Page 11 of Letters From Victor

I leaned forward, captivated by the melancholy in her voice. “But that’s not who you really are, is it, Barbara? I see the fire in your eyes, the spirit that refuses to be contained. I think it’s high time you let that part of yourself shine. Before that beautiful light is snuffed out completely.”

Barbara’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but she didn’t look away. “You…you truly see that in me?” she asked, her voice small and vulnerable.

“I do,” I replied, my gaze steady. I reached across the table, lightly brushing the back of her hand with my fingertips.

She looked down at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“So, you want to be a designer?” I smiled, letting it warm my voice. “Fabulous.” I took her hand fully into mine and grazed my thumb over her knuckles. “What would it take to make that real?”

7

BARBARA

The aroma of beef and onions filled the kitchen as I stirred the stroganoff, mesmerized by the sporadic bubbles that bloomed and popped as the creamy sauce simmered.

Frankie giggled as he sat near my feet, banging his wooden spoon against the linoleum floor. I glanced down at him, his cherubic face a reminder of the love that kept me tethered to this life. But even as I smiled at my son, I couldn’t shake the restlessness that had taken root in my heart.

Frank was slouched in the sage-green armchair in the living room with his legs crossed in a figure-four, his eyes glued to the evening paper. The ice cubes clinked in his glass as he took another sip of whiskey, the golden liquid refracting the light from the overhead fixture. The newspaper rustled as he turned the page. In the background, a radio announcer droned on—a somber news report about the ongoing tensions in Korea.

Frank hadn’t said a word to me since we got home, and he’d barely spoken to me when I picked him up from work. He said he’d had a rough day, but it felt like a block.

I longed for him to look up, to see me. But he didn’t.

I stirred the stroganoff, then pulled the skillet off the heat to rest. My thoughts drifted back to lunch at Perino’s. To the way Victor looked at me with those piercing dark eyes, like he could see straight into my soul. The way his words danced around me, enticing and unsettling.

The memory sent a flutter through me, followed quickly by a sharp pang of guilt. I shouldn’t be thinking about another man like this, especially not my employer and my husband’s business associate. But there was something about him that drew me in. The way he spoke of dreams and possibilities—his smooth-as-silk words had awakened a yearning buried deep inside me.

I busied myself with setting the table, the clink of silverware against china plates cutting through the stillness. I plated dinner for Frank and me and cut up the noodles and beef strips into a toddler-friendly size for Frankie.

I absently twisted my wedding band around my finger as I stared at the plates, no longer seeing them. Instead, I saw the curve of Victor’s lips as he smiled at me across the table, the way he gestured with understated confidence as he described his vision, the heat of his hand holding mine…

The sudden swell of music from the radio snapped me back to the present. I blinked, my surroundings coming back into focus—the yellow floral wallpaper, the hum of the refrigerator, Frankie’s babbling.

“Dinner’s ready,” I called out as I picked Frankie up from the floor, settling him on my hip and taking him to the table.

Frank grunted in response, folding the newspaper and tossing it onto the coffee table. He switched off the radio and lumbered into the dining room, the floorboards creaking under his heavy steps. As he settled into his chair, his gaze flitted over the meal before him, never quite meeting my eyes. “Stroganoff again?” he muttered, picking up his fork.

A flare of irritation burst to life in my chest at his uncharitable tone, but I tamped it down and forced a smile. “I thought it would be nice to have something hearty after a long day,” I said mildly, sliding Frankie into his high chair.

Frank shoveled a forkful of noodles into his mouth. I watched him chew, his jaw working mechanically. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, broken only by the clink of utensils against plates and Frankie’s occasional babbling.

“How was your day, darling?” I asked.

“Fine,” Frank said flatly, not looking up from his plate. He stabbed at a stack of noodles and beef strips with his fork and shoved the bite into his mouth, his teeth clicking against the fork.

I waited for him to say more, but he just kept eating, his eyes fixed on his food. I suppressed a sigh and turned my attention to Frankie, cutting his beef into smaller bites.

“My day was lovely. Thank you for asking…” The words slipped out before I could stop them, laced with a bitterness I hadn’t intended. Frank’s fork paused halfway to his mouth, his eyes finally meeting mine. For a brief moment, I saw a flicker of surprise in their blue depths, quickly replaced by a harsh glare and a set jaw.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice low and tight.

I immediately regretted my petty jab, but the frustration that had been simmering all evening bubbled over. “Nothing. It’s just…you didn’t even ask about my first day at work.”

Frank set his fork down with a clatter and leaned back in his chair. “I thought we agreed you would just help out for a bit. Not make a career out of it.”

“It’s hardly a career, Frank. It’s a temporary secretarial position.” I tried to keep my tone light, but an edge crept in anyway. “I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to meworking. It’s only part-time, and the extra money will really help.”

Frank’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not about the money, Barbara. It’s about you being out there, exposed to all kinds of unsavory characters. I don’t like it.”

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