“They don’t like me,” he defended.
“You’re wrong,” she cried. “About that. About a lot of things,” she said, wiping her nose with her jacket sleeve. “She listens to me.”
“I listen to you, Becca,” he said.
“No,” she sniffed. “You don’t listen.” Becca wiped her eyes. “You tell me your plans; you tell me our plans. You keep saying you’re doing this for us. But you didn’t ask me how I felt about you leaving for college or you joining the Army. You tell me what we’re going to do, but it’s always about what you want to do.”
“I just want to get us out of this town,” he explained.
Becca looked at him. “You never asked me if I wanted to leave, John. You just told me that’s what we were doing.” She sniffed and leaned her head back and closed her eyes. After drawing a deep breath, she looked him in the eyes. “I don’t want to leave here, John.”
John just stared at her.
“I never wanted to leave. Those were your plans, John. That’s what you wanted to do.”
John sighed. “You should have told me.”
“I tried telling you, John. But you never listened. You didn’t want to hear it. You had everything planned out and didn’t care what I wanted. You always say you know what’s best for us.”
“I want something better for us,” he pleaded for her understanding. “You can graduate from a better school.”
“I don’t want to finish school somewhere else. I want to finish here. I don’t want to go to college out of state. I want to stay in Texas.”
“But I thought—” he began.
“John, the reason I couldn’t talk to you about my problem was… “She sighed, “You were the problem.”
“Fine,” he said angrily, as he turned and walked to his car. As he left, he peeled out of the parking lot, sending pebbles flying everywhere.
Becca dropped her head to her hands and cried where he left her, alone in the shadows.
Chapter 4: November 8, 1957
John stood in the shadow of the two-story house on the quiet neighborhood street. The cool wind blew gently around him as he leaned over, gathering pebbles and small pieces of wood from under the manicured, blooming shrubs. He stepped back, hidden from the street by the tri-colored dappled willows that served to fence in the perimeter of Becca’s aunt and uncle’s property. It also served as a good windbreak when the north wind blew.
John stepped back and tossed a piece of the wood at Becca’s window. It had been over three hours since he left her. He was certain she would have arrived by now. Initially, he didn’t feel bad for leaving her since there were dozens of people there when he left. After driving around angry for thirty minutes and cooling off, he went back to the school. Just in case. Not that she would have ridden with him, since he had stranded her. When he arrived at school, the lot was empty. Then he made the disastrous mistake of going home.
Becca’s house was not fancy, but was well-maintained, well-manicured. What else did her aunt and uncle have to do with their time, besides being active at church? Becca used to comment that every time the doors were open at the United Hills Methodist Church, they were there.
John worked every weekend. Depending on his work schedule, he rarely attended Sunday morning services anymore. Besides, he was tired of the looks and the whispers when he did darken the church doors. Thanks to the Blue Law, most businesses were closed Sundays. But there were many small mom-and-pop operations, especially farms, that didn’t observe the Blue Law. They welcomed those who weren’t necessarily committed to attending services to work, which freed them up to attend themselves. Not to mention, it paid a little better, since there were fewer workers available on Sunday mornings.
John looked up. The light in her room was still off. He threw another piece of wood, a little harder this time. Still no light. He gently tossed a small pebble. Then another. The curtain moved. Then he saw her, standing at the window, staring down, looking around. He stepped out of the shadows just long enough for her to see him looking up at her. Becca stared right at him for at least ten seconds before backing out of view. John stepped back into the shadows. Either she was so angry with him that she wouldn’t come down, or she wanted to give him a piece of her mind—and would. Within a minute, he had his answer.
The cool wind rustled the trees around him. It was a nice old house in a nice old neighborhood. Becca deserved that. She deserved that and so much more. Since she had moved away from her family farm, she’d changed. She was more carefree. Because he still lived with his father, he couldn’t comprehend that feeling. When she had moved in with her aunt and uncle, it must have been terrifying, yet liberating at the same time. People didn’t think she was white trash anymore, so they treated her better. That was, until she started dating John. Some of her friends thought she was dating beneath herself, since he was from the wrong side of the tracks.
He turned as he heard the front door squeak. Becca stepped out slowly, carefully shutting the door behind her so as not to wake her aunt and uncle. She stood with her back to the door, pulling her long robe tighter around her. John stepped forward, staying in the shadows as he walked toward the short wrought-iron railing that lined the two steps up to the front porch. She hadn’t turned the lights on, so he couldn’t see her face. Maybe she was as intent as he was on hiding his face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked softly. “You know if they find you here…” she faltered.
John stepped out of the shadows and Becca gasped.
“Oh, my God, John!” She stepped down one step toward him. “He did this to you, didn’t he?” she asked, reaching for his cheek.
John turned his cheek away at her touch.
“What happened?”
“I forgot to take out the garbage. I didn’t clean my room. I didn’t feed the dog. I changed the play,” he said emphatically. “What does it matter?”
Becca tried to brush his cheek again. This time, he didn’t turn away. He raised his hand to take hers as she held his cheek. She stepped down another step, leaned closer and looked at his hand. It was cut and encrusted with blood. She gently held his hand in her palm. “Oh, John,” she said sadly.
“Know how I got this?” he asked her. “I fought back. For the first time in my life, I told him I wasn’t going to take it anymore.”
Tears ran down her face as she held his face in her hands. She reached to hug him, and he grimaced. She looked down and pulled up his shirt. Even in the dark she could see the bruising on his ribs.
“That’s when I got this,” he added, pulling his shirt back down.
“You’ve got to tell someone,” she implored.
“I’m telling you.”
“Call the police, John,” she pleaded.
“Right,” he scoffed. “The police. Then he gets out, and there’s hell to pay.”
Becca held his face in her hands and gently kissed his cheek, then his swelling eye. He stepped back. “Becca, I’m so, so sorry about earlier. I was wrong. I know I hurt you. I don’t mean to hurt you.” He dropped his forehead to hers.
Becca held her finger to his lips, trying not to cry, but not succeeding. She nodded and smiled through the tears.
“You were right. I’ve been so wrong. I’m sorry.”
“None of that matters now,” she spoke softly. “John, you’ve got to get out of there now before he kills you. You can stay with us,” she begged.
John laughed. “Oh, right. Your aunt would love that.”
“You can’t go home,” she reasoned.
“I’m not going home,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I’m leaving. I’ve had it with him, and with this stupid little town and with all the narrow-minded little people who live here. Here I’m just a chip off the old block.” He stepped closer to her, his voice cracking as he whispered, “I’m afraid I’m going to become him. And I never wanted to be less like anyone in my whole life.” He looked into her eyes. “If I stay, he’ll kill me, just like he killed your
mom and everything else decent in his life.” John brushed her cheek with his injured hand. “In fact, I’ve already left. I just got in the car and drove. I didn’t even know where I was going, or how far I got. Halfway to San Antonio, I think. Then I realized I forgot something.”
John looked deep into her eyes. “I came back for you, Becca,” he said. He leaned in slowly and kissed her gently on the lips. “Come with me Becca. Right now. Tonight. We’ll start over. We’ll make a life somewhere else. Just you and me.”
Becca stepped backward up the stairs, pulling her robe tighter around her.
“I know it’s not what you want, Becca, but I can’t do this anymore,” he said. “You don’t belong here any more than I do. Away from here, we can get a new start together.”
Becca slowly shook her head and looked down.
“I can take anything that bastard can dish out. I can take whatever people say. But I can’t leave here without you, Becca. I love you. I’ve always loved you,” he pleaded.
Becca looked up, tears rolling down her face. “I love you, too, John. You’ve always been there for me, taken care of me. When my mom died…” she began, sobbing softly for a moment, “when I fell out of that big tree by the river, and we thought I broke my arm.” She chuckled through tears. “Remember, you carried me all the way to the neighbor’s house, like five miles away.”
John smiled. “It was only one.”
Becca replied. “Regardless, you’ve always taken care of me. I can’t imagine what my life would be without you.”
“So, don’t,” he begged. “Come with me, Becca.”
Becca shook her head again. “I can’t,” she said softly.
John stepped back and shook his head. “You know, when my mom left, I couldn’t understand how she could have left me with him. She didn’t have anyone.” he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “No family, no friends, thanks to him. I used to wonder where she could possibly go,” he asked, holding up his hands without taking them out of his pockets. “For years I never forgave her for leaving me with that bastard. I hated her for leaving me. I hated her,” he said pacing in a circle before turning back toward Becca. “Now I understand. I even envy her. She wasn’t walking out on me. She was running for her life.”
Becca drew her robe tighter around her. “John, I…” she began, but stood silently.
“I don’t have anywhere to go, Becca. And I don’t have anyone else,” he said stepping toward her again, “except you.” He took his hands out of his pockets and reached for hers again. “You’re all I have.” He took her hands, drew in a breath and shook his head before looking at her again. “But, if you ask me to stay, Becca, I will.”
Becca stepped back, her hands slowly slipping from his. “I can’t,’ she said softly. “I couldn’t.”
John pursed his lips and nodded in understanding. “I know.” Then he slowly walked backward. “I know.”
Becca rushed down the stairs, and he stepped back to her. He held her tight, though it hurt. He never wanted to let her go. He closed his eyes and caressed her soft, brown hair. “I love you, Becca,” he said. He felt her head nod under his touch.
The porch light turned on and the front door squeaked open. They turned together to see Aunt Betty, hands on hips on the front porch. “Rebecca Leigh! Get in this house this instant. It’s after midnight, and you have chores in the morning.”
Becca turned to John one last time and smiled sweetly. He held her forehead to his and smiled back.
“Yes ma’am,” she said as she backed away from him.
“I might have known it was you. Young man, are you aware what time it is?” she asked, as Becca slowly walked toward her. Betty’s eyes followed Becca into the house before she turned back toward John. “You know the rules, and yet you continue to ignore them. I think it’s best…” she began. He took a step toward her into the light, causing her to stop. She drew in a deep breath, then said in a softer tone, “I think it’s best you leave now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” John said as he walked backward again.
Betty motioned toward him with her hand. “You should see a doctor,” she said sincerely.
“Yes ma’am,” he said politely. He looked up to the window to see Becca looking down at him. He smiled a sad smile, then turned back to her Aunt Betty. “Goodnight, ma’am.”
Betty watched him until he turned the corner past her dappled willows. She waited until she heard his car start and the tires squeal as he pulled away. Then she walked back inside, locked the door, and turned off the porch light.
Chapter 5: November 11, 2000
John removed his reading glasses and set them on the table beside him. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes before putting them back on. He closed the yearbook and picked up the letter again.
Where did the time go? I sometimes wish I could turn back the clock. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed my best friend. We could talk about almost anything. Every moment of my life that meant anything to me, you were there. Even when you weren’t here, you were always here in my heart—through the good and the bad. Well, it’s not good this time. I have cancer. They tell me I’m dying, John. I don’t know how else to say it, but I needed to tell you. I needed to say goodbye.
John dropped the letter to his lap, pursing his lips and contemplating what to do. He looked at the postmark again. It had been under his desk for two months. For two damned months. He grabbed his personal phone book from the desk drawer and dialed a number. He received the standard, “the number you have reached is not in service” message. He tried the second number, and there was no answer. John impatiently hung up before a recorder could answer, and dialed information.
“I need a number for David Ray Richardson in San Antonio, Texas, please,” he asked the operator.
“Checking, sir.” There was an annoying pause. “I’m sorry sir, but that number isn’t listed.”
“There isn’t a listing, or it’s an unlisted number?” he asked.
“It’s unlisted. Is there another number I can help you with sir?”
“No, thank you,” he sighed in frustration, hanging up while the guy was still thanking him for calling.
John carried his phone book to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of coffee. He sat down at the kitchen table, and stared at his cup for a minute. Then two. Without drinking his coffee, he walked back to his desk and began rifling through the drawers. He pulled out papers and piled them haphazardly on top of his desk. He removed the center drawer and took out a pencil organizer. Under it was a worn, black-and-white photo of him and David, with Becca in between them, dressed in her wedding gown. He ran his finger slowly across it. He then picked up the photo and the phone, carried them both to the kitchen table, and sat back down. He set the photo beside the phone and stared at it for a long time.
John leaned forward onto his knees, and then dialed his daughter’s number. “Amanda?”
“Hey, Grampa!” she exclaimed, her smile radiating through the phone, bringing a smile to his face.
“Hey, Punkin, let me talk to your mommy.”
“Okay.” John could hear her climbing down from wherever she was, walking past the television and then down the silent hallway to her parent’s bedroom. “Mommy, Grampa is on the phone!” she yelled.
“I love you, Grampa,” she said before the shuffle of the exchange took place.
“Love you too, Punkin,” he said.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”
“Jesse, I’m going out of town for a few days, and I just wanted to let you know. I didn’t want you and your sister worrying about me if you called or came by.” He could hear Amanda singing to herself in the background.
“Where are you going, Dad?”
“To see an old friend,” he sighed. “Tell Amanda not to worry about Patches. I’ll ask Mrs. Watson across the street to feed her.”
“Dad? Is everything okay?” Her father rarely wandered beyond his neighborhood.
“Ever
ything’s fine, sweetie,” he assured her.
“Dad, does this have anything to do with that letter?” she asked curiously.
“I promise I’ll be back next week for Amanda’s recital.”
She growled into the phone. “You’re being cryptic.”
Her father chuckled. “And you’re being nosy,” he said. “I promise I’ll call you when I get settled in. And,” he added, “I promise to tell you all about my trip when I get back.” He could hear her wrestling with Amanda over the phone. “I promise.”
“You’d better,” she said. “Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, sweetie.” He hung up the phone and set it on the table beside the picture. He picked up his coffee, sipped it, winced at how cold it had become, and set it back down. John picked up the picture and looked at it again, his eyes meeting hers. He leaned forward onto his knees and smiled.
Chapter 6: March 30, 1963
John stood under one of the two cut crystal chandeliers that shimmered and lit the reception hall, which wasn’t necessary, since it was an afternoon wedding. Becca wanted it to be bright and cheery for her wedding day. It was definitely bright. He looked around as the people mingled and laughed. Becca held the flower girl in her arms, twirling her slowly around. John smiled at how stunning she looked, then sighed, turned, and made his way to the punch bowl next to the fourtier wedding cake.
David was standing next to the cake table. He saw John coming, picked up two cups, handing one to John as he arrived. Then he took a flask from his pocket and held it up, with raised eyebrows.
John held out his cup. “You read my mind.”
“To courage,” David said, tapping his cup to John’s.
“Courage,” John repeated, knocking back the entire contents. “And not getting shot down.”
David poured a little more into each cup. “To not getting shot.”
John turned and looked at the wedding cake. “Nice uniform,” he remarked. “Wrong branch,” he grinned.
David patted John’s shoulder. “Matter of opinion, flyboy. Matter of opinion.”
Letters from Becca: A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel Page 4