Letters from Becca: A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel

by Margaret Ferguson

  She looked a little disappointed. A little sad. Slowly she swam to the pier, then climbed the short ladder and stood on the dock on the other side of the blanket. When he knew she was there, he wrapped the blanket around her, and slowly picked her up. He carried her back to the fire and set her down. He walked over and gathered all her clothes and handed them to her. “Truth or dare?” she asked, looking him in the eyes.

  John drew in a breath for confidence. “I—” he began, then stopped.

  “Truth or dare?” she repeated, never taking her eyes from his as she took a step toward him.

  “Dare,” he replied hesitantly.

  Marissa looked at him for many moments and then opened her blanket to him. His eyes took in every inch of her as they traveled from her nose to her navel. He lowered his gaze and spied her strawberry birthmark. He looked back into her eyes and stepped toward her. She was magnificent. He’d seen women in magazines, the ones the guys had delivered to the base. But he’d never been with a woman before. And she wasn’t the woman he thought he would first make love to. It was someone else. It was always supposed to be someone else. But suddenly, it wasn’t anymore. His eyes moved back to hers. There was no cold, dark water to hide his excitement any longer. And for the first time ever, he knew what real desire was.

  “Dare,” she said softly, wrapping him in her blanket.

  John slowly lay her down on the abandoned blanket and they made love by the fire, by the lake, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Chapter 9: Saturday, October 14, 1967

  John woke as soon as the sun began to rise. Marissa was still wrapped in the blanket from the night before, lying on her stomach, facing away from him. He reached over and gently petted her auburn hair. She stirred, then turned toward him without opening her eyes. As he brushed back a strand of hair from her face, she wriggled her nose but didn’t wake. He looked around for his missing clothing; he had no idea where his underwear, shoes and shirt were, although he located his jeans still bunched at his feet. Slowly he slid them back on, while under the blanket, as he looked out over the still lake and listened. Only the peaceful lakeside sounds greeted him.

  He found his sneakers on the way to the woods, and he slipped them on as he walked, hopping one foot to the other until they were on. Cautiously, he stepped into the woods and urinated, glancing left and right to assure no one could see him. He stepped back into the clearing by the water’s edge and looked over the lake. The clouds hung low over the water, giving it an eerily mystical feel. He walked to the small, screened enclosure their food was stored in and quietly looked for the cast-iron skillets to start cooking breakfast. As he stepped through the door with a pan, he met Becca, looking like she wasn’t fully awake yet, stepping from the larger tent with a roll of toilet paper in her hand. She smiled faintly, and disappeared into the woods. John smiled to himself as he dug through the cooler for breakfast items.

  He used some of the potable water to wash his hands outside the small screened building. A few moments later Becca appeared and took the soap from his hands to clean her own. She was never a morning person, so when he said ‘hi,’ she simply grunted back, causing him to smile. It was late fall, but fall in Texas isn’t like fall in New England. It was a cool morning that would probably reach the low eighties by early afternoon. It was perfect camping weather. Not too hot; a little humid, but tolerable.

  He looked over at her. “Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

  Becca looked up at him, still squinting like a pirate and grunted again.

  John smiled. “I’m going to build the fire and start breakfast.”

  Becca nodded and proceeded to brush her teeth by the enclosure.

  The girls had been quite domestic and had set up the tiny screened building like a small pantry. He opened the portable cooler and grabbed a dozen eggs and the venison sausage David had made from a deer shot on their last hunting outing the month before. He took out some bacon fat he had brought and greased the skillet with it. Then he carefully sliced the venison sausage with a kitchen knife and filled the pan in a circular pattern with the pieces. He opened the screened door with his backside as carefully and quietly as possible, so as to not wake the others.

  John walked back to the fire, which was still smoldering from the night before and needed to be rebuilt. He set the pan down on a stump and went to work. Marissa rolled over and pulled the covers completely on top of her. He would soon realize she wasn’t a morning person either. By the time he was finished, Becca brought the coffee pot with water in it to stick into the coals. She nodded toward Marissa and John raised his finger to his lips before setting the skillet onto the heavy metal grate they had brought for cooking.

  Becca picked up the transistor radio and carried it to the screened hut. She had it playing softly while she sorted through the cooking items she had packed to see what she needed to use. John entered the enclosure and she stepped around him, not speaking, pensive.

  John kept glancing her way as he cut a bite of venison jerky with his pocketknife. He offered her a piece, and she shook her head without looking at him. She walked around him again to get a soda from the cooler. She placed the cap against the wooden counter and slammed down on it, forcing the cap off the bottle before guzzling several gulps. She burped lightly.

  “Nice,” John said, smiling.

  She didn’t reply. He turned and leaned back against the wooden counter, hands in his pockets.

  “You okay?”

  She didn’t respond, but kept piddling with unimportant tasks, trying to appear busy.

  “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

  Becca pursed her lips as she contemplated.

  He leaned closer to her, hanging his head lower until she was forced to look at him.

  “Stop it,” she said, a small smile creeping up on the side of her lips.

  “Stop what?” he asked softly, not wanting to bother anyone else.

  “You know what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me smile.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” John narrowed his brow.

  She wiped the smile from her face.

  “Okay,” he sighed. “I just thought you might want to talk,” he added, as he turned around.

  “You took advantage of Marissa,” she blurted out in a loud whisper, glancing at him briefly.

  “I what?” he asked, perplexed.

  Now it was Becca who turned to him. “You took advantage of a sweet, innocent young woman who is crazy in love with you.”

  John leaned in, speaking in a loud whisper. “First of all, she’s not so sweet and innocent as she makes out,” he said, as Becca quickly averted her eyes from his. “Secondly, without sounding like a jerk, it’s really none of your business what I do anymore, is it?”

  Becca matched his gaze, then finally looked away. “You are my best friend. We used to talk about everything.”

  John shook his head, an exaggerated expression of shock on his face. “Really, like when you started to date David?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Like when you started dating my best friend while I was away?”

  Becca turned away from him to sort out the breakfast plates and utensils. Again.

  John turned her back around, seeing the tears in her eyes. But he knew that look. They weren’t tears of sadness; they were angry tears.

  “If you remember correctly, you left me. You moved away. And I didn’t hear from you for months. What was I supposed to do? What conversation did we have at that point? What was I supposed to do, John?” she asked, as she angrily wiped her tears, then crossed her arms.

  John shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re just now having this conversation. Now?” he asked, pointing toward the tent. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?” Becca wiped away the tears and turned away from him again, putting her back toward him. “You should have waited,” he said in a softer tone.

  “Then you should have called and told me. Or responded to one of the dozen letters I wrote you. Or maybe
you shouldn’t have left.”

  “You know I had to,” he reasoned, as she continued to turn away from him. “I couldn’t stay. And you wouldn’t leave,” he reminded her. “So, you’re saying things would have turned out differently if I’d stayed?” John leaned in closer to her.

  Becca wiped her tears again, shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she sniffed. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  John turned her around by her shoulders, trying to get her to look him in the eyes. He tilted her head up, holding her chin. “Becca?”

  Becca looked up at him, then past him. John turned and saw that David and Marissa were standing outside and staring at them through the screen—David in jeans, Marissa still wrapped in the blanket.

  Becca walked past John and out the screen door. She walked toward David, who turned to walk away.

  “David, wait,” she called after him, as she followed him to the tent.

  John looked at Marissa, who stared at him for a long time. Then she simply turned and walked back toward the fire.

  John dropped his head as he walked outside. He didn’t see David until he was right next to him; David turned him and punched him square in the face. John was caught off-guard, lost his balance, and fell to the ground. David turned to walk away, but John jumped up, ran up behind him and knocked him to the ground. They started punching each other. Becca screamed, and yelled at them to stop. Marissa finished dressing, then casually strode toward the others.

  David got the upper hand and punched John again. “Stay away from my wife!” he yelled, as he finally got his balance and stood up. Becca rushed to his side and looked at him, touching his face. David pushed her away.

  John stood up as well, wiping the blood from his nose. He looked at his hand, quickly wiping it on his jeans. He looked at Becca, hurt and angry. Then he turned and walked past Marissa to pick up the rest of his clothes, still lying on the beach.

  Becca walked back to David and though he waved her off, she wouldn’t leave him. Marissa walked inside and picked up a dishtowel. She grabbed a handful of ice from the cooler, wrapped it in the towel, and carried it to where John was kneeling and splashing cool water on his face. Becca followed David into the tent, trying to explain that he misunderstood what he saw. Within ten minutes, she had calmed him down as she kissed his wounds.

  Marissa shook the towel next to John’s head. He looked up at her, took the towel, and placed it against his cheek, wincing from the simultaneous pain and cold it brought. She looked out over the water, then down at John. “Does this have anything to do with last night?” she questioned.

  John didn’t answer; he simply kept splashing the blood from his face and chest with the water. He side-glanced at her, stood, and pulled his T-shirt on, his face contorted with pain. He walked past her to the pan on the grill; the sausage was now charred to a crisp on the bottom and still red and raw on top. He flipped them over anyway, pulling the pan from the fire carefully with his bare hand, but burning it in the process. He cursed loudly.

  Marissa walked up to him and took his burned hand. She glanced at him, then back at his hand. She brought it to her lips, kissed it gently, then took the cold pack from his other hand, placing it on his burned hand. “You’re a mess,” she said with a wry smile.

  John looked at her. Her dark eyes were so beautiful. Mesmerizing. He fell under their spell again. She reached up and stroked his cheek with her hand. “I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t.” She didn’t take her eyes from his. “As long as you tell me that last night had nothing to do with her, I’ll believe you.”

  John sighed and took her head, pulling it to his, their foreheads touching. “Last night had nothing to do with her,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “Truth?”

  John maintained eye contact as her smile softened his demeanor. “Truth.”

  Marissa smiled and kissed him, taking his face into her hands. “Good,” she grinned. “I’d hate to have to choose between my best friend and you.”

  “That tough of a choice, huh?” he quipped.

  She moved the ice to his knuckles. “Maybe not so tough,” she said sweetly, looking up at him.

  John’s smile grew. “You’re an amazing woman, Marissa.”

  Marissa smiled nervously. “I love you.”

  John brushed her cheeks with his thumbs, pulling her to him and kissing her deeply—passionately—before pulling away and touching his swelling lip.

  He turned to see David and Becca walking toward him, Becca in front, dragging David behind her. Marissa stepped behind John, and he held her there for protection in case David jumped on him again.

  David stopped before him and looked down at the still sizzling pan of burned sausage. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding out his hand. “It seems I misunderstood what I saw, and I apologize for jumping to conclusions.”

  John hesitated, glanced at Becca and back at David before accepting his hand. “No problem.”

  “No hard feelings?” David asked.

  John shook his head as he continued to shake his hand. “No hard feelings.”

  Becca stepped forward and reached up to hug John. He cautiously wrapped his arms around her, his eyes on David the entire time. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his ear. “For everything,” she said before pulling away, a sad smile on her face.

  David peered into the skillet. “You burned breakfast again, I see,” he said, kicking the pan.

  “I think you were the one who burned breakfast last time,” John argued, walking toward the building, David keeping up with him. “If you remember, you started the sausage, went into the woods to pee, and came back with a jackrabbit.” John handed the towel of ice to David, who looked at his friend before taking the cold towel and placing it against his cheek.

  Becca turned to Marissa, who looked at her, expressionless. Becca began to smile as she walked up to her friend and grabbed her arm. “So…” Becca began, anxious for details.

  John looked over his shoulder at the same time Becca looked over hers. For a brief moment their eyes met again, and she smiled a sad smile. And for the third time in his life, he had to let her go.

  Chapter 10: November 11, 2000

  John looked at the picture in his hand. Becca had convinced the guys to stage a picture with David taking a swing at John and John holding his jaw for effect. He remembered how his jaw had hurt for a week. He also remembered that he and David were still friends, but from that point forward, it felt different. The four of them had all remained close through the years. Whenever they visited one another, he and David would go out to the bar and shoot pool. When David and Becca visited him in Texas, he and David would steal away for a day to fish or hunt. John continued seeing Marissa, and sometimes the four of them would double date while some neighbor’s teenage daughter would watch David and Becca’s ever-growing brood.

  Marissa was very independent and very smart. Over the years she had gone from being the plain, shy wallflower to a very self-confident, passionate, uninhibited woman. Not to mention, she was a knockout. Marissa was the first woman he’d ever slept with, and other than Becca, the only woman that he ever truly loved. Had he asked her to marry him, or had he just suggested they get married? He didn’t remember anymore, another sign of his age. He did remember that every time they talked about marriage they would start drifting apart. He also recalled that his heart ached like it hadn’t in years when Marissa was out of his life. He was sad for that.

  He reached into the box and picked up another picture, a picture of a very pregnant Becca. She looked good. David stood behind her, with his arms around her extended belly. A second picture was of her holding their new son. He turned the picture over. 1968. David Ray, Jr. and in parentheses “D.R.” was all it read on the back. He slid both pictures into the envelope, took his glasses from his pocket, and began to read.

  I hope this letter finds you alive and well since we haven’t heard from you in months. I’ll forgive your lack of correspondence,
as I know you’ve been busy with saving the world, two souls at a time. Praying that God keeps you safe and brings you home safely to us. Love and miss you, Always Yours, Becca xxo.”

  He smiled sadly, refolded the letter and placed it back into the envelope next to the pictures, and slipped the envelope back in its place in the box. Beside the envelopes, there were a few loose pictures he had taken when they were all together. John picked them up and smiled. He hadn’t looked in the box in almost twenty years and forgotten many of the photos were in there. He held up a picture of himself holding little D.R. when he had visited David and Becca that Christmas, after he returned from his first tour. And a picture of him holding his namesake two years later, Johnny Dale—that was such a proud moment for him.

  John slowly lifted a scratched and worn picture. It was a perfect picture of Becca holding their first son. He was going to be fair-haired like his father. John touched the photo. It still felt of sand and grit and smelled of smoke. The loudspeaker announced the boarding of his bus. He slid the picture into his shirt pocket and put the box back into his bag. Deep in thought, he stood in line until his turn to board.

  The bus was nice—nicer than he expected. He hadn’t been on a bus since being in the Army, so this—to him at least—was plush. He thought he would have a row to himself, until the Hispanic family sat across the aisle and wanted to put their young son in the seat next to him. He hadn’t learned Spanish, and they didn’t know English, but between motioning and a few words spoken that were understood, he indicated it was not a problem.

  The little boy must have been about Amanda’s age. He had a small backpack and a handheld video game. John looked over the little boy’s shoulder, intrigued at how a six-year-old could maneuver the characters in the device. He watched how the small child moved his body as he made his characters move. It was comical. John couldn’t understand the fascination with video games; the media said it helped to increase eye-to-hand motor skills, but he simply didn’t see it. He remembered how, when he was younger, all the girls were always reading, and the guys were always doing something athletic. Now, everyone was on his or her phone or computer. Even on his street, he rarely saw a child on a bicycle, or playing stickball or kickball, like he used to.