning of time and no separation will ever keep us apart.
R.I. P. Dani Miller 3/2/83–3/28/11
Rory Fowler stared at the billboard outside the highway entrance, her foot hovering over the gas. She usually made it past Sam’s billboard only once during its run and the month was almost over.
How could Dani be dead? What the hell had happened?
He always reserved a quarter ahead and nothing had been unusual when she’d taken Sam’s June order in March. She’d missed his email to reserve September’s billboard because of her wild vacation at the end of June. She’d jetted off for two weeks and the new part-timer had served as his contact. Otherwise she would’ve known about Dani’s death sooner.
How had she died? A freak accident? An illness? He’d reserved December’s billboard last week and hadn’t said anything. He’d still mentioned sports—they shared a love of the Patriots and the 76ers—and questioned if she thought his latest message seemed too hokey. The last email he’d sent, he’d even commented on a new sitcom and something he’d seen in the news.
They’d gotten chatty over the past two years he’d been reserving billboards, though they always kept their messages brief and centered mostly around his order. She didn’t necessarily consider him a friend, but they were certainly email-friendly.
Damn. Dani had been so young. Barely twenty-eight. Sam must be devastated.
Rory hardly ever drove by Sam’s preferred billboard on Schulyer Road because she rarely took this route to work. Always running late, she skipped the highway at rush hour because it would put her even more behind. Instead she took her chances on the less populated side streets.
She’d missed Sam’s words for three and a half weeks.
It had been time for her to check it out anyway. Though she didn’t drive by the billboard often, she had to see each one at least once. Some might call it quality control for her aunt’s small business, JD Signage, but it was much more than that. For some reason she needed to read his poetry stationed near the sky. It was her thing. Her stupid, sentimental thing that she’d never tell anyone about as long as she lived.
God, the last billboard had been so different.
She glanced down at the pile of stuff on her passenger seat, rifling around until she found the spiral notebook where she wrote down each of Sam’s signs. Her gaze jumped to the verbiage from March.
I never expected to find someone like you. Loving you has changed me, Dani, made me a better man. I treasure you.
And then December’s below that.
Another year is about to begin, Dani, and you’re still the center of my world. You’re the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.
There were more passages. She recorded them all, either at work when the paperwork came in or when she “happened” past the billboard. In the past year or so, the messages had become shorter. Maybe their marriage had settled into a lull after the natural honeymoon phase.
Were they still newly married, had they been college sweethearts? She had no idea. As many times as she’d wanted to ask, she hadn’t. He was a client and her curiosity had seemed invasive, even to her. Whatever the reason for his shortened love letters, his affection had still been evident.
He paid for this spot quarterly, always reserving way in advance. A billboard in such a prime location near I-90 didn’t come cheap, but money didn’t appear to be an object. Not for Sam Miller and his beautiful, perfect, young wife, Dani. Okay, Rory didn’t know she was beautiful, had never met her to ascertain her perfection, but she must be, mustn’t she, to earn such devotion?.
His now dead young wife, Dani.
Rory rubbed the chunky sand dollar she wore on a cord around her neck. Her airway tightened, clogged with the breaths trapped in her throat. She needed to… What? What was she supposed to do now?
She didn’t really know him. Had never laid eyes on him or even heard his voice on the phone. Theirs was a three-part-form and email friendship. There had never been any reason for her to contact Sam outside of work. Did this qualify?
Horns sounded behind her and she suddenly realized she’d stopped dead on the highway entrance ramp. With an apologetic wave, she hit the gas.
JD Signage was only a couple miles away. Not nearly long enough for her to begin to get over her jolt. Her head hurt and her eyes stung. Even her chest ached.
She slunk into her office and hoped Pamela, her mother’s youngest sister, didn’t notice she’d cut it way too close yet again. The company consisted of only six people so everyone pretty much knew where everyone else was—or wasn’t. At least today she’d sort of had a reason for her lateness. Even after she’d entered the highway she’d
stayed in the slow lane. She just couldn’t concentrate. Only one thing now occupied her head.
Dani. And Sam.
For the most part, she figured she had normal emotional responses. She occasionally misted up at human interest stories on the news, cooed over baskets of puppies, always made sure to donate money to the red kettles at Christmas. But she’d never been moved to this state of…inertia by the passing of a stranger before.
For the entire time she’d been in contact with Sam Miller, she’d wondered at the sort of man who created such a loving tribute. As fascinated as she was about his marriage, the man himself drew much more of her focus. Who did stuff like that? Sure, guys occasionally proposed at baseball games, but that was a one-time thing. Sam’s billboards were another altogether. He hadn’t wavered in his devotion over the course of two years.
Unreal.
Her first impulse was to pick up the phone. It was now the fourth week of September, so it had been six months since Dani’s death. Enough time for the shock to fade? She didn’t know. She’d never lost anyone close to her other than a couple of childhood pets. Though she’d cried buckets over them, that didn’t begin to compare to losing a spouse.
And she didn’t really know much about him. Other than he liked sports, enjoyed a good comedy, hated snow with a passion and had an incredibly romantic soul. He also had a very lucky wife, or at least she had been.
She grabbed her cell and started to enter the number she found on Sam’s sign reservation form. Then she stopped. What she said usually made people feel worse, not better. She tried, God knows, but she didn’t want to fuck things up worse for him. If that was even possible.
Going with impulse, she tapped the digits and waited through six rings. Must not be home. Maybe it was for the best.
“Hello?”
