Lorna Michaels - The Truth About Elyssa

Elyssa picked up her water goblet, set it down. “It happened last year in March. Randy Barber, a friend from the station, gave me a ride home from work. Someone ran into us and Randy was…killed.” Her lip trembled, and Brett quickly reached over and covered her hand with his.

“I was in a coma for two weeks,” she went on. “When I woke up, I didn’t remember anything about the wreck. I still don’t.”

“Not remembering’s a way to protect yourself from something too painful to face. You may be better off if you don’t.”

“No.” The intensity with which she spoke surprised him. “Last month Jenny Barber, Randy’s wife, told me she believes what happened wasn’t an accident. She wanted to know what I could remember. She wanted my help.” Her face was stark with anguish. “I couldn’t give it to her.”

Wanting to soothe, he stroked her hand. “It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe I’m not trying hard enough to remember,” she said, and he saw that the thought brought her pain. “Since Jenny talked to me, I keep wondering if I could have done something that night, something that would have kept Randy alive.” Her free hand fisted on the table. “And if what happened wasn’t an accident, if someone deliberately ran into us, then I need to know who and why. I have to find out.”

Her words made him uneasy. He didn’t like the idea of Elyssa investigating a possible murder. But surely she didn’t intend to conduct a serious inquiry, not on her own. Or did she? “That’s a job for the police,” he said.

“The police report said the wreck was accidental.”

“Well, then.”

“I think they’re wrong.” Her eyes flashed, and he suddenly saw the determined reporter.

“You won’t learn much a year and a half after the wreck,” he pointed out.

“Maybe not, but I have to try. Yesterday I found some notes Randy made the day before he died. Under them he drew a skull and crossbones. I’m researching the notes, but so far I haven’t come up with anything. I’ve started asking questions, too.”

Brett felt a prick of alarm. “Be careful.”

“I will. I’ve done investigative work before.” She touched her cheek. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that wreck ended my career. That’s reason enough for me to try to find out who caused it.”

“I understand how you feel,” he said, “but watch your step. And get some help if you need it.”

While the waiter served them, Brett studied the crisscross of tiny lines on Elyssa’s cheek. An idea occurred to him, but he needed to present it tactfully. “Some cancer patients have scars,” he said carefully. “You could help them come to terms with that.”

She frowned. “How?”

“By visiting them, talking to them, letting them see that you’ve gone on with your life in spite of the injury.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“The Department of Social Work has a training program for breast cancer survivors who talk to patients. I could give them a call, tell them what I have in mind…if you feel up to it.”

“How can I help people ‘come to terms’ as you call it when I’m not sure I have?”

“Coming to terms—healing—is a process,” he said. “You’re building a new career, doing something with your life. You’re farther along the road toward healing than most.”

“I’ll think about it.” Her expression was solemn but he saw the spark of interest in her eyes. She’d say yes, he thought, and by helping others heal, would help herself.

He steered the conversation to lighter topics—the summer’s blockbuster movie, politicians she’d interviewed, a forthcoming book by a former senator that was expected to set Washington on its ears.

When their plates were removed, he reached for her hand, toyed with her fingers. A faint flush lit her cheeks. He touched her wrist and noted with satisfaction how her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. No matter what he and Elyssa said aloud, below the surface another conversation took place: I want you. Soon. Want me back.

They continued talking, lingering over coffee and dessert. Brett barely noticed the time passing until he glanced around and saw that the restaurant was nearly empty. Their waiter stood in the corner, eyeing them balefully. Brett beckoned to him. “I think he wants us out of here.”

Elyssa took one last bite of cheesecake and set down her fork. “That was delicious.”

“We’ll come again.” Often. Patience was a virtue, but so was persistence.

A sliver of moon glinted in the star-dusted sky as they climbed Elyssa’s porch steps. The daytime heat had abated, but the air was still thick and muggy. In the oak trees crickets buzzed, the only sound that broke the stillness.

Elyssa got out her key. “I enjoyed the evening.”

“So did I. Here, let me get the door.” He took the key from her, unlocked the door and followed her inside.

“Do you want some coffee?”

He shook his head. “I’m doing early rounds. What I want—” he stepped closer, put his arms around her “—is this.”

She only had time to register that this was the move of a confident man, before his lips covered hers.

She’d imagined kissing him more times than she could count, but now it was real and she was lost. Lost in the pressure of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the warmth and rhythm of his breath. She felt his heart beat in tune with hers.

She kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his. She could hold him like this, kiss him like this forever.

“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth.

Oh, I want you, too. So much. But she’d learned to be cautious. She’d learned how easy it was to go with your emotions and end up paying the price.

She drew back and put a hand to his chest. “Brett, we’re moving too fast.”

“Not nearly,” he whispered, sprinkling kisses along her jaw.

“For me we are. I need some time.”

He sighed. “I’ll give it to you then…grudgingly.” His lips curved in a half smile. “But don’t make me wait too long.”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure how much time would be long enough.

“One more kiss,” he said and pulled her close again.

When they drew apart, his eyes were as dazed as hers.

Brett kept strictly to the speed limit as he drove home. He didn’t trust himself to drive too fast; his blood still pounded from Elyssa’s kisses. They’d packed a punch he’d never expected.

“Whoa,” he told himself. This didn’t feel like the lighthearted affair he had in mind. This felt…serious.

But he knew his limitations. He couldn’t let this relationship become anything but casual. “Back off, Cameron,” he ordered himself. “She’s right. You’re moving way too fast.”

Still under the spell of Brett’s kisses, Elyssa wandered through the house. She measured coffee into the coffeemaker for tomorrow, turned off the downstairs lights and slipped off her sandals. Dangling them by the straps, she climbed the stairs.

In her room she glanced at the bed. If she hadn’t stopped Brett—stopped herself—they’d be there now. She’d done the right thing, she told herself firmly, as she ran her hand over the pillow. She needed to probe her heart and mind before she took the next step.

She went into the bathroom and slowly undressed. How would it have been to undress for Brett? To watch him undress? To feel flesh against flesh?

Her lips still tingled from his kisses. Her skin was still warm. She looked in the mirror. Dreamy, half-closed eyes gazed back. She touched her lips. How long since someone had kissed her like that? Never before, she thought. Never.

She slipped into a nightgown and was strolling back into the bedroom when the telephone rang. She jumped, then laughed. Probably Cassie, dying to hear all the details of her evening. Or maybe Brett was calling to say good-night.