John turned, resting one arm on the railing as he watched her talk.
“He said the boys would love it here. I wanted to hate it, but I couldn’t. It was just so… perfect.” She turned to him and found him staring at her. “It was everything he said it would be. A little bit of country right here in the city. Does that make sense?”
John didn’t answer. He simply smiled as he looked at her.
“Stop it,” she blushed and nudged him with her shoulder.
“What?” he asked, then turned and looked out over their neighborhood. “I could stand it here.”
Becca looked at him, the breeze catching her hair again and sending it flying behind her. “Could you?”
John lifted the sock puppet, and he slowly changed his voice. “As long as you wouldn’t stick me in the closet when the boys are bad.”
Becca chuckled.
The puppet reached over and nipped at her nose.
Becca leaned away from it, backward, holding onto the railing, looking up. “Look,” she exclaimed suddenly. “A shooting star.” She pointed skyward. “Quick, close your eyes and make a wish.”
John watched her close her eyes. As she opened them, she turned to John. “What did you wish for?” he asked.
Becca crinkled her brow. “Silly. You aren’t supposed to tell.” Her smile broadened. “Besides, my wish already came true.”
“Oh, really?” he asked coyly.
Becca stepped closer to him. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
John reached over and gently traced her cheek with the back of his hand. Becca smiled, stepped to him and buried her head against his chest. He gently stroked her long, wavy hair. She slowly looked up to him as he looked down into her glistening eyes. He brushed the hair from her face, at the same time caressing her soft skin gently with his thumbs.
“Mommy?”
John and Becca turned suddenly, startled. Becca quickly walked to, then kneeled beside William, who was rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”’
“I need a drink of water,” he yawned.
Becca looked up to John and smiled. “Excuse number three.” She turned back to William. “Sweetie, you’ve just had too much excitement this week for one little boy.”
John smiled. “I’ve got this,” he said, lifting William carefully into his arms.
“I love you, Mommy,” he said softly.
Becca took his small hand in hers and kissed it. “I love you, too, baby.”
William lay his head on John’s shoulder as he carried him through the open doorway. “Be right back,” he mouthed silently before turning and disappearing into the flowing curtains and the room beyond.
Becca called after him. “Just a sip!” She turned back to the railing and breathed in another breath of fresh air. When she grabbed the railing, her hand found the sock puppet, and she slowly slid it onto her hand. She made a few faces with it to herself, and slid it back off, before walking inside and closing the door. She dropped the sock puppet onto the end table and looked up. A faint light caught her eye and she glanced at the mantle where the flag from David’s coffin sat perfectly centered, nestled amongst a few pictures of him and of them as a family. Slowly she walked to the mantle and picked up her favorite picture. She held it in one hand while the other brushed across it. “In the Mystic” began to play, and she closed her eyes. A single tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away, drew in a deep breath, blew out the candle beside the pictures, walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a dozen eggs.
John stepped backward quietly so as to not wake the sleeping children. Just inches from a clean getaway his bare heel found a couple of Legos. He winced in pain, and cussed in silence, before kicking the perpetrator across the room, waking D.R.
“Uncle John?” D.R. asked softly.
“Just came in to check on you boys,” he said, grabbing his foot, his face contorted. “Go back to sleep.”
“I love you, Uncle John.”
“I love you, too, son,” he replied, limping from the room.
He leaned against the wall and massaged his heel before limping through the rest of the house. The plate glass door was closed, but he still peered outside. Just in case. He heard clinking behind him and turned. Becca was standing in the corner by the stove, hidden in the shadows. John hobbled into the kitchen and walked up behind her. He set his chin on her shoulder, his hands on her hips. “Whatcha doin?” he whispered.
“I thought I’d boil some eggs to make egg salad for lunch tomorrow.”
John looked at his watch. “At ten o’clock at night?” he asked. He moved his hand to her neck, slowly brushing her hair aside as his other hand slowly slid around to her waist.
“And deviled eggs. The boys love deviled eggs. I haven’t made them in so long.”
John slipped her blouse collar aside as he kissed her shoulder, his lips slowly tracing the curve of her shoulder to her neck.
“David loved deviled eggs. And anything David liked, the boys liked,” she babbled, unnecessarily stirring the pan of boiling eggs. She tilted her neck, feeling her resistance fading as she welcomed his touch. His hand followed his kisses along her shoulder. “I never really acquired the taste for them myself,” she said more slowly, closing her eyes. His lips moved to her neck, and she felt her heart beginning to race as he neared her ear. “I just figured,” she stammered, “that since we’ve been eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all week…” Her breathing quickened. “Maybe I’d make them something different.” She felt his hand move to her bare stomach, gently caressing her warm skin. “…You know?”
“Good idea,” he whispered into her ear, before gently nibbling on it. He felt the goose bumps as his fingers lightly brushed her skin.
John slowly reached around her, turned off the burner, and twisted her in his arms, taking the wooden spoon from her hand and laying it on the stove behind her. He brushed back her hair from her face, as he cradled it in his hands. He smiled at her, took her hand in his suddenly and spun her around. Becca chuckled as he moved her around the kitchen dramatically with the music. With each turn he pulled her closer. When the song ended, he stepped back, looking down at her. His hands lightly traced her face as he took it in his hands again. Then very gently, very sweetly, he leaned in and kissed her.
Becca felt her objections dissolve as he wrapped himself around her and kissed her harder. He stopped as suddenly as he had started, and she gasped. His kisses moved down her chin and to her neck, which she willingly offered to him. Slowly his hands slid from her bare stomach to her back. Then he released her and stood back, his eyes on hers as he began to nervously unbutton her shirt. He leaned forward again, his lips moving down her neck as his hands slowly worked ahead of them. When he finished, he looked down at her. His hand lightly traced from her belly button to her neck. He held her chin with his fingers as he kissed her once more. His other hand moved from her back to her stomach and upward. His hand reached the cup of her bra and she abruptly stopped and pushed him away, dropping her head to her chest.
“I can’t do this,” she gasped, looking up at him. “I can’t.”
John pressed his finger to her lips, slowly tracing them with it. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then her neck. Her throat.
“John, please,” she pleaded softly. John kissed her fully again, but she pushed him away again. “John, stop!” she said emphatically, holding her hand against his chest. She reached down and shakily started to button her shirt. “I’m sorry,” her voice cracked. “I can’t.”
John stepped toward her, and she held out her hand again. When she looked up at him, he saw tears in her eyes. “Becca, I…” he began, feeling ashamed.
Becca shook her head. “Please don’t,” she said firmly, finishing buttoning her shirt. She turned away from him. “I thought—” she began, then started sobbing. “I mean, I wanted to.” She looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she repeated, holding her hand out. “I think you need to go.”
John was flabbergasted. “Becca. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Please John,” she pleaded. “It’s not you, it’s me.” She mustered a sad smile. “It’s all me. But I still think you should leave,” she said firmly.
“Can’t we talk about this?” he asked.
Becca shook her head again and turned away from him.
John, hurt, confused, and more than a little frustrated, took a step backward. He turned silently and walked to D.R.’s room. He shoved everything into his suitcase, without even folding it. He had dirty laundry in the other room, but that was the least of his concerns at this point. He carried his bag to the front door, which she already had opened for him. She handed him the station wagon keys. “You can take the car and come back for the rest of your stuff tomorrow.”
“What about the boys? What are you going to tell them?”
Becca shrugged without looking at him. “I don’t know. They’ve been through so much already.” She looked up at him. “I don’t want them to get hurt anymore,” she sighed. “I think it’s best they weren’t here when you come by, so please call first,” she said firmly, staring him in the eyes.
John nodded compliantly. As he walked past her, he reached out and took her hand. “Becca, you know I love you.” He looked into her beautiful, now distant, eyes. “And I’d never do anything to hurt you. Or them.”
She smiled a faint smile. “I know.” Her eyes searched his for understanding before looking down again. “You’d better go.”
John turned and walked out the front door. Becca closed and locked it behind him. He turned and stared at it in disbelief. He thought he heard her crying softly just beyond the door, but then was sure he was mistaken. He took a few steps down the path and heard the door open again.
He turned in anticipation.
“Uncle John?”
“D.R.?” he asked, turning and walking back to the doorway.
“You’re leaving?”
John knelt beside him, sighing. “Yeah, something came up with work, and I gotta go,” he said sadly.
“Did you and Mom have a fight?”
“No, son,” he promised. “But your mom will be mad if she finds you out here.”
D.R threw his arms around John’s neck. John wrapped his arms tightly around the young boy. He wiped his tears before facing him again.
“Please don’t go,” D.R. pleaded.
“I have to go, son,” he insisted. “I have some very important business to take care of that came up, and I have to take care of it tonight,” he stammered.
“What about the park?” he asked, tears filling his eyes.
John sighed and held him by the arms. “I’m sorry, son.”
“But you promised. You promised me and Johnny and William you’d take us to the park tomorrow.”
John fought the tears, his chin trembling. “I’m going to have to break that promise, D.R. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, but I have to. We’ll do it some other time, okay?”
D.R. wiped his tears. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”
John forced a smile. “Of course you are. This is…just a thing,” he lied. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from you boys.” John reached over and ruffled D.R.’s hair, then held his face in his hand. “Come here, you,” he said, pulling D.R. to his chest again. “You can tell your brothers that we’ll go to the park when I get back to town, okay?”
D.R. wiped his face again.
“Now get inside before I have to tickle you to death,” he said, standing up.
D.R. looked up at him and smiled a crooked smile. “I can take you,” he said.
John started to walk away. “You really think so? I’m not so sure, tough guy.” He nodded his head at the boy. “You won’t be so tough if your mom gets ahold of you,” he said. “Now, get inside.”
D.R. raised his chin almost in a challenge. “Old man,” he called after him.
John turned and kept walking, as tears rolled down his cheeks. He wanted to turn back but didn’t. He listened for the door to open and close before he stopped and turned back.
Chapter 30: November 11, 2000
John stared forward and had to steady himself. For he was looking into David’s face forty years before. He blinked and then asked hoarsely, “David?”
The man’s eyebrows wrinkled as he searched the old man’s face. “Uncle John?” he asked softly.
A small head popped up beside the grown man before him. “Who is it, Daddy?”
John smiled as he looked from the son to the father. “This is your Uncle John,” David said with a crooked smile.
“No, it’s not,” his son said. “Uncle Johnny isn’t old.”
John couldn’t help but smile. He slowly knelt down in front of the boy. “I’m your dad’s Uncle John, son.” He held out his hand. “And what might your name be?”
“I’m Carl Thomas Richardson,” he said proudly, shaking John’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Carl,” he said, before looking up at D.R.
“Everyone calls me C.T.”
“C.T., nice to meet you.”
C.T. held onto his father’s leg as John rose, his knees cracking noisily.
D.R. reached out his hand, and when John took it, they pulled each other into a forceful hug. D.R. stepped back. “Gosh, how long has it been?”
“Too long, son.”
“God, I can’t believe you’re here. Come on in,” he motioned, stepping back from the door. “Please.” As he closed the door, his son ran into the other room. “Johnny, come in here. You won’t believe who’s here!”
Johnny, once the innocent waif of a boy was now a muscular, tan young twenty-something. He walked in and looked at his brother, then at John, not recognizing him.
D.R. smiled. “This is Uncle John. The one you were named after?” he said, reminding him.
Johnny furrowed his brow before a small smile of remembrance crossed his lips. “Uncle John?”
John nodded.
“Wow. How are you?” he asked, as he held out his hand. “How many years has it been?”
“Too many son. More than I care to admit.”
“Twenty-four years,” D.R. calculated.
John look down, ashamed.
D.R. patted his arm. “Sit down, please,” he said, motioning to the large tan sofa. “Can I get you something to drink?”
John shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ve either been sitting on a bus or in a bus station since this morning.”
D.R. sat opposite him. “You should have called. One of us would have picked you up,” he said. D.R. slid to the end of his seat, and asked, “Are you here visiting family?”
“Actually,” he sighed, “I came to see your mom. I went to the cemetery first.”
“The cemetery?” D.R. asked, perplexed.
John took the letter from his pocket without unfolding it. “Your mom wrote me several weeks ago, but I didn’t get it until this morning, so I thought… “he stammered. “I mean; I didn’t know if…” His voice trailed off.
“Her and her pride. She didn’t want us to call you. She told me she wrote you, but didn’t hear back from you.” D.R. looked at the letter without opening it. “I could tell she was disappointed. We thought maybe you had, er, uh…died.”
“No, still here,” John smiled. “I tried calling, but didn’t get a recorder. So I thought I’d just come see for myself.”
“I’ll tell you what,” D.R. said. “I was headed to the hospital in a few minutes. Why don’t you come with me?” he offered, handing John back his letter.
John caught himself, closing his eyes, letting the news soak in.
D.R. turned to his brother. “Johnny, can you drop off Carl at his Nana’s house? Then you can meet us up there.”
Johnny nodded, calling orders to his nephew. “C.T., get your backpack. We’re going to your Nana’s!”
“Yay!” came the voice down the hall, becoming louder as it moved nearer. Seconds later the same smal
l boy ran toward them, a backpack three sizes too big for him hanging from his shoulders. He ran straight for his father, who bent to accept his embrace. They hugged tightly.
“I love you, son,” he said.
“Love you, too, Daddy.”
John watched with pride. These were David and Becca’s sons and their grandson. He marveled at the likeness they bore to their parents. How proud Becca must have been. How much he regretted that he had not seen the boys grow up; that he hadn’t kept in touch. Moments that he had so much wanted to be a part of were simply blank pages in a photo album that he couldn’t even reflect on. He smiled sadly, as he thought of his daughters and grandchildren. How much of their lives had he missed once he and their mother had separated and then divorced? He never felt worthy of their love and affection, though they reassured him regularly how much he meant to them. Abandonment: the theme of his family and now his life.
John watched D.R. embrace his young son. Johnny came from behind his brother and played peek-a-boo with C.T., causing John to smile. D.R. handed his son off to Johnny, “I’ll see you up there.” Then he took his keys from the hook in the hallway and turned back to John. “You ready?”
John drew in a deep breath. “I’m not sure,” he answered nervously. “It’s been a long time.”
D.R. smiled and ushered him into the garage. “Too long.”
Chapter 31 November 11, 2000
John loved riding in his old Coupe. It felt like… coming home. He could still smell a hint of English Leather. It was as if he and this car shared secrets. His secrets. Becca’s. He turned to D.R..
“You kept her up,” he said.
“Of course I did,” he replied. “This was dad’s pride and joy.”
John looked out the window.
“And yours,” he added, looking at John as he rested his arm on the steering wheel.
John turned back to D.R..
“Mom told me you gave her to Dad when his car broke down on their wedding night,” he recalled.
“Your dad was the only one I would have trusted with her. He loved her almost as much as I did,” he said sadly, turning to look back out the window. Were they still talking about the car?
Letters from Becca: A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel Page 18