Page 74 of Letters From Victor

Frank yanked his keys from his pocket and stormed to the door. He turned to me, his voice cold and soulless. “I need a drink. When I get back, maybe you’ll have come to your senses.”

He slammed the door behind him so hard, the kitchen windows rattled. A coffee cup fell from the counter and smashed on the linoleum floor.

I took a shaky breath and mechanically moved to clean up the broken pieces.

Mother’s letter on the kitchen table caught my eye. I had to know what she had said to damn me.

Wednesday, May 16, 1951

Barbara,

Your news came as a shock. I should have written sooner, but to tell the truth, I didn’t know what to say. I know little more now.

I do hope you know what you’re doing. This is quite a decision for you to take. I was under the impression that this man was friends with your husband. What “friends” can do to a family… I should know.

You mean to tell me that Frank is doing nothing about this??

All I can say is be sure of everything, take plenty of time to decide, and don’t be impulsive. But you seem to have everything worked out, down to the last detail.

I hate to see this happen.

You’ve really let me down.

Mother

29

VICTOR

Asharp rap at my front door pulled me from my haze. My heart quickened, anticipation and dread colliding in my veins. I checked the clock—9:45 p.m.

If someone was popping over unannounced at this hour, it couldn’t be good.

Another knock. More urgent this time.

I sprang up, reaching for the revolver I always kept close. I checked the cylinder, pulled back the hammer, and moved swiftly to the entryway with soundless steps. I took a quick glance through the peephole.

Barbara.

She stood on the other side, arms wrapped around herself, fidgeting nervously.

With a relieved breath, I eased the hammer down and placed the revolver on the entry table before sliding back the deadbolt. The moment the door cracked open, I pulled Barbara inside, scanning the hallway to ensure no prying eyes had witnessed her arrival. The lock clicked shut behind us.

For a moment, we stood frozen, drinking in the sight of one another. It had been weeks since I’d last held her. The soft glow of the living room lamps cast a warm halo around hergolden hair, but her eyes were in shadow, wide and unreadable. Without a word, I cupped her face, stroking her delicate cheekbones as I drew her into a desperate kiss.

At first, Barbara was rigid, her lips resisting, her body tense. But as I deepened the kiss, pouring all my longing into it, she gave in—with a shift, a soft sigh, the way her fingers curled into the lapels of my smoking jacket and pulled me closer. The familiar scent of her perfume—gardenias and jasmine—enveloped me. I broke away just enough to breathe her in.

“Barbara, what are you doing here?”

“I had to come. I know it’s against the rules, but I had to.” Her words came out in a tumble. “Frank said things. Horrible things. And I need to know if they’re true.”

My stomach dropped, a cold sweat prickling at the back of my neck. I kept my expression neutral, years of practice making it second nature. “What are you talking about, darling?” I reached for her hand.

Her eyes darted to the revolver on the table and fixed there. She froze.

Damn.

I slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the living room. “The Web” was playing on the television. I clicked off the set, and the picture shrank into a tiny pinhole before vanishing into darkness.

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