Page 29 of Letters From Victor

“I’m Mrs. Evans.”

“Sign here, ma’am,” he said, offering me a clipboard and pen. I signed my name, and he handed me the letter.

“Thank you.”

He tipped his navy-blue cap. “Have a nice day.” He tucked the clipboard into his satchel, mounted his bicycle, and pedaled off.

I glanced up and down the street. Other than Mrs. Tucker walking her two Pomeranians, it was empty and quiet. I went back inside and shut the door.

The envelope bore my name, typed neatly, with no return address. My hands trembled as I turned the envelope over and sank onto the sofa. Who could it be from? And why had it been delivered by courier instead of through the mail?

I carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. The stationery matched the envelope—thick, luxurious, and unmistakably expensive. Victor’s bold, elegant script flowed down the page.

January 18, 1951

Thursday

10 p.m.

Hello, my darling?—

Thursday night, and I’m “working.” At any rate, I’m here at the office, and the best thing I could possibly do is tell you how dear you are to me. It’s quiet here, and I’m all alone and so very lonesome for you, sweetheart. I know you won’t mind if I take this opportunity to tell you, in my own inadequate manner, how much I adore you. I’m always so full of big ideas about the things I want to tell you. Then I find myself face to facewith you, and I lose my powers of communication. Might as well be without a voice.

I find myself daydreaming of you constantly—you and your beautiful eyes. The whole day has been a maze of little things I remember about you—how you look when you’re about to be kissed, how your hand touches mine and the tingle that engulfs me so completely, how your lips form my name so beautifully, darling.

It feels like we’ve loved each other always, and yet I know it’s not true because we’ve hardly loved each other at all. Just scratched the surface. And yet there is so much waiting for us—so many wonderful things in store—that the minutes and days until I see you again drag by at a snail’s pace. The ache inside is an almost unbearable thing. And when I do see you again, it will be as if the entire world has been magically lit up.

How can I tell you how very much you mean to me? How can I project for you the picture of complete devotion I have in my head? If you only knew—and dearest, I think you do—that my complete program from here on out is built around you. My one constant desire is that you will allow me to take care of you, to respect, to cherish and adore youuntil there is no more time. Make my life full again, sweetheart.

There’s really no reason to cram all the volumes of things I feel I must say to you into one little note. I hope we’ve got a long time together, so I’ll ration them out—whispered more appropriately into that wonderfully soft ear of yours while you’re snuggled in my arms.

But until then, my darling, until you’re all mine, until I hold you tight again…

—V

A rush of exhilaration flooded through me. Victor’s boldness was thrilling, even as it filled me with trepidation. I knew this was reckless. But the thought of being in his arms again overpowered all apprehension.

I read the letter again and again, savoring every delicious, forbidden word. His passion leapt off the page and set my heart racing. I traced my fingers over his bold script, imagining his strong hands penning each line, pouring out his desire for me. Those same hands that had glided up my thighs beneath my dress. A fiery ache pulsed between my legs. My head swam, light and hazy, like I was two bourbons deep.

Frankie’s babbles cut through the fog. “Mama!” he called from his room down the hall.

I took a deep breath to calm the swirling tempest inside. “I’ll be right there, sweetie,” I answered back as I rose to my feet. Icarefully folded the letter, slipped it back into the envelope, and tucked it into my brassiere.

Frankie stood tall in his crib, gripping the railing, when I opened the door.

“Awake already, my love?”

He bounced on chubby legs, his cheeks still flushed from sleep. “Up! Up!” he chirped, reaching for me.

I lifted him into my arms, his warm little body pressed against my chest, the letter hidden between us. He wrapped his arms around my neck and nuzzled close, the scent of baby powder floating around him.

I carried Frankie to the changing table and laid him down. As I changed his diaper, my thoughts drifted once more to Victor, to the intoxicating promise of passion and fulfillment.

Frankie giggled and kicked his legs, snapping me back to the present. I tickled his round belly and cooed as he squealed with delight. “Are you hungry, sweet pea?” I asked as I carried him to the kitchen. “Let’s get you a snack, and then you can play until Daddy gets home.”

I settled Frankie into his high chair with crackers and a sliced banana to keep him busy. As he babbled happily to himself, I set about preparing dinner, my thoughts still consumed by Victor’s letter. I moved through the motions of peeling potatoes and chopping vegetables in a daze, my mind replaying every word, every promise.

Frankie’s cheeks were covered with smeared banana by the time he was finished. “Silly goose,” I chided gently as I wiped his face with a clean washcloth. His bright blue eyes shone up at me. My precious boy. I set him up on a blanket in the living room with a basket of toys while I got back to work.

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