Letters from Becca: A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel (5 page)

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.

“Everything’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.

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 four-tier 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.”

John felt her arms reach through his from behind.  He looked down, recognizing her hands immediately and remembering the way they felt around him.  He hugged them to his chest.

“Having fun yet?” she asked, over his shoulder.

“Oh, sure,” he replied unenthusiastically, but playfully.  “Tons.”  He turned in her arms.

Becca patted his lapels, then reached up and brushed his cheek gently.  “You’d better be.  It’s my wedding day,” she smiled.  “I couldn’t bear it if my best friend in the whole world weren’t having a good time,” she said coyly.  “You haven’t even kissed the bride yet.”

Becca slowly rose onto her toes, leaned in, and kissed him gently on the corner of his lips.  Then she brushed the lipstick from his face with a tiny kerchief tucked in her beaded sleeve.  She took his hand.  “You haven’t danced with the bride yet, either.”  She turned to David, as did John.

“Like I can stop you two,” he said sarcastically, adding a smile for effect.

Becca grinned as she pulled John onto the dance floor.  They stood in front of each other awkwardly, if only for a moment.  David was watching them.  John felt it without even turning.  Her smile was bigger, brighter than he’d ever seen before.  She had a beautiful smile.  She gave him an impatient look as she waited for him to take her into his arms for the dance.  He held out his hand.  She gently placed hers in his.  He looked down at her ring.  His other hand moved to her waist, slowly sliding around her, brushing the sequins until they found the curve of her back.  Her free hand moved to his shoulder.  Slowly, methodically, he began to move her across the dance floor.

“Do you like my dress?” she asked.

He smiled.

“I made it myself.”  Then she corrected herself.  “Actually, Aunt Betty helped me, until she got too sick,” she added sadly.

“Yeah, I got your letter when she died.  I’m very sorry.”

“She would have been so proud,” she began, brushing his lapel as if to dust it off.

“I’ll bet.  Marrying the mayor’s son
and
the quarterback.”

“I was talking about you,” she smiled.  “She would have been so proud to see you now.  A pilot
and
an
officer.”

“Right,” John said, rolling his eyes.

Becca narrowed her own.  “No matter what you think, she liked you.”

John laughed.

“Really.  She said leaving this town was the best thing you could have done.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Becca gripped his hand tighter.  “The best thing you could have done for
yourself,
” she emphasized.  “No matter what you think, she thought the world of you.  It was your father she had the problem with.”

“Guilty by association?” he asked.

Becca added sadly, “Something like that.”

John looked over her shoulder, watching David as he watched them.  David held up his flask to toast John again, and then took a swig.  John gave him a nod.

“I was sorry to hear about your father,” Becca said.

John looked around the room as they turned.  “That makes one of us.”

“I thought you would be at his funeral.”

“I’m sure the whole town turned out for that one,” he remarked sarcastically.

Becca smiled.  “Maybe with time,” she began.

“I don’t think so,” he said firmly.  His gaze turned back to her.  She was trying so hard.  He slowly looked her up and down and smiled.  “It
is
a beautiful dress.”

Her smile grew.  “Do you believe in destiny?”

John shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.”

Becca saw David and she couldn’t help but smile.  She turned back to John.  “Everything is so perfect, John,” she said, looking him in the eyes.  “I’ve never been this happy.”

John smiled as sincerely as he could and pulled her closer, spinning her slowly.

“I am happy, John,” she said softly to his shoulder.  She leaned back just a bit, enough to look him in his eyes again.  “Please be happy for me,” she pleaded.  “I need you to be happy for me.”

The song ended.  Everyone on the floor stopped and clapped.  When John turned, David was standing there waiting for them.  “There you are, monopolizing my bride.”  He took Becca’s hand and kissed it.  He turned to John.  “You do look good, flyboy.  So, when do you get out?”

“Whenever they’ve had enough of me, I guess,” he chuckled.

David laughed.  “That soon, huh?”

One of her bridesmaids, dressed in baby-blue taffeta, caught Becca’s attention and smiled.  Becca motioned for her to come over to them.  John turned as she walked up.  Becca introduced her as Marissa—the name just vaguely familiar.  She blushed when John shook her hand.  She told him she had been in three of his classes his senior year.  He nodded politely though he couldn’t remember her.  David teased her about how she used to be plain and lanky and thin.  John looked her up and down.  She had filled out nicely.  She caught him looking at her.  Becca did, too.

“You two should dance,” Becca said, pushing John toward Marissa.

John didn’t want to offend two ladies at once.  He smiled and held out his hand.  Marissa took it and followed him to the dance floor.  They didn’t talk for most of the dance.  It was considerably uncomfortable for both of them.  Whenever they looked at each other, they smiled awkwardly.  She felt good in his arms—or was it just having a woman in his arms that felt good?

“I can’t believe you don’t remember me,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed.  “I tried to forget as much about this town as I could when I left.”

“Yeah,” she rolled her head side to side.  “I can’t wait to get out of this town.  I’m going to Southwest Texas right now.  But that’s not far enough away for me,” she chattered on.

“What are you studying?”

“Education.  I want to be a teacher,” she beamed.

“I can see you as a teacher,” he replied with a smile.

“Really?” she asked.  “That’s so sweet.”

Then she continued as if she was catching up an old girlfriend on what she’d been doing for the past four years.  He looked at her without really hearing her, his mind somewhere else.  He had not dated anyone since Becca.  Heck, he hadn’t dated anyone
before
Becca.  He hadn’t wanted anyone but Becca.  He always thought he would be coming back for her.  At least that was his plan.  But those plans had since changed.  Once he had settled in at the base, he called her several times, but she was never home.  John gave her aunt his address, sure that she’d never give it to Becca, but then one day, several months later, he received his first letter from her.

She wrote him regularly while he was away, at least every couple of weeks.  After six months, the letters came less frequently.  About that time, she started seeing David.  Within a year of that she was engaged, and now here they were, three years later.

John’s eyes met Marissa’s again, and she blushed.  “I said, Becca told me you fly helicopters?” she repeated.  “How exciting.”

John nodded.

Marissa could tell that he was distracted, so she leaned her head to get his attention.  “It’s good to see you again,” she smiled.

As the song was ending, John looked into her eyes, as if he was studying them.

Marissa smiled.  “What?”

John’s eyes narrowed.  “You used to wear glasses, didn’t you?”

Marissa beamed.

John could feel her trembling.  He looked at Becca, who was also smiling at him.  He knew the world wouldn’t be right if she didn’t think he was going to be okay.  The song ended, everyone stopped dancing and clapped.  Then John turned to Marissa.  “Would you like a cup of punch?”

Marissa shrugged with excitement.  He took her hand and led her to the punch table.  They arrived at the same time as Becca and David and the photographer.

David talked to the photographer about some pictures he wanted taken with his grandparents while John retrieved the punch.  He turned to find Becca and Marissa whispering and giggling and cutting their eyes at him.  John shot Becca a reprimanding glare as he walked toward them and handed Marissa a punch.  She thanked him and walked to the cake table to prepare it for the cake cutting.

Becca slid her arm through John’s and looked up at him, her eyes searching his.  She smiled.  John reached around her and hugged her.  He felt her breath on his neck.  He closed his eyes, pulling her close again.  “I am
happy
for you, Becca,” he sighed softly.  “I am
so
happy for you.”  He reluctantly released her one last time.

David walked up to her and took her by the arm.  The photographer stood in front of them.  “Great shot, everyone.  Don’t move.”

Becca pulled the two men closer to her side.

“Everyone, smile!”