Bree couldn't breathe. The air had caught in her throat and she looked up at Jackie from the page of her father's handwriting, the second envelope clutched in her hand. "He - he wrote a letter to me?" she whispered, her mouth dry.
"Yes," Jackie answered.
Bree put the letter to Jackie onto the bed beside her, turning her focus to the second envelope. Tears poured down her cheeks silently, and she turned it over, hands shaking. It was still sealed. She looked up at Jackie.
"I have no idea what it says," Jackie said, "It was meant only for your eyes."
Bree looked back down at the envelope, her heart rising into her throat, and she felt a sensation like she'd never felt before cover her from head to toe. She brought her fingers to the seal slowly, scarcely able to breathe, and was just about to open it...
"YOU CAN'T DO THIS, HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" Amanda's voice broke through the silence of the house.
Bree looked to the door and Jackie moved into the hallway. She looked down the stairs and started down quickly. "What in the world is going on here!" she demanded as she went.
Bree grabbed the letter to Jackie from the bed, folded it and her second envelope into the first one, and, clutching them, rushed after Jackie to the downstairs foyer, where an officer in a crisp blue uniform was ushering Nick out the front door, his arms tight behind him in hand cuffs. Brilliantly blue lights sliced through the night, reflecting off a mirror in the entry way and splintering through the windows.
"What do you think you're doing?" Jackie demanded in a voice like the high queen. Amanda was clutching Harold Sr., her face aghast.
"Good evening ma'am," a second officer said, pulling out a badge and showing it to Jackie as the first officer guided Nick across the front porch and down the steps. "My name is officer Covvie and that was officer Winston. We're from the Lexington City Police Department." He removed his hat in good manners.
Jackie pointed after Nick and Officer Winston on the front walkway, "What are you doing with him?" she demanded, "What's he done?"
"Nick Carter is wanted for the kidnap of minor Brianna Littrell," Officer Covvie replied.
"I'm not kidnapped!" Bree yelled from the stairs, "I chose to go with him."
"Miss. Littrell?" Officer Covvie asked, looking up at her.
Bree came down the stairs the rest of the way, "Yes. I wasn't kidnapped, this is a misunderstanding... I wanted to go on this road trip," she said. "Now let him go." Officer Winston was pushing Nick's head down into the cruiser. Amanda's hand covered her mouth in shock and Harold Sr. pet her back gently, his own eyes wide with surprise. Jackie stood at the foot of the stairwell, sputtering angrily.
"You see, it was a mistake," Jackie snapped.
"Mistake or no," Officer Covvie replied, "Mrs. Littrell reported her daughter missing, and seeing as Miss. Brianna is a minor, there's no choice but to bring Mr. Carter in to the station until Mrs. Littrell herself clears the charges." He tilted his cap to Jackie, Bree, and Amanda. "I'm sorry for interrupting your evening," he added, and just like that he backed out of the door.
Bree rushed onto the porch, followed by Harold, Amanda, and Jackie, whose nostrils flared angrily. Bree's fingers still held tight to the envelopes as she watched the cops climb into the cruiser, and drive away, Nick peering out the back window at them, the blue lights flashing clear out the end of the driveway.
"This is all my fault," Bree whispered.
It had ten mere moments for all hell to break loose on the Littrell's family property. Local news and media had arrived there with their vans and video cameras and lined the far edge of the property. Neighbors and friends that had seen the house on the 6 o'clock were calling and checking in on Jackie and Harold, and Jackie's nerves were frayed. Amanda sat on the bottom two steps of the stairs, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the front door. She felt like she was staring down her past. There'd been a time, only slightly more than sixteen years ago, that she would've been one of those slugs out on the front lawn, reporting back to the publication. She wondered if Tobias Winterson had anyone out there for Pop Stuff Online, and the thought made her nauseated.
Bree had taken up pacing in the kitchen, her cell phone pressed to her ear, trying desperately to get Leighanne to answer the home phone number to beg her to come free Nick of the charges. She wound herself into and out of the phone cord as she walked, talking aimlessly into voice message after voice message, imploring her mother to call her as soon as humanly possible.
"Yes, yes, we're all fine," Jackie was saying into her landline phone. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you for checking in," she added. "Buh-bye."
"Why do all the hens gotta call you?" Harold complained, referring to Jackie's gossiping group of friends, "Don't they all tell each other thirty seconds after hanging up?"
"They just want to be nice," Jackie replied, "And to confirm, of course."
"Bah -- gossip hen politics," grumbled Harold.
Amanda pressed her face into her palms. "He must be scared to death."
"He's had plenty of jailtime experience from what I've heard," answered Harold.
Jackie sighed, "None the less."
"This is the first time sober, I'll give him that," Harold continued, "The slammer's a totally different world when you're shitfaced."
"Harold, really," Jackie admonished him.
Harold rolled his eyes. "I'm going to watch Letterman," he announced and waddled into the living room.
"Letterman's not on until --" started Bree, but Jackie and Amanda both gave her looks of shhhh and she stopped mid-sentence. Luckily, Harold Sr. hadn't heard a peep. He would be asleep within minutes of sitting on his favorite chair.
Jackie sighed and stared out the window of the kitchen. Outside, the satellite spun on the roof of the local news van. She pictured the broadcast being forwarded all over the country and replayed on various entertainment channels. She sighed once more.
"Why won't she answer?" Bree demanded, angrily closing her phone and throwing it onto the table in frustration. "She has to answer," she added.
Amanda joined Jackie and Bree in the kitchen and sat down at the table at the same time as Bree. Jackie turned away from the window and clucked, looking around for something to do. "Hot chocolate or coffee?" she offered.
"Coffee," both Bree and Amanda chorused at the same time.
"Coming up," Jackie said, obviously grateful for the activity.
Bree was still clutching the envelope containing Jackie's letter and her own, unopened letter in her hand. She now refocused on them, staring down at the old paper in her hands. Amanda nodded towards them, "What's that?" she asked.
Bree continued staring at the papers. "A letter," she said, her voice low, "From my father."
Amanda's eyes widened and she, too, stared at the paper. "What's it say?" she asked.
"I don't know yet," Bree answered, "I haven't read mine yet."
"Yours?" Amanda looked up at Jackie, then back to Bree. "He - he wrote to you? But -"
"He dreamed of me," Bree said quietly. "And he wrote me a letter."
Amanda stared at her, dumbfounded. The eerie-excited feeling of communication from beyond filled the room and Amanda felt her mouth go dry. "You should read it," Amanda breathed.
"I'm going to," Bree answered.
Amanda nodded. It should be special, she thought, and of course on Bree's own time. She only got to do this once, after all. One shot at communication from her father. The thought of Brian sitting down and writing a letter to a child he knew he would never met was beautiful and immensely sad all at once. It was exactly the sort of thing Amanda would expect out of Brian. He had been exceptionally good at seeing the beauty in situations and extracting it. This may just be the icing on the cake, she thought.
Jackie handed off the cups of coffee and sat down, too, at the table. She stared at the envelope clutched in Bree's hands. "I got that letter two days after he passed away," she said quietly, "It was in my mailbox when I got home from the -" her voice caught in her throat, "- the - the funeral." She looked into her coffee for a long moment, then drew her breath deep and said, "I never thought he would be right until your mother called and told me she was pregnant with you." Jackie took a sip of the coffee.
"Leighanne may be a lot of things," injected Amanda, "But one of them is definitely brave. You're living proof of that, Bree."
"I just wish she'd answer her phone," Bree said sadly, "I feel so bad for Nick." She sighed. "I should've warned him."
"Warned him?" Amanda asked.
Bree looked up. "Baylee told me a couple days ago in a text that Mom reported him." She frowned, "I should've told him and he would've brought me home and this mess wouldn't be happening... I was so selfish, I just wanted to keep going on the road trip... I wanted to keep hearing about my Dad."
"Oh sweetie," Amanda's face folded into one of concern, "He already knew, sweetie, he was keeping it from you, too. He didn't want to end the trip either."
"Why couldn't they just leave him alone?" she whispered.
Jackie reached over and rubbed Bree's back. "Your mama was just worried about you is all," she said, "You mean the world to hear, don't you know."
"If I mean so much to her, why doesn't she love me?"
The words hung in the air. Bree wasn't entirely sure she'd meant to say them outloud. They were a sentiment she'd felt for some time but that she'd never quite voiced and now that they were there, hanging in the atmosphere, she wished she could take them back, shove them down her throat, and unsay them. But it's impossible to unsay something that has already been said.
"She does love you," Amanda said, and she thought of her father and the way he'd once treated her, before he'd lost Piper, before their lives had completely altered and he'd become the publishing tycoon and monster that he'd died being. "She just doesn't know how to show love anymore quite like she did before she lost love." Amanda sighed, "Your mom's got it really hard," she added.
Bree nodded, "I know, but so don't I. So does Baylee."
"Your mom experienced a side of Brian so much more powerful and important than any of us ever did," Jackie said.
Amanda's throat ached. "I can't imagine it," she said.
"But you kinda lost Nick in a way," Bree argued, "And you moved on, you had a life, you're not a mean evil dictator."
Amanda shook her head, "I wasn't very nice to other people over the last ten years. And even so, I always knew Nick was here. I always knew he was alive, breathing, that his heart was beating. I was absent from him because I had chosen to, he was away from me, but he was alive. It's entirely different when someone is taken away than when they go away." She paused, "There was no anger between them when Brian left, there was only love, and the love was suddenly robbed from her. He was so bright, too, so beautiful and alive that night. It was so sudden."
Bree could feel her throat aching. She looked to the window. Outside, the sun was just about to set, far across the property, the rays were stretching out over the tops of the trees. "I'm going to go for a walk," she said. "I need to be alone." She got up and went out the back door of the kitchen.
Amanda looked at Jackie, who was staring into her cup of coffee with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Jackie swiped at her eyes and sniffed. "Good Lord," she gasped, "That poor girl." She shook her head, "I should've been there for her, whatever Leighanne had to say."
Amanda reached over and clasped a hand around Jackie's.
