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To my dearest Pookie.
From your ravishing Honey Bear.
I think I throw up a little in my mouth.
After five or six letters, I realize that these aren’t from my dad, at least not to my mother. They can’t be. They talk about slipping away unknown and about passing each other in town, yet unable to show any sign of knowing the other person. It’s an affair.
My dad’s affair.
It has to be, right?
Why else would these letters be kept in one of my dad’s books in his office? No one ever used this room except me to paint and him to work. My mom wasn’t a reader, so why would she come in here? It’s the perfect place to hide correspondences you don’t want anyone else to find.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“The sunlight reflects off your skin like a beacon of home, radiating love and joy wherever you go.” I realize Emma is standing beside me, reading over my arm. “That’s a tad on the cheesy side, if you ask me,” she adds, adjusting the book the letters fell out of. “But I’m sure he still got some. Ladies always eat that sweet stuff up.”
“What book was it in?” I ask, my hands shaky.
“The Scarlet Letter. Huh, that’s sort of poetic, right? The proverbial homewrecker who cheats on her presumably-dead husband and has an illegitimate love child.”
My eyes must be as wide as saucers when I look at the older woman. Emma must be able to sense my duress and grabs the chair behind the desk. As if on autopilot, I take a seat, the familiar panic attack rearing its ugly head. I hear Emma speaking, but I can’t make out her words. All I can do is stare down at the unfamiliar handwriting and the blurring words.
Suddenly, Jensen is there, crouching down in front of me. His eyes are full of concern and his mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him. My blood is roaring in my ears and the sound of my labored breathing is echoing off the walls. He reaches up and cups my cheek with his warm, calloused hand. The sensation instantly soothes me and I can’t help but close my eyes.
“That’s it, Kate. Deep breaths,” I finally hear, his voice firm, yet so soft and approving.
I focus on my breathing, in through my nose and out through my mouth. When I open my eyes, he’s there, a tentative smile on his lips and eyes so full of relief. “There you are,” he says gently, running his finger up and down my cheek. “You scared us for a second.”
“I’m sorry,” I croak through my dry throat.
“I’ll grab some water,” Emma says, disappearing from the room.
I glance to the right and find Max, tears marring his small face. “Oh,” I choke, reaching for the little boy and pulling him into my arms. “I’m so sorry I scared you.”
“You couldn’t breathedid. I didn’t like it,” he whispers, his small arms hanging on to my shoulders for dear life.
“I’m so sorry, Max.” I pull back to look at him in the eyes. “Sometimes, I have what are called panic attacks. They hit me fast and make it so I have a hard time breathing, but it always passes within a few minutes.” His eyes bore into me as he listens, trying hard to understand what I’m saying.
“Are you sick?”
I give him a small smile. “No, sweetheart, I’m not sick. It’s just something that happens every once in a while.”
“I don’t like it,” he confesses, pulling me into another hug.
“Me either,” I reply softly, engulfing him in my own hug.
“Here you go,” Emma interrupts, handing Jensen a glass of water.
“Take a drink,” he instructs, handing me the glass. I slowly pull back from the little boy and reach a shaky hand for the glass. “Max, Kate is going to be okay. Do you want to go over and finish your painting while she relaxes for a few minutes?”
Max seems hesitant to leave me, and if I weren’t totally in love with this little boy before, I’d be all the way there now. But I do love him. Him and his dad.
“It’s okay, Just Max. I’m going to be fine. You go finish your painting, and when it’s finished drying, we’ll hang it on the wall.”
“We will? Where?” he asks, his baby blues wide with surprise and elation.
“Well, after it’s dry, we can walk around the house and find the perfect spot for it. How about that?” I ask, giving him a warm grin.
