Letters from Owen

by T. L. Haddix

  As soon as he opened the glass door at the front of the library, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out as the familiar scent created by thousands of books washed over him. Ever since he was a small boy, he had been enchanted by books. That’d he gotten lucky enough to fall in love with a woman who shared that fascination was simply one more aspect of his marriage he was thankful for.

  Shirley Baker looked up as he opened the second glass door off the vestibule, her smile tense. “Owen, hello.”

  Concerned, Owen nodded. “Shirley. Everything okay?”

  She eyed him up and down. “I hope so. How’s your temper today?”

  Before Owen could answer, he heard Sarah scoff in the stacks. The sound was one he was familiar with, as they were both stubborn people who tended to butt heads over small things on a somewhat regular occasion. That half snort of exasperation indicated a deep-seated frustration that was a hair away from turning into anger. Straightening, he watched as she came out of the stacks, a man strange to Owen not far behind her. When she saw Owen standing at the counter, her eyes widened and she mouthed a curse.

  A strong sense of déjà vu settled over him. Before he and Sarah had started dating, he’d walked in on a similar scene that had ended badly—courtesy of his book-wielding wife—for the man. He set his bag down, ready to intervene, but Shirley placed a hand on his arm and drew his attention.

  “Let her handle this, you hear me?” she said in a low voice. “Nobody else is here, and she needs to get this off her chest.”

  “Handle what?” Owen scowled as Sarah went around the opposite end of the long checkout counter, putting it between her and the man. He glared at the man who, having turned his back toward Owen and Shirley, was oblivious.

  The man spoke. “Sarah, it’s just lunch. What harm is that going to do anyone? You’re acting like I’m asking you to run away with me. Come on, for old time’s sake. I know you had a crush on me back when we were kids. I’m not above using that to get what I want now. We can be friends, right?”

  Shirley’s question about the state of his temper made sense now. It was easy to imagine himself lifting the man off his feet by the scruff of his neck and tossing him through the plate-glass window that overlooked High Street. The only thing holding Owen back, aside from disbelief, was his need to see Sarah’s reaction.

  When she laid down a book slowly, as though it were a bomb ready to detonate at the slightest jostle, Owen winced. He certainly didn’t feel sorry for the man, whoever he was, but he knew what was coming wouldn’t be pretty.

  Lifting her eyes from her hands, which had a white-knuckle grip on the hapless book, she squared her shoulders. “I had a crush on you when I was fifteen. That ended the day I heard you laughing about me with my sister and her friends. You can ‘use’ that until the cows come home, Paul Turner, and all it’s going to get you is more of the same cold shoulder. Even if I wasn’t married—happily married—I’d not be interested in the likes of you.

  “Now I’m not supposed to talk about the patrons, and I do my best not to listen to gossip, but I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to know what sorry shenanigans you’ve been up to the last few years. With every piece of information that comes my way, I thank God I heard you all talking that day in the drama room. Because without that wake-up call, I might have been stupid enough to make cow eyes at you long enough for you to pay attention, and I’d have been the one knocked up in the backseat of your daddy’s car.”

  “Now that’s not fair,” Turner protested, straightening from his casual slouch against the counter. “Come on, Sarah.”

  “Don’t you ‘come on’ me, you dumbass! I can’t imagine being stuck with you for lunch, never mind the rest of my life. I’m not interested in you, in who your daddy is, how much money he has, or what flashy car you drive this week that he bought and paid for. There’s not a single thing in this world that could change that. You’re wasting your time, my time, and everybody’s time with this… this line of bull you’re standing here spouting. I’ve put up with it for a week, and that’s enough already! And so help me, if you ‘now Sarah’ me one more time, I swear I’ll hit you. I don’t care if I get fired, and I promise you this—I’ll make it count, buddy.”

  Owen had heard enough. He didn’t care that Turner was holding up his hands in resignation. He didn’t care that Sarah was more than capable of doing exactly what she’d promised. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were dark with anger. The man had upset her enough, she’d said her piece, and it was time for Turner to leave.

  In a couple of steps, he was behind Turner, his arm around the man’s neck and one of Turner’s arms pinned up behind his back between them. “You’re done here. Let’s go.”

  “Hey. Hey! What the hell, man? I was just talking to the lady.”

  Owen growled and tightened his arm around Turner’s neck. “Yeah, and now you’re not.”

  “Owen…” Sarah warned, “He’s not worth it.”

  “I’m not going to hurt him. We’re just gonna walk out to his car. A personal escort off the premises. That’s all. Let me guess—flashy red car parked in the back?”

  Shirley, who’d come over to stand beside Sarah when Owen moved, nodded. “Mr. Turner, the library is closed to you for the time being. I’d appreciate it if you’d adhere to that.”

  When he didn’t answer right away, Owen pinched his wrist.

  Turner squeaked. “Yeah, fine. Fine! Let go of me. I’ll leave.”

  Owen released him, then widened his stance just in case the man turned around swinging. But Turner stepped away, rubbing his wrist, and glared at Owen like a wounded animal.

  “Who the hell are you?” Turner asked.

  “Her husband.” Owen closed the distance between them. “Let’s go.”

  Turner snorted, but he moved toward the door. “Figures.” He hit the glass door with a hard hand, cursing under his breath.

  With a glance back at Sarah and Shirley, Owen followed. Turner was muttering the whole time, but he didn’t directly address Owen until they’d reached the parking lot.

  “Now what?”

  Owen shrugged. “Now’s simple.”

  In a flash, his fist shot out in a quick jab that snapped Turner’s head back. Before the man could recover, Owen had his hands in Turner’s shirtfront and Turner himself pinned up against the side of the building, dangling a foot off the ground.

  It took everything in Owen not to let Turner see the flash of his eyes that would reveal his shape-shifting nature, but he did nothing to stop his old-fashioned anger from shining through. “I know all about you, just like Sarah does. I know you hurt her in high school, and I know you’re trouble now. I’m not about to let you bother her. You stay the hell away from my wife, or I’ll rip you apart and nobody will ever find all the pieces. Is that simple enough?”

  Maybe it was the statement itself, or maybe Owen had slipped up and let some of the wolf show after all. But for whatever reason, Turner’s face paled. “You can’t stop her if she wants me.”

  For good measure, Owen gave him another little shake, then he let him down, laughing even through his anger. “You’re a pure idiot. Sarah doesn’t want you. She says what she means, means what she says. If you had a lick of common sense, you’d realize that. You’re wasting your time.”

  Turner kept a wary eye on him as he wiped blood from his busted lip with the back of his hand. “You believe what she said in there?” His tone was derisive. “What did you think she’d tell me with you standing there?”

  Owen first went hot and then cold all over. When Turner’s eyes widened, Owen knew without a doubt the wolf was shining through. For the first time in his life, he was too angry to care about the danger of being outed.

  The other man swallowed, then crossed himself. “My God, what are you?”

  If he touched Turner again, Owen knew he might well kill him. “I�
�m a man who loves his wife. You still doubt me when I say I can tear you apart? Are you that stupid even now, huh? Why don’t you tell me again she didn’t mean what she said? Better yet, why don’t you get the hell out of here and forget that Sarah Campbell exists?”

  Turner lowered his eyes, not looking directly at Owen again. “Gladly.”

  “That’s probably the best decision you’ve made in years.”

  After a charged minute, Owen stepped back so that Turner could get past him. He didn’t turn his back on the man though, knowing too well how duplicitous people could be.

  When Turner reached his car, he lifted his chin. “I can’t believe she married you.”

  “Yeah? Well, she did, and she’s happy. Go find someone else to harass. If I see you near her again…” Owen huffed as the door to the balcony above his head opened and Sarah stepped outside. “Though I might not have to do a damned thing if she gets her hands on you.”

  By the time she reached the bottom of the metal steps, Turner was gone. She gazed down the street after his car, then turned to Owen. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  Owen didn’t answer her straight away. He couldn’t. All the adrenaline and fear and anger was churning inside him, and he needed a minute to pull himself together. Closing his eyes, he took some deep breaths, letting them out slowly.

  “Please tell me you didn’t hurt him,” she said softly when he finally looked at her.

  “Why? You worried about him?” Owen shook himself, growling, as anger flashed in her eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I gave him a fat lip, that’s all. How long has he been coming around you?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened with disbelief. “You… a fat lip? You hit him? Owen! What were you thinking?”

  Incredulous, he glowered at her. “What was I thinking? Oh, I don’t know, maybe how best to avoid my deep-seated desire to rip his throat out.”

  “Oooh, you stubborn man! Don’t you realize he could have you arrested? Then where would that leave us?” She paced away from him, arms crossed. “Unbelievable. Why is it that men always go straight for punching?”

  “Sarah. How long?” Hands on his hips, Owen stared at the ground. In the nearly seven years they’d been married, they’d never had a major fight or gotten beyond raised voices to the yelling stage. He was terribly afraid that today they’d reach that stage.

  A tense pause ensued.

  “A week,” she answered. “He showed up a week ago and a couple of times since. He… came in and chatted a bit, asked me to lunch, and when I turned him down, he left. That was the end of it until today.” She glanced at him, then away, and walked to the other side of his truck, where she stood beside the railing that separated the parking lot from the building next door.

  After a moment, Owen followed. He leaned his hips against the rail, turning so that he faced her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She lifted her hands, then let them fall back to the rail, where she twisted her wedding rings. “What was there to tell? I didn’t expect to see him again after the last time. He was never this pushy before. I hope to God I never see him again.” She rubbed her forehead and growled. “Stupid man. He should have known better in the first place. Did you flash?”

  Owen felt his cheeks heat, and it was his turn to cross his arms. “Yeah.”

  Sarah sighed. “Owen…”

  “What? I tried not to, but… he got way out of line.”

  When she snorted, he chanced looking at her. Though she wasn’t smiling, he didn’t think she was still angry at him.

  “How’d he react? Since you aren’t panicking, I’m going to assume he didn’t try to call down Jesus on your head and grab a pitchfork. What’d you say to him anyhow?”

  Owen frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just told him that if he bothered you again, I’d tear him apart and no one would find the pieces.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Well. Okay, then. That’s creative.”

  “I could have said I was going to rip his balls off and feed them to him. Would that have been better?” He sighed. “I’m sorry about the flash. I… I didn’t think. I was too mad. For what it’s worth, he recovered fast enough. Maybe I’m not as scary as I think I am.”

  Sarah, who’d seen him flash once or twice through the years, though not at her, lifted an eyebrow. “Um, yeah, you are. Did he say anything?”

  “Asked me what I am and crossed himself. So maybe he did call down Jesus.”

  “So long as he didn’t grab a pitchfork. What’d you tell him?”

  Owen ducked his head. “That I’m simply a man who loves his wife and won’t stand for seeing her harassed.”

  This time when she shook her head, there were tears in her eyes. “I can’t stay angry at you, even though I probably should try at least a little. I’m not a piece of meat for two men to fight over, you know.”

  Taking a chance, he touched her cheek. “No, you aren’t. But I would kill for you if you were truly in harm’s way.”

  Sarah pressed his hand against her face, and she sniffled a bit as she kissed his palm. “Stubborn man.”

  He pulled her close for a tight hug. “We probably should go reassure Shirley that we’re all still standing.”

  “In a minute,” she said, snuggling nearer. “It’s cold out here, and you’re so warm. Besides, she hated him on sight. Apparently she knows his father and has a similar relationship with him.”

  “Proof positive that stupidity runs in families,” Owen promptly responded. “Let’s get you inside.”

  She led the way, but she kept her hand tangled with his. “You know, when I was fifteen and I overheard him joking with Kathy and her friends about me… I’d really have enjoyed seeing you tear him apart then. Figuratively, of course. But it scares me now, thinking about that kind of violence and anger. Not because I fear you, but because I know it could take you away from me, and I don’t want that. Promise me you won’t take this kind of risk again?”

  Owen touched her shoulders and stopped her, turning her toward him. “I’ll never promise not to stand up for you, for us. But I will be more careful if this kind of thing happens again. Okay?”

  She searched his eyes. “Okay. I love you, you know.”

  He smiled, nearly grinning, and dipped his head to give her a very fast, very chaste kiss. “I do know that. I really do.”

  The funny thing was he meant it. He did believe she loved him, though he’d struggled for years to understand why. Early in their relationship, he might have been shaken by Turner’s taunts, but now? He didn’t have a single doubt about what he meant to Sarah.

  Sarah touched his cheek. “Stubborn man. You’re the love of my life.”

  “And you’re mine, Sarah Jane, for always.”

  When Owen finished speaking, he kissed Sarah’s hand, then looked at the grandkids. “Well? Did you think I had it in me?”

  Easton laughed softly. “Oh, yeah. After all, didn’t you bust Lee’s lip when he hurt Mom just a few years back? I am, however, impressed that you didn’t rip Turner limb from limb. That was bold as brass for those days, wasn’t it? What he said to Grandma?”

  Lee was Easton’s stepfather, Rachel’s husband, and he and Owen had hit a rocky patch before Lee and Rachel became engaged.

  Owen waggled his finger at Easton. “Now, now, I’m reformed. As to what Turner said…”

  Sarah shrugged. “Paul was bold. A lot of men were in those days—women too. It was just dressed up with more of a ‘pretty’ veneer then, I think. Aside from his refusal to take no for an answer, he didn’t get that far out of line. I’d heard worse before and did after that too.”

  “What?” Owen sat forward. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She laughed. “Why do you think? It wasn’t very often, and it was always swiftly taken care of. I did tell you when it was important, which wasn’t enough to even mention ex
cept in passing.”

  He huffed and squeezed her hand. “You say that now.”

  “Well, I couldn’t have you beating up every man who came into the library, now could I?” She winked at him. “Besides, Shirley really enjoyed taking on some of those guys. That’s how she ended up married to Arnold, you know. He got fresh with her.”

  “We’ll have to finish this discussion later, young lady, when we don’t have an audience.” He looked at the kids. “See what you get when you marry a stubborn woman like your grandmother?”

  Colin’s smile was soft and maybe just a bit sad. “A lot of happiness, I’d say.”

  Owen sat back with a contented sigh. “Oh, yes. That much and then some.”

  April Fool’s

  April 1, 1967

  The white-blond down swirled softly on the baby’s head, a layer of hair so fine it was almost ethereal. Tiny Richard Ira George Browning was only a week old, but already Sarah could see a strong resemblance, aside from the color of his hair, to her brother Jack.

  “He has your nose and mouth,” she said softly as she traced the baby’s almost invisible eyebrows.

  Jack, seated beside her on the couch, touched his son’s foot with a reverent finger, smiling when the baby pushed against him. “He’ll grow up to be a handsome man, no doubt.”

  Sarah bumped her shoulder into his. “He probably won’t break any mirrors. Oh, Jack, he’s so adorable. Gilly did a good job. Be sure and tell her I said so when she wakes up.” Gilly had gone in to rest a short time earlier, still recovering from the difficult birth.

  He snorted, but his eyes were twinkling. “That she did, and I certainly will. She hates that he’s the last one we’ll have. How do I help her through that, sis?” His voice turned serious, his face earnest, as he sat forward and scrubbed his hands through his hair.