by R. L. Perry
We were hopefully one—a big wet heap on the floor beside a glowing fire, both of us eager to leave behind the old and embrace the new . . . our separate dreams becoming one. Reclaiming my energies, I lay on top of Lance and kissed him, my brief efforts leaving Lance stunned and breathless on the floor when I stood to wrap myself in a blanket.
“I need some ice water,” I said.
Lance, rolling onto one elbow, his back to the fire, called out to me when I entered the kitchen. “Can you bring me some juice?” he asked. “I need to replenish some fluids.”
“Be right there,” I said, taking a couple of glasses from the pantry shelf.
“Oh,” Lance added. “Did you check your mail?”
“Where?”
“I left the pile on the dining room table. Looked like you had one letter from an attorney. Probably wants to advise you on the pre-nup.”
“Very funny,” I said. I filled the glasses with ice, then padded over to the dining room table to find the letter in question. It was on top of a rounded pile—mostly junk mail—and the envelope in question had a return address label that sported the name:
Reginald Crane, Attorney at Law
I picked up the envelope, weighed it carefully in my hand. It was thin enough, but even then I knew, before I opened it, that the letter inside was going to somehow scuttle our New Year’s Eve plans. It was amazing, I thought, how something so light and unassuming could contain a bombshell. I hated the thought of hurting Lance, ruining his orchestrations once again.
But I didn’t open the envelope right away.
I didn’t want Lance to see me cry.
Acknowledgments
First, I send thanks to my readers and those who make the hard work of writing both a possibility and a pleasure. Once again, thanks to Tom Doherty for publishing, and to Kelsey Schnieders for editing, this series.
And I continue to send thanks to my family and to those friends who have made contributions of encouragement along the way.
~R. L. Perry