Page 77 of Letters From Victor

We broke apart, breathless. Her eyes had softened, the storm within them calming to a quiet tide.

“Victor,” she whispered, “I can’t lose you.”

A wave of relief crashed over me, nearly knocking me off balance. I rose to sit beside her on the sofa, pulling her into my arms. She came willingly, resting her head on my shoulder.

“You won’t lose me, darling,” I said, stroking her hair. “Not unless you send me away. Probably not even then.”

She sighed deeply, her breath syncing with mine. “This is a lot to take in—the danger, the secrets.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” I promised. “And there will be no more secrets. Not between us.”

We sat in silence for a long moment, but this was the kind of silence that healed rather than wounded.

I reluctantly broke the quiet. “How did you get here tonight?”

She shifted in my arms, pulling away just enough to look at me. “I took a cab.”

A slow burn of anger coiled in my chest. “Where’s Frank?”

“At the bar,” she said, her tone flat. “He took the car after our fight.”

I worked my jaw, biting back the string of curses waiting to spill. “And Frankie?”

“With Edith.” She paused, studying my face. “They’re fine, Victor. It’s not the first time.”

I exhaled, forcing myself to let it go—for the moment. What mattered was the here and now—the woman in my arms, the future we were fighting for.

“Do you want to move out? Now that he knows about us…”

Barbara’s shoulders stiffened, and she pulled back, tucking her legs beneath her as she sat up straight. “I don’t know,” she said, fingering the hem of her dress. “Maybe. I suppose there’s no point in keeping up the act now.”

“No, but we’ve still got to be careful—get our divorces through.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I can put you and Frankie up in your own place until we can be together. But first things first—I’m buying you a car.”

30

BARBARA

June 1951

“Ahouse in Long Beach, a new car, and some delicious frosting…” Edith motioned to my matching diamond solitaire earrings and pendant set. “You’d better be glad I love you so much, or I’d throw my hat in the ring. He really does spoil you, doesn’t he?”

I shrugged, trying to downplay the opulence surrounding me. “Edie, you know I’m not doing this for the money.”

She clapped me on the shoulder. “Relax, Babs. He’s all yours.” She huffed hot breath on her fingernails and buffed them on the front of her blouse. “Besides, he’s too young for me anyway.”

“Edie, you’re only forty.”

“Forty-one,” she corrected.

“Oh my goodness, I missed your birthday. I’m so sorry!”

“Relax. You know I don’t celebrate those anymore.” Edith unpacked a cut crystal vase and placed it on a side table. “You’ve done good, kid,” she quipped, gesturing around the living room.

The new house was swanky by most standards—nothing like the mansion Edith and I grew up in, but still polished and modern. For me, though, even a shack on the beach would have done the trick. Anything to get away from Frank.

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