The Fourth Sunrise: A Love Story Read online

  “What is she saying!” I asked.

  “I’m not hearing words. I’m feeling her heart. I can feel her longing. I know I sound like a crazy woman, but I’ll take that title if it means I can bring my mother back…one more time.”

  I didn’t know what else to do other than reach out and give Megan a huge hug. She resisted it at first, but gave in and eventually collapsed in my arms.

  “Joel,” Megan said in my truck. “My mother loves you. You are the love of her life. I know she loved my father, but I am certain in my heart of hearts that she has always been absolutely in love with you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Megan smiled. “Because, this isn’t the first time I have ever heard this story.”

  I looked at Megan, confused.

  “Joel, I told you that I am a romance writer.”

  “Yes.”

  “This story that you obviously lived is a hundred percent true.”

  “Of course it is. It is my life.”

  “Joel, the world already knows it.”

  “Huh?” I was completely confused.

  “Joel, my pen name is Fannie Hogan. I have probably one of the greatest love story series going today.”

  I was confused how any of this mattered. “Okay...”

  “Joel, you are the main character in my Jon Sullivan series. Remember the one that you said didn’t sound too romantic?”

  “Huh? How was I supposed to know it was me?” I was numb. I didn’t know how to wrap my mind around what I thought she was trying to tell me.

  “Joel, my mom came to me when I was trying to get my book published. I was having a hard time writing romance because I hadn’t really lived it myself. But I wanted to write romance so desperately. So one day, my mother came into my bedroom and told me that she always had a story, and she wanted to tell it to me. She told me she thought it was romantic enough. When I asked how was it that she had this story in her, she told me in a woman’s heart, there are many tales of love and only one of them that she was actually living.”

  “So, what happened?” I asked.

  “My mother had me take notes. We had one rule. I was to never reveal to anyone that I was getting this story from my mother.”

  “But you are telling me now?”

  “There is a huge reason for that. As you will soon see, my mother began to tell me a very similar story of a woman who lived in Buena Park, California, and it wasn’t Deltarado Days. It was Silverado Days. And the main characters weren’t Christine and Joel. They were Annie and Jon.”

  “I am Jon? In your book?”

  “Yes, you are. Joel, you are many women’s fantasy. Now that I met you in person, you are everything and more of a man than who I created in my story. The real you is far more fascinating than any fictional character I could have ever created.”

  “This is overwhelming. I am having a hard time processing this. Please bear with me. What kind of facts are in the book?”

  “Nothing damaging. Just your physical features and the essence of the man that my mom was able to capture about you. I thought I did you justice. But after meeting you, I realize I haven’t. I have known about you for ten years. I just never saw you face to face. To be honest, there was always a presence of you as my mom told me the details of the stories that made me certain she was living it, not imagining it.”

  “Let’s go outside and take a walk. I need fresh air.”

  Megan and I went outside and I asked the obvious question. “What hospital is your mother in?”

  “She is at the Memorial Hospital in downtown Aspen.”

  “That’s about two hours away. Let’s go,” I said plainly.

  “Now?” Megan asked, surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” I insisted.

  “Do you want to ride there together?” she suggested.

  “Of course I do. I’ll drive. Get in.”

  I walked around and opened the truck door for Megan and we made our way to Bridge Street and then got on the Co. 133. We were to take it to the Co. 82 and it was about a forty-five minute drive from there.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  So, here we were, driving to Aspen, Colorado, to see Christine Norquist Connelly, the only woman I had ever truly loved. The events of this particular evening were only lost on me in regard to fatigue. As far as the activities, the situation was almost mind-blowing, and now I had a drive in front of me. It was in the middle of the night so I knew traffic would be light. I might even speed a little.

  After a long bout of silence, a silence where my mind tried its darnedest to comprehend what was indeed happening to me at the present moment, Megan asked, “What happened?”

  “When?” I asked.

  “When you got back to the hotel? You rushed over that part.”

  “Well, don’t you know?” I asked. “After all, you wrote the story,” I teased.

  “Joel, the story isn’t finished. It is a three-book series that ends after the third night they met. My mother was also vague about what happened when the two of you went to the hotel. Why is that? Something happened there. My mom ended it with an open-ended statement that basically had us telling the readers that just maybe, there was more to come. If all of us together wished upon a falling star in the heart of winter, maybe, just maybe there will be a Fourth Sunrise.”

  “Are those the titles of the books?” I asked.

  “Yes. Book one: The First Sunrise. Book two: The Second Sunrise. Book three: The Third Sunrise. My readers are dying for The Fourth Sunrise. What they don’t know is that the true author, my mother, never had a fourth sunrise.”

  As I stared at the road, I kept thinking about Christine and praying that I could help somehow. I also didn’t want Megan to fall asleep. I needed the company so I asked her an obvious question: “All the details I said to you in my stories. Are they in the book?”

  “Not every detail. Remember, my readers have only heard it from my mother’s point of view.”

  “You wrote it in first person?”

  “Yes. From Christine’s perspective. Tonight was the first time I heard the point of view of Jon Sullivan, but from the real hero, Joel Murphy.”

  I smiled at the word she used to describe me. “Is it different than your mom’s version?”

  “The text and essence of each night is there. My mom related the three nights to me in a very similar way to your version. It’s just from her point of view, the woman’s perspective and what she perceived that you were thinking. The truth is, my mom was pretty right on with what she thought you were thinking. She has always been extremely intuitive. The one thing you added, which is the real gold of the story, was about my dad being your C.O. Until tonight, I never knew that you knew him. My mom left that out, too. She found out on the third night, but she left it out of the story that she told me. I’m not sure why.”

  “I think I know,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “She was protecting your dad. If your dad ever read the series, he’d know in a second that it was me and that the story was true.”

  “I think you’re right, but odds were, my dad reading my series wasn’t too likely. Trust me when I say Captain Jack wasn’t a romance reader, even if it was a bestselling series by his own daughter. He was more of a Tom Clancy and Clive Cussler fan.”

  I said, “How do you know I’m not a crazy fan who memorized the plot to your book and found you and told you an outrageous story?”

  “Because you didn’t find me. I found you.”

  I nodded. “One thing I don’t understand is this—how did you find me? How did you know who the real character was?” I was obviously not a crazy fan of a book series that I had never even known existed. I was going to have to take her word for it. Or should I?

  “Do you have a copy of one of those books back at your car?”

  “One of my Sunrise books?”

  “Yes.”

  “Actually, no, I don’t.” />
  “You don’t?”

  “Nope. Not in my car. I have one in my bag, right here. I had a feeling if I admitted who I was, you were going to ask to see the book.” Megan reached in her bag and I needed to pull over to look at it. It was in a little three-book box set. There they were. The First Sunrise, The Second Sunrise, and The Third Sunrise.

  “Hold on. I need to get a better look.” I pulled over to the side of the road so I could see these books that were about Christine and me. I wished the dome light in my truck worked better, but I went through all three books, slowly, for the next ten minutes, on the side of the road. There was actual dialogue that I remembered saying…word for word. There were other parts where I remembered saying something similar but I really liked the way that Megan had written it. Her take on my original words was a lot more elegant than any way I could have said some of the things that she had me saying. I sounded better in the book. I shook my head in wonder.

  I flipped the books over. It was priced at $29.99 for the box set.

  “Wow, people pay that much to read about me?” I laughed.

  “You’d be surprised, Joel. Women love this...love story. Some have written me fan letters, asking me if deep down this was really a true story. They say there seemed to be too many natural human elements in it for the books to be fiction.”

  “Truth is stranger than fiction. Isn’t that the saying?”

  I started up the truck and we got back on the road. I was sleepy, but I fought through it, knowing that Christine was at the end of the drive. One thing that always kept me awake was talking and Megan did want to know what happened in the hotel room. There was a reason why probably both Christine and I had written our own versions of what actually happened.

  I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “So, Megan, you want to know what happened at the hotel?”

  “Yes, I do. My mom was very brief and if that is the ending to my story, then I would like to know what actually happened.”

  “I was numb. I didn’t like to think about this story. From this point, until I was contacted three months ago, my entire life was affected by what was said in the hotel room.”

  “I know.”

  I paused, full realization setting in. “So, it’s been you contacting me on Facebook? Not Christine. Not once?”

  “Yes. It was me, every time, once I found out what your name was. I knew lots of details from hearing Mom’s stories. I just looked and looked until I was convinced the Joel Murphy I found was you, my mom’s Joel Murphy. Your posts on a vintage baseball Facebook group kind of clinched it.”

  “Yup, that’s me, vintage baseball Facebook groupie. You are a regular Columbo,” I said.

  “Who?” Megan asked.

  “Exactly.” I laughed that this young lady wouldn’t know who Peter Falk was, the actor who played Columbo on the TV series, many years back.

  Again, we were quiet. But I had a couple of questions for Megan. “You never had a date tonight, did you?”

  She smiled. “Joel…Technically, I did, and he did show. I’m just sorry that you felt stood up all night.”

  “You texted me from the ladies’ room in the coffee shop? Pretending to be Christine, standing me up?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Megan, why tonight? Why on this night?”

  “It seemed like a perfect way to convince you to come and see my mom.”

  “It wouldn’t have taken much convincing to get me to come. You could have messaged me on Facebook and I would have been out the door in one hour and on a plane here.”

  “I didn’t know how you would respond to the entire truth. I just knew I needed to meet you and hear your side. Then I would tell you who I really was. Just tell me one more thing, please. What was said in that hotel room?”

  I began to tell Megan Sharee Shores the real story.

  1998 – Delta, Colorado

  “We got my vehicle and I drove her back to my hotel. The letter was lying face up on my desk in the room, obviously just read by me the night before.

  “‘What’s that?’ Christine asked.

  “‘It’s the letter,’ I said.

  “‘I know it’s the letter, but why is it out?’

  “‘I might have read it before I left.’

  “‘Why?’

  “‘To remind me,’ I said.

  “‘To not come?’ Christine asked.

  “‘No, just what was at stake. I knew it was going to be all in.’

  “‘What does that mean?”

  “‘All in means this...’ Then I did something that I had planned to do all day, all evening, and all of my adult life. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small box. Then I dropped to one knee. I flipped open the ring box and said, ‘Marry me. Leave him. Your kids are almost grown. You don’t have to live in your prison of a marriage any longer. When your daughter turns eighteen this month, become my wife.’

  “‘I’m somebody else’s wife.’

  “‘I know. But you know there is a way where you can quit being his and eventually start being mine.’

  “Christine looked me in the eyes and said, ‘I can’t. Not like this. I can’t treat my family as if they were my prison sentence. I love my two kids more than anyone will ever know and I never want them to feel that they were my prison.’

  “Then she paused and looked in my eyes and said ‘Joel, I did mess up, but my mistake gave me the two most important people in my life. My children. I owe it to them not to leave their dad on the grounds that he’s dull.’

  “‘It would be on the grounds that you found me,’ I said pleading.

  “‘Joel, you need to hear what I’m about to say. In my heart I have an abundance of love. To the right of my heart, I have a family and I love them dearly and it feels all the right side of the heart. But you see, Joel, there is this other side, the left side, where my heart is full also. It is where I met the man of my dreams, the absolute most perfect person God could have designed for me. Joel... that’s you.’

  “I looked at Christine and knew once again that it wasn’t enough. ‘The problem is the right side fills most of your ear. It spills over to the left and nearly drowns me out.’

  “‘It’s a mother’s instinct to be there for her kids above everything else, even the man of her dreams.’

  “‘You believe that? That I’m the man of your dreams.”

  “‘Yes, I do. I always have. Life threw me a curveball as much as it threw you one. You need to understand, Joel, you are with me every day. Not a day goes by that something doesn’t fill that left side with love because I am reminded of you. You see, I cherish you and I need you. But I do it from a distance, so I can see. I love you more than I ever have. But I have to do it from afar.’

  “I paused and took everything in and said, ‘You don't plan on going anytime soon, do you? You gave yourself an out by saying “organically.” The truth in your mind is that you could probably handle seeing me again in fifteen more years because all you need is for me to fulfill your fantasy with my letters each month.’ I held in my tears but knew I had to tell her how I had been suffering without her. ‘I can’t live like that. I can’t reside there any longer. I gave you my last plea for my love and you made your choice, and now I must make mine.’ I paused and took in a deep breath. ‘My heart, my joy, you are all I have ever wanted in this world but I will have to part ways from you forever. I can’t ever see you again. It is too heart-wrenching, trying to live this life without you. This is it, Christine. My love for you is abundant, but to say it knows no bounds would be a lie, because my love has boundaries. My love has limits. This is where I must say goodbye to you. This is also where I must ask you one last question.’

  “Christine was absolutely stunned. She managed to muster out, ‘Okay.’

  Present – On the road to Aspen, Colorado, 4:30 a.m.

  “How did you part?”

  “We did what we do best at the sunrise. We slow danced. We just danced until there was nothing else to do but le
ave. We left without saying a word.”

  Megan was quiet and I could tell she was debating how she was going to speak to me. I wasn’t sure if she was struggling with telling me anything at all or if she was trying to figure the correct way of saying it.

  Finally, she said, “You still came tonight? Why?”

  “I love your mother. I love her with all that I am. From the day I met her and fell in love, I have never quit loving her. Can I ask you a question? Why tonight?”

  “Because, just like something you said earlier: ‘Sometimes the stars are aligned just right.’ I’m going to add that sometimes the stars are aligned just right for a miracle to happen. Joel, you need to hear this. Like I said, my mom shows signs of coming out of her coma. I’m scared to ask you something, not because I’m afraid you won’t do it, but I’m afraid you’ll do it and she still won’t wake up. I told you earlier that my mom and I were close. You see, Joel, I could feel her needing answers, needing something that was in my reach, but not in hers. Something I could attain.”

  “I’m not a doctor and I won’t be able to heal her. Only God and the hospital can do that.”

  “But I know there was a journey that I was supposed to experience, a journey that led me to find you, Joel.”

  “You found me. Tell me, how I can help?”

  “My mom began responding to my voice. We could see signs in her physical body that she was trying to wake up. This went on for a couple of weeks. She would sit still until she heard my voice. Then I would see little twitters. Little signs of hope that she knew I were there. There were even times when I swear I saw her smile. Her mouth didn’t move, but I could feel her smiling underneath. I can’t explain it. But you want to know when she shows most signs of life?”

  “When?” I asked.

  “When I read these.” Megan reached in her leather briefcase-type bag. She began to pull out what appeared to be over a hundred letters. All written by me.

  I was stunned. “How did you find those letters?” There were hundreds and hundreds of written letters from me. Some places were even highlighted.