Although the hallway light was on, there were no others. I opened the front door leaving the car in the driveway. I locked the door behind me and crept up the stairs. I could hear the gentle snores coming from Dad’s bedroom as I tiptoed past. I shrugged off my clothes, not bothering to shower, and pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top. I climbed under the duvet, leaving the side light on and read through the letters again. It wasn’t the elderly gentleman that I pictured but a tortured Miller. It was obvious when I thought about it. He had actually told me some of the things he’d written about, just not as elaborately. Maybe he’d wanted me to figure it out. Perhaps he’d been calling out for help as loudly as I had been. If what I knew was true, he’d been to hell and back, several times. He hadn’t told me a great deal about Annabelle, but I figured they hadn’t been together for long before she’d died. I imagined that to be so hard. He’d had a second chance with her and it had been wrenched away.
I felt awful for some of the things I’d said, things that, in hindsight, didn’t make sense. I was angry, disappointed, yet as I lay in bed and read his words, I realised how much he’d helped me. I understood the pain he had suffered, we had bonded over those letters. We had connected in real life. I had thrown that all back in his face.
I picked up my phone and hovered over his name. Instead of calling, I sent him a text message.
I’m sorry. I’d like to talk some more about the letters, if you wish to, of course. Dani.
I placed the phone on the side of the bed and watched the screen for a while. It faded to black and stayed that way. Eventually, I turned off the bedside light and rolled to my side. I pulled the duvet up around my neck and closed my eyes. All I saw was Miller. I saw his lips as they closed in on mine. I saw the desire in his eyes, the pupils dilate, and the irises darken. I felt his heartbeat increase, and his breath on my skin. I fell asleep to Miller and his low, comforting voice in my mind.
I woke late the following morning. I stretched and rubbed at my eyes. I was warm and content to stay put, but hearing Dad speaking to someone had me climb out of bed. I grabbed a sweatshirt and my slippers and walked from the room. Dad was sitting on the chair in the hallway with the phone to his ear. He looked up at me as I walked down the stairs and he smiled. He gave me a thumbs up and mouthed the word, Christian. I smiled in return. I was pleased he’d managed to contact him, who had called whom, I didn’t know, but they were speaking, that was all that counted.
I made my way to the kitchen and poured a cup of tea, thankful the pot was still warm. It was a few minutes later that Dad appeared.
“He’s skiing, can you believe that? I tore a strip off him for not letting us know. He said he thought he’d replied to one of your messages but obviously it didn’t go through. I’m glad he’s safe, I was beginning to get very worried.”
“Did he say where he was?
“Somewhere in France. He did tell me the name, but I forget. He seemed quite upbeat, said he was enjoying himself. I asked if he’d seen Alistair but he cut me off, so I’m guessing not. He asked after you and apologised for worrying us both.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you’ve spoken to him.”
Dad sat at the table. “So, was it him?”
I nodded as I sipped my tea.
“Well, that’s a mystery solved. I bet you were pleased.”
“Far from it. In fact, I felt quite violated and deceived, which this morning, I think is a little irrational.”
“I imagine that it was a shock but you need to remember the kindness in the words, and how much you enjoyed receiving those letters. Does it matter who sent them?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, Dad, I just don’t feel it was right to keep up two very different personalities.”
“Did he, though. I mean, I haven’t read the letters, obviously, but from what you’ve said, and from what I’ve heard him say to you, it doesn’t seem like two personalities. Two names, sure, but not two people.”
“His real name is Lincoln Miller Copeland. He dropped the Lincoln in primary school, something to do with wanting his own identity. Would you think that advanced in primary school?”
“If I remember, you insisted on being called Sapphire for a while. You wouldn’t answer to Daniella, or Dani, or Dee as Christian called you. It was rather annoying and I don’t believe you were much older than about seven at the time.”
I laughed at the memory. Sapphire had been the name of a horse at the local riding stables that I had fallen in love with. I’d been besotted with her, until I’d fallen off and never wanted to get back on.
“I think I screwed up with Miller. We might need another builder.”
“We all screw up, he has as well. I’m sure he’s professional enough to continue his job, if you still want him to, of course.”
“God, I feel like a bloody teenager. All this angst is tiring. I’m going to shower and get dressed.”
After my shower, I lay on the bed. I thought back over the past few months and the turmoil I’d been through. I still had a long way to go before I felt I could move on with my life, there was the matter of the solicitor’s letter hanging over my head. Yet there was something inside that felt so clear and vibrant. For the past day or so, I’d felt more alive than I had in years.
Dad was planning on spending the evening with Colette and I was due to meet Daniel. I didn’t feel like going to the pub, or socialising, at all. I hadn’t heard back from Miller and resigned myself to the fact he was very pissed off. I still believed I had a right to be upset and the more his silence stretched, the angrier I became. Sure, he’d done what he had with my best interests at heart, but he should have either stopped the letters or confessed when we grew closer. The thought startled me. Were we close? I guessed we were since we’d shared a kiss.
I sighed and pulled on a clean pair of jeans, then buttoned up my shirt. I ran a brush through my hair, which desperately needed a cut, and tied it back in a ponytail. I stared in the mirror. Dragging my fingertips down my cheeks did nothing to flatten the bags under my eyes, yet I’d been getting plenty of sleep. I pulled my cosmetics bag off the dresser and applied some concealer, a little foundation, mascara, and then a swipe of lip gloss. It was the most makeup I’d worn in ages.
I opened the wardrobe and scanned my footwear. I had walking boots, wellingtons, or Converse. I was sure I had some high-heeled shoes at one point and wondered if they’d ended up in storage. I could hardly remember the day I packed a suitcase and left my house. Or maybe I hadn’t packed at all. I remembered Helen helping me. In fact, it was both Christian and Helen that had packed up my house. I guessed that would put pay to finding any letters Trey had received from her. If she had any sense, she would have destroyed them.
A toot of a car horn outside brought me out of my thoughts. I walked down the stairs and pulled a thin jacket from the hook. Dad had already left to visit Colette. I locked up the door behind me and walked towards Daniel’s car.
“Hi, I’m a little late, I’m so sorry,” he said when I’d opened the door and climbed in.
“I didn’t realise the time, so no need to apologise,” I replied.
“How are you?” he asked.
“A little pissed to discover Miller was the one writing letters to me, you knew, and it was your dad I met in the cemetery that time. I’m guessing you knew he visited Anna’s grave, which is why you were so vague when I asked about her.” I decided to get it out of the way.
“Ah, yes. I imagine I owe you a huge apology. Will you let me explain when we get to the pub?”
“I’ll be interested in your explanation. I’m sorry, I still a little pissy about it all.”
“I can imagine you are.”
“Shall we go?” I asked, buckling up my seatbelt.