Chapter Ten
Late December
Liz Collins had emerged from the ashes of Bitsy Yarbrough’s life. She didn’t look like Bitsy, but there were plenty of days when she still felt like her—like the nights when she went to bed alone and the meals she ate alone. She was getting to know people through her job and got more male attention than she cared to deal with, but she was healing.
The upcoming Christmas would be the first time in her life she would spend it alone, and she was so despondent she couldn’t bring herself to put up a tree or decorate the cottage in any way.
**
It was a chilly, rainy day as she drove home from work. When she pulled up in her driveway, she saw a box near her front door, slightly hidden from the street view for safekeeping. She unlocked the door, scooted it inside, and then turned on the lights before locking herself in for the night. Curious as to what was inside the box and who it was from, she carried it into the kitchen and set it on the island.
The postmark was New York City, which intrigued her. She got a knife to cut through the packing tape and opened it to find a red envelope on top of the Styrofoam packing peanuts. The name, “LIZ,”
was written on the front. In her mind, that eliminated anyone she’d previously known, and she took out the Christmas card inside.
Merry Christmas, honey. Keeping my promise not to lose you. Eat some peanut brittle for me .
But instead of signing his name, Fisher had drawn a fish wearing a Santa hat.
Her eyes welled. This card alone had just made her whole Christmas, but now she was curious as to what he’d sent. She thrust her hands into the bits of Styrofoam until she felt an oblong box. She pulled it out, cut through more packing tape, removed the lid, and gasped. There was another note lying on top of the most beautiful blue and white porcelain vase she’d ever seen.
I found this in an antique store. They said it was Wedgewood, whatever that means. I thought it was beautiful, and it made me think of you.
Liz lifted it out of the tissue around it, carried it to her granny’s marble-top sideboard, and set it in front of the mirrored back.
“You didn’t forget me,”
she whispered, then put the Christmas card and note beside it.
She got her phone, took a photo of the vase on her sideboard, then pulled up the last contact info she’d had on him, and sent the photo along with a text.
I hope this is still your number. I wish you were here so I could hug your neck. Your gift arrived today. It’s stunning. I love it so much. Thank you for not losing me.
Merry Christmas to you.
--Liz
**
Fisher was on a plane to Wyoming and didn’t get the text until he landed. His heart skipped when he saw the photo and then read her message. He told himself not to read anything into it that wasn’t there and waited until he got to his motel to reply.
Hey, honey, I’m working a case in snowy Wyoming. Not a lot of snow happening in Mississippi. Have you ever built a snowman? I’ll build one for you. Sleep tight and keep rocking your fine self.
**
Liz was asleep when his text came through, and she didn’t see it until the morning, but it put a smile on her face.
No snowmen in my past. I can’t wait to see the picture. Make sure you’re in it.
**
Fisher was on his way back from a meeting with his new client and had stopped to get some food to take back to the motel. It was snowing again, and he was frustrated. There wasn’t much chance of beginning what he’d come to do until the weather cleared. As he drove, his phone dinged a text.
As soon as he got inside his room, he sat down to read it, then smiled. Now he had a snowman to build for his Mississippi girl. Only she wasn’t really his girl. He just wanted her to be.
Hours later, there was a snowman in the motel parking lot wearing an old cowboy hat. Fisher got the desk clerk to take pictures of him posing with it, and then sent them to Liz.
My latest client. He’s a cold-hearted cowboy without much to say. I promise to stay in touch when I can.
--Fisher
**
It was the beginning of their long-distance friendship.
Whenever something new happened for Liz, she told him, and when he was off to another location, he told her where he was.
When crazy stuff happened on the job, like opening a box of dishes to stage a dining room in a house that was for sale, and finding a tiny mouse looking up at her, shaking with fright. And how she’d snuck it out of the house and let it loose in the garden, because she knew what it felt like to be afraid.
When she passed the test for her realtor’s license, he was the person she told. And when she got her first job at a realtor’s office, then when she sold her first house, Fisher was who she told.
**
They communicated often, off and on, over the next two years, never going longer than a week without at least saying hello. She never knew for sure where he was on any given day, but as long as she didn’t lose him, she didn’t care.
She just didn’t realize how important Fisher Means had become to her until he sent a message that worried her.
I’m going to be out of pocket for a while. Don’t worry. It’s just this case I’m working. I won’t have this phone with me while I’m gone. I’ll have a SAT phone for emergency use only. I just want you to know how much you and your messages mean to me.
--Fisher
After that, her world went silent. One month passed, then six weeks, and she was in what might have been considered a full-blown panic when she finally got a text.
**
She was in an empty house, waiting for the prospective buyer to arrive, when her phone dinged. She read the text with huge relief that he was still alive, and horror at what he wasn’t telling her.
It’s me. Stuff happened. I didn’t mean to go AWOL. Just got out of the hospital. Still in one piece, but with a new scar and a limp that’s supposed to go away. Are you okay?
Liz was crying and didn’t even know it. Her hands were shaking as she replied.
Other than being out of my mind worried about you, I am fine. OMG! Fisher! Don’t ever do this to me again. I thought I’d lost you. I didn’t know what happened, but I knew something had.
Fisher read the text with his heart pounding. This two-year, long-distance, one-sided love affair was killing him.
You can’t lose me unless you want to. If I die, you’re listed as my next of kin, because you are the only person alive who sees me. Only I don’t know how you see me, or what you think about me as a man, or if you even see me that way, at all. I have no idea what’s happening in your personal life, but you are all that’s going on in mine. I miss your face. I miss your voice. As soon as I can drive again, if it’s okay, I’m coming to see you.
Liz read the text, then read it again to make sure she wasn’t trying to read between the lines, but it was there. A declaration of what he felt for her. She felt the flush rising up her neck and then her face. All of a sudden, she was dizzy, then broke out in a cold sweat. She’d never fainted in her life, but it might be about to happen now. She had to sit down on the stairs to keep from falling.
Had he just said that? Did he mean what she thought he meant? Had Fisher Means just gone from pen pal to someone to love? She was staring down at her phone, rereading the texts, and the longer she sat there, the more certain she became that he was already that guy in her heart.
She texted him back, then hit Send.
**
When she didn’t immediately respond, Fisher sighed. He’d probably just messed up his last chance to at least be her friend. He was sore as hell and hurting, and he’d been putting off taking his pain meds because they made him sleepy. He’d also been putting off contacting her until he could at least make complete sentences again without falling asleep. He was reaching for the pill bottle when his phone dinged. He pulled up the text and began to read.
There’s this guy I know. He sends me gifts. He makes me laugh, and I didn’t know how much I loved him until I thought I’d lost him. I was crying the last time I saw your face, but I remember that hug. You held the pieces of me together. You kept me from falling apart. I promise not to cry when I see you again. Get well. Come see me. I owe you a hug . . . and so much more.
“Thank you, lord,”
Fisher said, and sent one last message.
Give me three weeks. I’ll take the hug and all that comes with it.
Love,
Me.
Then he reached for the bottle of pain pills, shook two out in his hand, swallowed them without water, and then eased himself back down on his pillow and closed his eyes, as he waited for the drugs to kick in and the pain to ease.
There was still an entire week of his life he didn’t remember. When he had been in and out of consciousness, wondering if he was dying and regretting all the things he’d never said to her. He’d made a promise to himself that if he survived this, he would say what was in his heart and take the consequences. This was way more than he’d imagined, even in his wildest dreams.
The last thing he was thinking as the drugs pulled him under was the irony of all the years he’d been in a foreign land, fighting a war not of his making, only to come home and nearly get killed on an interstate in a ten-car pile-up that had started with a farmer on a John Deere tractor.
Fisher fell asleep thinking of his Mississippi girl. He’d seen the fury in her. And he’d seen her cry. She wasn’t ashamed of emotion. Her passion would be off the chart.
**
Liz had learned the easiest way to get past what Cal had done to her was to laugh about it, and today, she and Andie, her nail tech, were talking about her life before moving to Jackson.
“So, you’ve only been here three years or so, but have you always been a realtor?”
Andie asked.
“Oh Lord, no. I was the typical Mississippi country girl who married her high school sweetheart,”
she said, and then she began relating the downfall of the marriage and telling the story about finding lipsticks and black lace underwear, and the blue pop-off nail stuck to his underwear, and how she’d thrown their anniversary cake out to the chickens.
The sixty-something woman in the chair beside them had been listening to Liz’s story, but when she heard Liz say, “I gave the cake to the chickens,”
she laughed out loud.
“Pardon me. My name is Della Worthington. I don’t mean to be nosy, but I couldn’t help but overhear. You are an absolute delight. Did you know who the other woman was?”
Liz shook her head. “Not at first, but I kept finding more clues and hired a private investigator. He discovered my ex was seeing three different women, and they didn’t know about each other.”
Della gasped. “I would have been devastated. What did you do?”
“Oh, I was devastated, but my mama always told me never to let my enemies see me cry. I didn’t just want justice. I wanted revenge. So, I filed for divorce on the grounds of adultery and named all three of the women as abetting the dissolution of my marriage, then I filed Alienation of Affection charges against each of them. I dragged their sorry asses into court with him. They were mad at him and horrified at what I’d done to their reputations. It’s hell being outed in a small town.”
Della laughed. “You are a remarkable young woman who traded a chicken house for selling other people’s houses. The irony is perfect. What’s your name?”
“I took back my maiden name. It’s Liz Collins.”
“I have a property I am planning to sell here in Jackson. Do you have a card?”
Della asked.
Liz nodded. “I do. Just a sec. Don’t want to mess up my manicure.”
She eyed a nearby nail tech who was stocking a shelf of nail polish. “Hey, Carl, would you help me here, please?”
Carl heard his name called, stopped what he was doing, and hurried over to where Liz was sitting. “What do you need?”
“Would you unzip that pocket on the outside of my purse and get out one of my business cards,” Liz said.
“Oh, sure thing, hon . . .”
Moments later, he pulled one out. “Here you go.”
“Could you give it to Mrs. Worthington for me?”
Della took the card and dropped it in her purse as she stood up. “Expect my call. I’ll be in touch,”
she said, and left the salon.
After she was gone, Andie leaned over, whispering. “That woman is one of the socialites of Jackson. Old family. Old money.”
Liz’s eyes widened. “Good to know,” she said.
**
And that’s how Liz wound up sitting beside Della Worthington today, as she was signing final papers for the sale of her house.
The two million, five-hundred-thousand-dollar house was Liz’s biggest sale ever, and it had all come about because of that appointment at her nail salon.
When all of this was over, Liz was going to bank seventy-five thousand dollars as her fee from the fifty-fifty split with her agency.
She was so excited; she couldn’t wait to get home tonight and call Fisher to tell him what she’d done. She hadn’t heard from him since last week, but she knew he’d been going regularly to physical therapy and was waiting for a doctor’s release before he could get behind the wheel of a car again.
And she knew that when they were finally face to face once more, their lives were going to change forever, and in the very best way.
She and Della parted company with a handshake.
“Thank you again for the opportunity to represent you,”
Liz said. “It has been a pleasure to work with you.”
Della smiled. “Oh, honey, the pleasure has all been mine. I’ve probably told your story of taking your husband and his ‘other women’ to court a dozen times these past few months. You are remarkable, and I would expect your reputation for fierceness, both in life and business, to serve you well in the years to come.”
They parted company, and then Liz went back to the office to file all the paperwork. She walked into a small round of applause from the other realtors and a high-five from her boss for a job well done. It felt good to be recognized for her diligence, and by the time she’d finished, it was time to go home.
Traffic was, as usual, a mess between five and six p.m., but she’d long ago learned what shortcuts it took to get home quicker.
As she turned the corner and headed down her block, she was thinking about a long soak in a hot bubble bath, when she noticed the SUV parked at the curb in front of her house.
She pulled up into the driveway and got out, glanced back once at the darkened windows of the SUV, and then got as far as the steps when she heard someone call her name.
She turned, and then froze. Fisher was walking toward her with that long, lanky stride, that wonderful, almost handsome face, and a barely perceptible limp. She dropped her briefcase and her purse on the porch and started toward him, and moments later, threw her arms around him.
He grinned. “My Mississippi girl. Long time—no see,” he said.
She was laughing when she leaned back in his arms and looked up, and he remembered. Just like in my dream.
And then he lowered his head and kissed her.