Page 52 of Letters From Victor

I blew out a shaky breath and nodded my assent.

“I’ll go take care of the check,” he said, standing tall with an air of determination. He paused before stepping away, locking eyes with me. “We can have it all, Barbara.”

He walked toward the front of the diner, his movements effortless, the confident stride of a man accustomed to winning. I traced the broad line of his shoulders with my eyes, then shifted my gaze to Frankie, now half-asleep in the booth, wooden car clutched loosely in his small hand.

I gathered our things slowly, deliberately. The hum of the diner filtered back into my consciousness—the sizzle of the griddle, the muted murmur of voices in the main dining room,the tinny notes of the jukebox up front. Everything felt surreal—like waking from a vivid dream only to find yourself in another.

Victor returned and stood beside the booth. He looked down at me with dark, intense eyes. “Let me drive you home.”

I went to protest, but it was clear that he wasn’t asking. I nodded and turned to Frankie, gently coaxing him awake. Victor knelt so he was at eye level with my drowsy little boy.

“Would you like to ride in my car?”

Frankie’s face brightened, his tired eyes sparking back to life. He enthusiastically nodded his head, his straw-blond hair bouncing with every move. “What color?” Frankie asked.

“Blue,” Victor answered, looking up at me. “I drove the Jaguar today.”

Frankie, fully awake now, latched on to Victor’s hand and tugged him toward the swinging door. “Come on!”

Victor chuckled, a rare, unguarded smile spreading across his face as he followed, willingly strung along by an eager little boy who had already decided he was a friend.

22

VICTOR

“What on earth do you want?”

“Always nice to see you, Dotty.” I removed my hat and ran my fingers along its woolen brim.

Dorothy folded her arms across her chest, popped her hip to the side, and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you want, Victor?”

“May I come in?”

She hesitated before stepping aside. I walked into the front hall of what used to be our home. The scents of lavender and lemon polish lingered in the air, tugging at dead memories. She shut the door behind me and placed her hands firmly on her hips.

“A little notice would have been nice.”

I set my hat on the polished mahogany side table. “Why? Need to run off a gentleman caller?” I removed my coat and hung it on the rack.

“Not this time.”

I let out a humorless chuckle as I scanned the room, listening for noise from upstairs. “Where’s Margaret?”

“Out riding her bike with her friends.”

“I was hoping to see her…” I rocked back on my heels.

Dorothy’s glare could have cut diamonds. “You know how I feel about that.”

“She’s still my daughter, Dotty.”

“When it’s convenient.” She waved a hand to cut me off before I could offer a rebuttal. “What do you want, Victor? I won’t ask again.”

“Well, first I’d like a drink.”

Dorothy rolled her eyes and turned toward the living room. “And?”

I followed behind her. “And…a divorce.”