It's Only Temporary

Chapter 34: The Letter (Part Two)

Sometimes I like to picture you in a bathing suit....

David cringed at the words he'd just written. So much for stream-of-consciousness. Where had that even come from? That was so completely not what he wanted to say.

The point was to tell her that he loved her, and then to tell her why he loved her. Not because of the way she looked in a bathing suit. Or the way she looked in a red sweater. Or the way her eyelashes looked without mascara....

It wasn't just that, was it? She was beautiful. Yes. But so were lots of girls. Beautiful girls were a dime a dozen in this city. It couldn't just be that.

David himself hadn't quite understood what it was about her until this past week. Having her there in his apartment had brought back all the memories of the last time she'd camped out in his living room - back when he was recuperating, and she'd insisted on staying no matter how much he pretended to protest. That's what it was, he'd realized. That's what he missed so damned much, ever since she left. The way she always seemed to understand what he needed, even when he didn't tell her. Even when he didn't know what he needed, she just understood somehow. When he needed to laugh... when he needed to be taken down a notch... when he was in the mood to be teased and knocked around, and when he needed a softer touch. When he needed someone gentle to tuck him into bed. Someone warm and safe to run her fingers through his hair, and write him silly pink notecards, and whisper in his ear that everything would be all right.

That's what made her special. Maybe not perfect, but pretty damn close. She'd make a hell of a wife someday. A hell of a mother, too, no doubt. Special. One in a million. Some lucky bastard would win the lottery when he ended up with her.

That was the point of this letter, David realized with a sigh. It was like buying a lottery ticket. The odds were against him, but he had to give it a shot. Even if it was a long shot - a million to one - at least he would know that he'd tried. At least it wouldn't haunt him.

Maybe he should just write that. Something like that. It was better than the stuff about the bathing suit, at least. He pulled out a fresh piece of paper, and his pen hovered in the air as he tried to visualize the words:

Dear Penelope,

I have a confession to make. I am in love with you. I'm fairly certain you don't feel the same way, but I wanted to get it off my chest just on the off chance....

David set the pen back down again as a new thought suddenly struck him - a new mental image of the way her face might look when she read it. What if she didn't laugh? What if it actually made her feel... bad? Uncomfortable?

David closed his eyes, trying to erase the picture that had just flashed through his mind: her smile, slowly fading... her eyes widening... her cheeks flushing with embarrassment....

No, she wouldn't laugh, would she? Not when she realized he was serious about it. He knew how she would feel. He'd been on the receiving end of his share of unwanted attention. Most women took the hint, but once in a while some pathetic, starved-for-attention loser decided to throw herself at him. It was a horrible feeling. The worst. Pity mixed with embarrassment - plus a healthy dose of guilt for anything he might have done to lead her on.

And that was how it felt with some stranger. Penny had been his assistant for two years. Two years! She'd written God-only-knew how many emails to his personal account - all the while thinking they were just kidding around. She'd slept at his bedside. She'd held his hand. She'd come rushing over to his apartment in the middle of the night. She'd even woken up in his bed that one time, with his arm flung around her and his face nuzzled behind her ear.... The list went on and on. And if she read this letter now, she would go over every single interaction they'd ever had and cringe with mortification. She would second guess all of it. All of it. She would blame herself.

It would be incredibly unfair. She'd put her whole career on hold for him out of pure kindness. Pure generosity of spirit. And this was how he was going to repay her? By being the pathetic, starved-for-attention loser who didn't know how to take a hint?

He felt sick to his stomach now when he thought about it. She had done so much for him, and what had he ever done for her in return. Wrote her a nice card at Christmas? He'd never even tried to lift a finger for her. He'd known that something was off. Of course he'd known - Ivy League graduate working as an office temp? He'd known in his gut that something was wrong. He'd even thought about asking her why, but he'd always bitten his tongue. He'd always hesitated. He hadn't asked because, deep down, he hadn't wanted to know the answer. He hadn't wanted to help her. If he helped her, she might not be his assistant anymore. She might not be sitting in a cubicle ten feet outside his office door any time he felt the urge to see her face. That was why he'd never asked. That was why he hadn't even known she deferred medical school.

Because he didn't want to know.

He saw it now, clear as day. This letter was for him, not her. This was their entire relationship in a nutshell. She'd done nothing but give, and he'd done nothing but take. She'd already given up two years for him. She'd royally screwed up her life. And this was how he was going to repay her.

Leo was wrong. This was not the same thing as calling up a girl you just met for a date - nothing ventured, nothing gained. This was a different situation. A more complicated situation. If he really, truly cared about Penny, he should do something to help her, not hurt her - something to help her, even if it hurt him. That was the point. That was what she'd done for him.

She had asked him the other day in his apartment if he wouldn't have done the same. "You would have left?" she'd asked. "If you'd been in my place, you would've just gone to medical school?"

He could still picture the look on her face when she said it. She'd been utterly dumbfounded. She couldn't even comprehend the idea that someone else wouldn't have made that kind of sacrifice. It was just something ingrained in her - something so basic to her that she didn't even realize how special it was. She saw someone in need, and it never occurred to her not to help. She didn't pause. She didn't hesitate. She just rolled up her sleeves and did what needed to be done.

That's what made her special. Incredibly special. Forget wife and mother. She'd make a hell of a doctor, too.

This letter was all wrong. David saw that now. He suddenly remembered the rest of his old professor's advice, in the writing course he'd taken long ago. He could hear that final lecture, word-for-word inside his head:

"If you're truly blocked," the professor had said. "If you've tried all the tricks, and the words just won't come, it means something. It means you're writing the wrong thing. Your story took a wrong turn somewhere. The only way out is to go back to the beginning and write something new."

It was true, David realized. That was why he was having such a hard time with this letter - because it wasn't the letter he needed to write.

He knew what he had to do now. Even if it hurt him. Even if it haunted him. Even if his every selfish instinct screamed against it. Even if every word he wrote felt like another ruthless bullet, piercing through his chest.

He picked up his pen, and this time his hand didn't shake. His writing was firm and unwavering as sentence after sentence filled the page:

To Whom It May Concern:

It has recently come to my attention that my former employee, Penelope Stewart, has decided to apply to medical school. I would like to submit a letter of recommendation on her behalf....

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