Free Her Last Letter by Nancy C. Johnson Page A

sleeting when I pulled the van into the parking lot of the four-story Bingham hotel. I folded a newspaper to cover my head, then stepped outside the van and peered through the rear windows. None of my artwork appeared to have seriously shifted. I’d protected it well.
    The van came equipped with an alarm system, so I wasn’t too worried about theft. Plus, it seemed to be a good area of town, though I’d never been on this side of Denver before. Tonight, after the mall closed for business, I’d drive over and set up for tomorrow.
    I checked into the hotel and took the elevator to the second floor. The place wasn’t exactly new or exactly old. Its best quality as far as I was concerned was its proximity to the mall, just a few miles away.
    The elevator doors opened and I stepped out onto plush green carpet framed by walls of pale mint. I found my room number, inserted the keycard into the slot, which signaled green and allowed me to enter.
    The room was decent enough, continuing the green motif of the hall, patterned spread on the king-size bed, ginger jar lamps, telephone. I pitched my suitcase onto the bed, then sat down to use the phone. I called home first. Trevor wasn’t there, so I left a message, said I’d arrived safely, the weather was crummy here too, that I was starving and thirsty-and lastly-that I loved him. I told him I’d call later in the evening. I left a similar message on his cell phone
    I ordered room service, turkey sandwich and tomato soup, then lay back on the bed and tried to relax.
    The hotel was on the northeast edge of Denver, not so far from downtown that I couldn’t sightsee if I had more time. It had been three years since I’d made a trip to Denver purely for pleasure. Kelly had been with me. We’d visited the Denver Art Museum, exploring the many wings of the huge free-form structure. Since then the museum had added an entire floor devoted to European paintings and textiles. I wanted to see them, but it would have to wait until another time. I tried to remember why Linda hadn’t come along on that trip, some excuse, but she’d rarely joined me if Kelly was invited.
    My snack arrived and after I finished it I checked my voicemail for messages. I had only one since I’d last looked, the time given, eleven a.m. I didn’t recognize the number, though it seemed vaguely familiar. And then it clicked … Josh.
    “Hi, Gwyn. It’s just me. I said I would call and here I am, calling. I’m over at my mom’s again, a short trip only, but since I’m in town I thought of you and our lunch date in Aspen. I wouldn’t mind seeing you again. I’m bored as hell here. I love the family, but I can only eat, sleep, and yak with them so much. Are you very busy? Could you drop whatever you’re doing and meet me for a drink? I realize this could be awkward, but we are old friends, more than old friends. I got the feeling last time that there’s more we need to talk about. I could anyway. So, give me a jingle.”
    He’d left his mother’s number and his cell phone. I checked the time. It was now five-thirty. He sounded nervous and needy and I could have punched myself if I thought it would do any good. Look what I’d done.
    I debated returning his call. Rude if I didn’t, considering I’d given him my number though he hadn’t asked for it. Of course, maybe he wouldn’t answer and I could leave a short message, tell him I was out of town, thank him for the call, and leave it at that. Then let a week go by. He’d get the idea. He was no idiot.
    I moved to the edge of the bed, thinking, contemplating the phone. I picked up the receiver and dialed. It rang once, twice, and just as I was about to believe it would all work out, he answered.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, Josh. It’s Gwyn.”
    “Oh-well great. I’m glad I picked up the phone. I’m in my car.”
    “I got your message, a little late. I just got it now.”
    “Oh, well I’m glad you called. I didn’t think I’d be in town again so