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  “Anything good in there this week?” Kaitlyn said.

  Sammy’s gaze broke from the magazine and shifted to Kaitlyn. She smiled and flipped the magazine closed.

  “Nah, nothing worth the cover charge.”

  Kaitlyn rested her chin in the palms of her hands and laughed. She glanced at the cover. An out-of-focus photo with a headline about a Kardashian being caught topless on the beach again. “What else is happening?”

  Sammy glanced from side to side, as if checking to make sure no one else was around. “Did you hear about Justin? Rumor has it—and this is totally unconfirmed—that he’s been havin’ conjugal visits with some young redhead during the overnights.” She made air quotes with her fingers around the word “conjugal.”

  Kaitlyn smiled but wasn’t at all surprised. There had been nights when Justin Kace had been anxious for Kaitlyn to leave as soon as her shift had ended, even going as far as to offer to do her production voiceover work for her. Thinking about Justin’s description of his latest conquest’s off-beat interests, she swallowed a snicker. “Really?”

  “Michael said he came in early on Thursday morning and saw a woman run down the back hallway. She was buck ass naked.”

  Kaitlyn was amused by the image that formed in her mind. Michael Tyler, the morning show host at WPLX, was deeply religious, and she could only imagine how he would’ve responded to seeing a young pair of naked butt cheeks dashing through the hallways in the wee hours of the morning. He probably shared his indignation with everyone he spoke to from his morning show co-host Dana Burns all the way to Scott. “Does Scott know?”

  “Are you kidding?” Sammy said. “That’s where Mr. Holy Roller went as soon as he was off the air.”

  “And?”

  Sammy shrugged. “I don’t know. Scott hasn’t said anything about it, but you know how things work around here.”

  “In one ear and out the other.” Kaitlyn snickered, knowing that Scott would make the obligatory call to Justin, give him the cursory hand slap, and forget about it all. Justin might be young and new to the business, but he had raw talent, and that wasn’t something a station manager gave up easily. “Got any plans this weekend?”

  “Gotta get my phone fixed. Got Oreos in the charging port.”

  “How’d you—” Kaitlyn stopped and shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. You coming to O’Toole’s tomorrow night?”

  “Not sure. My old man has to work.”

  Kaitlyn thought it was funny to hear Sammy call her husband her “old man.” The young woman couldn’t be more than twenty-three and had only been married a little over a year. Kaitlyn had helped them move into their new Fishtown apartment, which was the first time she’d met Sammy’s husband. Meeting him only confirmed that Sammy wore the pants in their family. “You should come anyway. What else you going to do on a Saturday night?” Kaitlyn said, lifting her arms off the counter. “I’ve got to go prep. See you tomorrow night.”

  As Kaitlyn passed through the double doors that led to the WPLX offices and studios, she heard Sammy yell, “Maybe. I said maybe.”

  Kaitlyn passed the sales office and production studio, entering the office set aside for the air personalities. The large open space, nicknamed the “Bullpen,” featured six office desks in two rows set end to end across the room. The desks were basic, each with an aluminum frame, drawers, and laminate desktop.

  Kevin O’Neill looked up from his laptop and gave Kaitlyn a quick wave from across the room. His caramel-colored hair was brushed back from his forehead, draping down behind his ears. Kaitlyn halted, staring at the thick strip of white surgical tape that covered his nose. “Kevin! What happened?”

  He gave her a tentative smile. “Racquetball accident.” His voice had a nasal twang to it. “Spent half the night in the ER.”

  She tilted her head for a moment. She never knew Kevin played racquetball. “Looks painful.”

  “Not like it was when it happened. The doc said the swelling should go down in twenty-four hours. The stitches should come out in two weeks.”

  She pointed at the bandage. “How long have you got to walk around with that on your nose?”

  He rose from his seat, stepping around the desk. His biceps flexed beneath the sleeves of his polo as he crossed his arms. “A few days.”

  Kaitlyn laughed at the nasal tone in his voice. “It’s done wonders for your voice.”

  His eyes flashed dark for a moment. “It doesn’t sound that bad, does it?”

  She crossed the room and stopped at the small square shelves that served as mailboxes for the staff. “I’m sure no one noticed.”

  Kaitlyn reached into her mailbox, and extracted the latest copy of Billboard magazine, two envelopes—one white and one Manila—and a compact disc. The label on the CD said it contained new jingles and commercials for Walmart. She slid the CD back into her mailbox. She’d enter them into the computer later. Kaitlyn rolled up the magazine and slipped it under her arm. Then she glanced at the two envelopes. The return address of the white envelope was a local charity, probably looking for free publicity. Kaitlyn shuddered when she glanced at the Manila envelope. She’d seen the hand-printed label numerous times before, and she knew what she’d find within it. She leaned back against the nearby desk. The envelope trembled in her hand.

  Kevin crossed the room and stepped behind her. She felt his warm breath on her neck as he looked over her shoulder. He reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and she tried to not cringe.

  “Anything the matter?” he said.

  Kaitlyn’s loss of composure was only momentary, then she smiled, sliding the envelope under her arm with the magazine. She turned to find him standing inches from her. Just a tad too close to be comfortable. She stepped back. “It’s nothing. Just junk mail.”

  Kevin gazed at her for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his desk. Once seated, his fingers danced across the laptop keyboard. Kaitlyn moved to her desk at the opposite end of the office and set down the mail she’d just collected.

  “Anti-dedication tonight?” Kevin stopped typing and glanced across the office.

  “Yep,” said Kaitlyn, pulling open the lower left drawer of her desk.

  “What’re you using this week?”

  Kaitlyn smiled as she lowered her leather purse into the drawer. “J. Geils Band.”

  “‘Love Stinks?’ Nice one.”

  Kaitlyn pushed the desk drawer closed. “Glad you approve.”

  As Kevin returned to his typing, Kaitlyn lowered herself into her desk chair and slid the Manila envelope across the desktop until it rested before her. A chill crept up her spine. Her eyes traced the black ink of each letter on the address label. The pinpoint lines were straight and sharp, the curves and corners precise. The same handwriting on every one of these envelopes she’d received over the past month. She took a deep breath and slid her fingers along the top edge to break the seal. The sheet of paper within was folded, just as all the others had been. Laying the paper flat on the desk, her eyes danced over the random magazine clippings that made up the message. Although the clippings were different this time, the words were not.

  Play REO Speedwagon for me. You know the song.

  The Shallows.

  In an instant, she was there. Standing by the water’s edge, watching a flashlight sweep over the water’s surface. A frantic search in the darkness that she knew would yield nothing.

  “A fan letter?” said Kevin.

  Kaitlyn whirled around, startled by his voice. She’d hadn’t heard him approach her desk. She refolded the letter, trying to hide its message. He leaned in over her shoulder. His breath was hot on her neck again. It sent a shiver along her spine.

  “Just some crank,” she said.

  He lifted the letter from between her fingers. She didn’t have time to resist and bit her lip as he gave the message a quick review. “REO Speedwagon? Whoever it is, they’ve got no taste in music.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Cronin an
d company,” she responded as she tried to put some space between them, glad to latch onto a conversation about music.

  “Bah! Dreaded love mush.” Kevin dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand as he tossed the letter back on her desk.

  “That’s not true. What about ‘Take It On The Run’ or ‘Keep On Loving You?’ They had some great stuff in their heyday.”

  “Pish Posh. I can’t think of a worse batch of songs than the crap they turned out in the ’80s.” He gestured toward the letter. “But if someone goes to all that trouble to make a request, you’d better play it for them.” Kevin crossed to his desk. He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair. “I’ve gotta go. Have a good show.”

  He reached the office door and paused. “I’ll be listening for REO tonight.” Then he disappeared through the door.

  She watched him leave, glad to be alone for a few minutes. She glanced at the unfolded letter, rereading the words. She knew the song. REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight This Feeling.” It had been their song. Who could possibly know the connection between that song and the Shallows? Who the hell was sending these letters?

  Kaitlyn gathered up the letter and crossed the room to the office shredder. A few moments later, the letter was gone.

  “. . . and from Robby to Pookie—‘I still hate you.’ Here’s tonight’s WPLX anti-dedication, ‘Love Stinks,’” Kaitlyn said.

  She slid her headphones off as the song began to play. It’d been the longest anti-dedication she ever remembered having to read out. She glanced at her notepad. The list of names almost reached the bottom of the page. She tore off the sheet, crumpled the paper into a ball, and tossed it at the trash can by the door. It bounced off the wall and landed a foot from its intended target.

  She stared out the studio window, gazing across the Philadelphia skyline. It always amazed her how many people called to express their hate for someone with the anti-dedication song. The Friday night feature on her show was growing in popularity. Soon, she wouldn’t have time to read all the dedications. So much for the City of Brotherly Love.

  All the request lines were still blinking. Listeners trying to get in a last-minute message for the anti-dedication, no doubt. Kaitlyn ignored the flashing green lights. Her head bobbed to the music’s beat. She glanced at the clock. A few minutes after ten. Leaning forward, she answered one of the blinking phone lines.

  “Is it too late to get my name in for the anti-love song?” said a young-sounding voice. Probably a teenager.

  “It is, sorry,” replied Kaitlyn.

  She heard the abrupt click as the caller hung up. Snickering, she reached to answer the next blinking line. “Hello, WPLX.”

  “Hey babe.”

  Kaitlyn smiled at the sound of Brad’s voice. “Oh, I’m glad it’s you. Far too many scorned lovers out there tonight.”

  “That’s why I called. I wanted to bring a little love into your otherwise loveless evening.”

  Kaitlyn giggled. “How are you planning to do that?”

  “By telling you that I’ve got a chilled bottle of Chardonnay awaiting your arrival. You are still planning to come over?”

  Kaitlyn’s heart fluttered at the thought. A bottle of wine and Brad. She couldn’t think of a better combination. She glanced at the computer screen to keep tabs on how much time she had before the next song. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss out on a good glass of wine.”

  “And good company, I hope?”

  She laughed. “Well, if I have to be in good company to get my glass of wine . . .” She heard Brad sigh. She loved teasing him.

  “I could just leave the bottle at the front desk. You could pick it up on your way home,” he said. Kaitlyn imagined the feigned pout on his lips. Then she imagined kissing them and her heart skipped a beat.

  “I should be there by one.”

  There was a moment of silence on the phone and Kaitlyn wondered if he’d hung up. He hadn’t. “Did you get another letter?”

  Kaitlyn wanted to ignore his question. She didn’t want to worry him anymore than he already was. He’d offered a dozen times to come to the station after her show and escort her home. She refused again and again, claiming the impracticality of the idea made it a foolish gesture. She played down the importance of the letters and told him he needed his sleep more than she needed to be chauffeured to and from work. “Yeah,” she finally said.

  “Damn it, Kate,” he said. “You’ve got to tell someone.”

  “Please, let’s not talk about this now. I want to enjoy that bottle of wine . . . and I want to enjoy it with you.”

  He sighed. “Fine. But we need to talk. If not now, sometime this weekend.”

  He was frustrated. She could hear it in his voice. She couldn’t keep putting off this discussion for much longer. “Okay . . . but not tonight. Let’s talk about it later this weekend.”

  To her relief, he agreed.

  “I’ll head over as soon as I’m off the air,” she said.

  “Good. I’ll be waiting.” There was a click as Brad hung up.

  Kaitlyn gazed out the window at the lights of the Philadelphia skyline; the swirling and flickering colors soothed her anxious mind. Every time she thought about how long she’d been dating Brad—two years—she was amazed. She’d made a conscious decision to steer clear of long-term relationships ever since high school. Ever since the Shallows.

  Growing up, her dream was to have a family. Perhaps a couple kids. But after the Shallows, she decided—no, was compelled—to relinquish those dreams. Her guilt would not allow her to ever be happy. She touched her upper arm and traced the scar that ran down to her elbow. It had faded over time, but she could still feel it. She closed her eyes and could almost see the rusted nail that had caught her arm years ago. Like Hester, the mark served as Kaitlyn’s scarlet letter, a constant reminder of her shame and regret.

  Moving from city to city every year or so had never been conducive for romantic involvement. At least that was her excuse when any man wanted to get serious. When she’d returned to the Philadelphia area, Kaitlyn had intended to continue her self-imposed embargo on serious relationships. Casual dating with little-to-no attachment had been fine by her. Then she’d met Brad.

  They’d met at a black-tie event for the Philadelphia Auto Show. Kaitlyn had been broadcasting live from the event at the convention center. During a break, she wandered over to a small display of classic motorcycles. While she admired a Harley-Davidson WLA from World War II, Brad stepped up to the velvet rope and stood a few feet from her. His gaze never wavered from the forest green motorcycle. He gestured with the champagne glass he was holding. “My grandfather rode one of those in the war.”

  Kaitlyn glanced at him and gave his black suit a quick once over. The sharp creases down his pant legs were immaculate, his white shirt looked overly starched, but the knot in his bow tie had come undone.

  She laughed. “Let me fix that.” She turned, then reached up and retied his bow tie. “That’s better.”

  Brad, surprised by her sudden adjustment to his wardrobe, touched the straightened tie, then smiled. “Thanks. I’m rubbish at these things.”

  Kaitlyn returned his smile and extended her hand. “Kaitlyn Ashe.”

  He looked out of place and uncomfortable in his tux. Her forwardness seemed to catch him off guard. “Uh . . . What?”

  “My name. And you are?”

  He took hold of her hand and shook it. “Brad. Uh, Ludlow. Brad Ludlow.”

  She giggled. “Nice to meet you, Brad Uh Ludlow Brad Ludlow.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, a perplexing look in his eyes. “Uh . . .”

  With another smile, she said, “It’s a joke.”

  From there, the conversation became more relaxed. Brad explained that he’d come as part of an entourage from his law firm, one of the sponsors of the event. He wasn’t a big gear head, but he was enjoying himself, nonetheless. Their small talk turned to flirting and continued through the remainder of the evening, interrupte
d often, whenever Kaitlyn needed to go back on the air. By the end of the night, they’d exchanged phone numbers with the prospect of having dinner sometime in the near future.

  Kaitlyn’s heartbeat quickened at the memory, and she calculated how long before she would be with him at his apartment. A couple hours at most. For the first time since high school, she was willing to admit that she was in love. She’d opened herself up to him, allowing Brad to become a part of her life in ways that she’d never allowed anyone else before . . . well, almost anyone. Brad made her happy . . . and made her forget. Maybe he’s the one. Maybe there was a family in her future after all.

  As the song ended, Kaitlyn played a station ID, and then leaned forward to answer another request line.

  “Hello, WPLX,” she said.

  The voice was a distorted whisper. “Play REO Speedwagon for me. You know the song.”

  Kaitlyn jabbed at the button to hang up. She clenched her hands into fists as she turned to look out across the cityscape, but the mesmerizing view could no longer quell her growing hysteria.

  5

  I kick at the pile of cigarette butts. How many are scattered on the concrete? There must be forty or more. Each bent and crushed, some even browning with age. It won’t be long before the one dangling between my fingers joins the others. What time is it? 1:30 in the morning. Where is she?

  The silence in the garage at this hour is eerie. It’s no wonder Laura looks frightened every night when she emerges from the elevator. Even without my letters and calls, it can’t be easy to make that short trek to her motorcycle without some anxiety. I felt it the first few times I stood here. But the angst of those early days is long gone.

  The night air is crisp and reminds me of the first night I waited for her to emerge. When was that? Late December? I stood in below-freezing temperatures just to get a glimpse of her. The first time in over a decade. When she came out, I tried to call her name, but the words stuck in my throat. What could I say to her? “Remember me? Remember Jesse Riley?” No, that wouldn’t do at all.