by Knox, Abby
Ash put up his hands. “Baby, all I did was use some of Lucy’s hoo-doo voodoo spells to manipulate him. It was the guys who did the actual kidnapping.”
She held the letter up. “The man has trauma. Special forces left him to die, and he sat in a Nicaraguan prison for who knows how long…and has no recourse because he’s not officially military. No wonder he’s got such a shitty attitude all the time. Did you know about any of this?”
Ash shook his head. “If you didn't know, how the hell was I supposed to know? I’m more worried about your mom. Your Auntie Jane is creepy as fuck.”
Rosemary leaned toward him and said, “Ash, I do not have an Auntie Jane, to my knowledge. What the fuck was going on back then?”
Ash sighed. “Guess we better finish reading.”
* * *
Dear Betsy,
I won't send this part of the letter if my jailer ever decides to help me send it. And you’ll soon understand why.
Today, I woke up feeling like I might die if I didn’t get a drink of water and ended up seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I hope.
I banged on the door and called out for what felt like an hour. No answer. In my frustration and anger, and trying to fight off the shift as long as I could—because it would do me no good to shift into panther mode if I have nothing to fight or hunt—I just started pounding the walls with my fists.
This is how I found out these walls are not made of concrete. The floors are, but these walls are something else—some combination of stone and pounded earth. And wouldn’t you know it, your Lionel found a weak spot. Your Lionel always finds the weak spot.
Some of the wall, just a little spot of it, crumbled in my hand. Underneath it, there is a small area of rusted steel rebar exposed to the elements. Saltwater degradation. This place has been flooded before, and we’re near the ocean. I can work with this.
The next time the guard came to bring me my food, I scarfed down the slop and took the small metal spoon over to the area in the concrete that was degraded and, as quietly as I could, I scraped. Tiny, minuscule particles fell away. This could take weeks, Betsy. Maybe years. Who knows?
If it does take years, I just want to state for the record that you’d better wait for me. Yes, I’m an asshole. Don’t move on unless you have confirmation of death. Morbid? Sure. But these are the things I have time to think about now.
Well, the degradation of this stone and earth gave me an idea.
If and when they bring me water, I can drink just enough to prevent dehydration. And then, I can pour the rest over the exposed, jagged stones in the wall. This will work. I know it will.
* * *
Dear Betsy,
My jailer not only took my letter but by some miracle, he delivered a letter to me from you!
I would ask that you remain patient with Jane, and I’ll write a separate letter about that soon.
Of course, the jailer informed me that he would have to read it first. I appreciate his honesty, even if I had already assumed he would read my letters.
Instead, the voice said, “I will take the letter for you, but you know that I will have to read it first.”
And when I pushed the letters through the slot in the door, I knew right then that I would be coming home to you, Betsy.
That right there is all I need to get myself out of here. I know many people assume I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but here’s a clue: We have to make our silver spoons work for us, not the other way around: that, and a little bit of luck.
See you soon, my love
Lionel
* * *
Lionel,
I am waiting as patiently as I can.
At first, I didn’t want to piss off Jane because it could mean that she might never show me any of your letters ever again.
After avoiding her by studying at the library whenever possible, I had thought she’d taken the hint. Jane stopped bothering me for a while.
Maybe she thought you, her brother, had moved on. But I know my Lionel, and I know that he will never give up on me.
Then one day, Jane appeared with an even stranger letter from you.
Once again, the envelope had been opened. But I want you to know I understand entirely.
* * *
Dearest Betsy,
I apologize my stint in this little corner of the world is taking much longer than expected.
Do not worry; I feel that I will be home soon.
One thing, though: please pray for me.
Notice I said pray, which is unusual for me, I know.
The thing is, I’m okay. I’m not hurt. I’m not uncomfortable. I just miss you terribly.
Kindly send my regards to your parents, whom you know I also love dearly.
Never will I forget the fun times we all had together.
Oh, another thing, give my love to your aunt, Sister Catherine.
When I come home, I hope that all of us will get together for a party.
Just try to keep the faith. That’s what I love most about you.
Anyway, I picked up some gifts for you here. It’s green, and also salty and sandy. See if you can guess where I bought it.
Nobody here is as enjoyable as you are, Betsy. Not many people to talk to.
Everyone is treating me okay; I’m just terribly homesick.
Much love,
Lionel
Chapter Nine
“Oh my god, it’s a code,” Rosemary breathed. “My father has never talked like that in his life. Look at the first letter of each sentence. He’s trying to tell her he doesn’t know anybody by the name of Jane. Oh my god! Who is Jane?”
Ash grumbled, “I don’t suppose it will do any good to remind you that guests are arriving now. Now, we are officially late and officially on the shit list.”
“But now it’s getting good, don’t you understand?”
“You’ve been saying that for an hour.”
“Hush. And let me read.”
* * *
Lionel,
I completely understand.
Jane stood there and watched me read that letter and asked me if I understood what you meant by a green and sandy place. I said no, of course. I pointed out all your references to my family and parties, and she said, “That’s our Lionel. Such a family man. Loves to be around people.”
Lionel, I almost ran screaming from the room. Who is she?
Well, I held myself together and thanked her for the letter. And now is where I tell you a new address. Send all future letters addressed to my sister, Catherine, at the convent.
As my parents still don’t know about our relationship, this is where I’ve turned to for refuge. As soon as Jane left, I gathered my things and ran like a bat out of hell. No one but Catherine knows where I am.
* * *
Dear sweet thing,
My impatience grows, but my anger and frustration work in my favor. I have stayed awake through the nights scraping, scraping, scraping through the wall.
I have not slept in days, but I don’t feel tired. I don’t have a plan for finding help once I get out of this prison cell, but I’m confident the plan will come to me.
The upside of all this labor and boredom is I can clock the arrivals and departures of vehicles. Judging by the sunlight in the window, I hear it—possibly a Jeep—at seven a.m. every third day.
I’m guessing this is the someone dropping off food and supplies.
I can also hear them talking in Spanish, and the guard has not bothered telling the driver of the vehicle that the prisoner could understand the language.
My jailer will be rewarded for that.
I’m afraid I won’t be writing anymore after this, darling. I have to save my energy.
But I want to ask you if you remember when you told me to write things down in a journal?
Life is a funny thing. I’m finally doing what you asked. And you know what? It works.
* * *
Dear Lionel,
All is w
ell. I’m at the convent with my aunt. I’m safe. Jane won’t be let in here. Don’t send further replies; I don’t want you to risk any more because of me.
But when you get home, I’ll be waiting.
I’ll be wearing a white dress, standing next to the priest.
And then nobody will ever take you away from me again.
Hurry back,
Betsy
* * *
My future wife, Betsy,
I’m getting the hell out of here. Today. Over a few months, I have managed to wear away the exposed rock in the wall. Either the guard never noticed the hole, or he never walked back there. But now the hole is big enough for me to slip through with a bit of contortion.
And now, I wait for the sound of the vehicle on the third day.
Over time, I have determined that it is a military-style Jeep, four-wheel drive, manual transmission. Easy-peasy, I could drive that up and down a mountain or on the beach if I had to. I can do this.
I am just waiting for my moment, pretending you’re here, giving me strength.
The Jeep is here now. I hope I am alive to write more as soon as I can.
Chapter Ten
Rosemary was fully crying now, and Ash was holding her. “Maybe we shouldn’t have read these letters. This is too much information for one day,” Ash said.
Rosemary blew her nose in Ash’s pocket square. “Are you kidding me? My parents are interesting people…with, like, a past. I’m gonna march right up to them and demand that they write a book, now.”
Ash shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”
“Of course it is. They’re safe now, and the world needs to know what was done to my father. It explains so much.”
* * *
Dear Betsy,
I am on my way home. I’m at a way station somewhere in Mexico, but I’m safe, and I’m on my way back to you. And now that you’ve opened the floodgates with my journaling—or whatever this is—I’m going to tell you exactly how I got out.
When that Jeep arrived, I listened for the cargo to be unloaded. I heard the guard exchanging words with the driver, and then I made my move.
With some effort, I wrenched myself through the jagged hole in the concrete wall. And then, I realized why the guard had never noticed the gap. Once outside, it was a sheer drop down a rocky cliff to the ocean.
Well, I thought I was fucked.
I nearly lost my balance but remembered my mountain climbing training at school. Emaciated, dehydrated, and half the man I was a few months ago, I managed to pull
along the cliff’s edge, hand over hand. Eventually, I found enough terrain that I could stand, and pulled myself up.
I heard the engine of the Jeep rev. The driver was getting ready to go.
Shit, I told myself. I had to delay them somehow. So, I gave all I had left, and screamed.
It worked.
The two men paused their conversation, cocked their rifles, and entered the building, obviously looking for me.
But I was not there. While the men were inside, I ran to the Jeep, which was still running, keys in the ignition.
“Hot damn, baby Jesus, I will go to church every day for the rest of my life!” I shouted as I threw the Jeep into gear and gunned the engine. But don’t tell anyone I said that.
I didn’t know where I was going, but I drove until the Jeep ran out of gas. I ran on foot after that, then hopped on a bus with the meager coins I had in my pocket.
I’m on my way, Betsy.
And here’s the name of the guard. Senator what’s-his-nose owes me a good deal of favors. I want you to start harassing him now to grant citizenship to him and his entire family, no questions asked.
Chapter Eleven
“That’s it? That’s the last letter! But that doesn’t answer my questions!”
Rosemary picked up each piece of paper as if trying to find a page she missed.
“Not everything has a perfect ending. But we do have to get going before Lionel cuts us out of the will.”
Pouting and muttering, Rosemary neatly stacked the letters, notes, cards, and journal entries back in their proper order, returned them to the box, then returned the box to the back of the closet in her parents’ dressing room.
“But how will I get the rest of the story?”
Ash kissed his wife. “I don’t know. Try talking to them in person?”
“They’ll kill me for digging up their old letters.”
Her husband smirked. “Yeah, but is it any worse than any of the other things you’ve done to torment them as their child?”
Rosemary squinted up at him. “No.”
“And are you going to be nicer to your parents after what we learned today?”
“Probably.”
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Twelve
Lionel
Betsy kissed him on the nose when they arrived home, and then spun around and asked him to help unzip her dress.
“That was a nice anniversary celebration. I hope all the socializing wasn’t too much for you,” she said.
“What my Betsy wants, my Betsy gets,” he said, helping his hot-as-hell seventy-year-old wife off with her ball gown. She was still as beautiful as the first moment he laid eyes on her more than fifty years ago.
He watched as Betsy unpinned her white hair, removed her makeup, and started the shower. “Like mother, like daughter, I suppose. Speaking of daughter…are you okay with that story she told when she gave the toast tonight?”
Lionel shrugged out of his tuxedo and stared at himself in the mirror. Still pretty damn ruggedly handsome, if he did say so himself.
“No. But I guess I asked for it, after the way I threw a fit over their wedding,” he said, taking a drink of water from the sink in the bathroom.
Betsy looked at her husband over her shoulder. “We could have just told him you’ve always been unnecessarily jealous of Jimmy, Ash’s father. And that the news that our two families were about to inextricably linked blindsided you. They might have understood.”
Lionel turned away from the mirror and looked at his wife, framed by the door of the shower, steam filling their bathroom. “What about you? How did you feel about the fact that she went through all our old letters?”
Betsy shrugged. “You know…this is why I told my children--and I told you early on--to keep a journal. So I could read it. Nothing that Rosemary has ever done has been a surprise to me because I read her journals. Turnabout is fair play. Do I feel violated? Like you say, I was probably asking for it.”
Lionel eyed his princess and waited for her to look back at him once more. “My baby girl is ten times more shrewd in her business than I am.”
While Betsy showered, Lionel decided he still had some get-up-and-go left despite the long day and night of celebrating. His daughter might have thought she found the secret to his and Betsy’s long-lasting romance, but she only knew a small part of it. Opening the bedside table, Lionel found his and Betsy’s most treasured secret. There were two old letters that they had kept separate from the collection that Rosemary had found. He kept them there in the drawer, next to the bed.
When his wife emerged from the shower, Lionel still saw the beautiful vision of the young woman he married.
He waved the letters in the air and instantly saw that familiar flush to her cheeks. Her eyes widened, and she laughed.
“You old rascal,” she teased.
“Seems like a good night to re-read these together,” he said, his palms itching to carry his woman off to bed to cap off their anniversary.
Betsy mused, “Thank god that nosy daughter of ours didn’t find those.”
* * *
Dear Betsy,
I’m sorry I made you wait.
I certainly didn’t mean to make you beg for it.
Still, I have to admit that there’s something about the image of you lying in your bed with the window open, waiting for me to creep in through your window, pretending your asleep
, that gets me as hard as granite.
Sorry for my bluntness; it is what it is.
There’s also something else. I needed to make sure you were ready for me.
A panther doesn’t just force himself on his mate. He wants her primed and ready. And if you’ll forgive me for speaking about biology, a virgin mate needs extra care and preparation. Your arousal is of supreme importance, and I happen to know that the longer you wait for it, the longer you want it — yes, yes even to the point of begging for it — the easier, better, hotter, more fun everything is. I needed to make sure our coming together would not hurt you. Or at least, not hurt as much.
I would never hurt you, so I hope you’ll forgive me for risking your ire rather than your trauma.
Now, if I might go on to tell you something else, coming together with you, my sweet Betsy, was far and away the most glorious moment of my life, and I can’t wait to take you home to my bed. Forever.
Not that I had any doubts about you or us. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that one day we would be explosive.
I can’t wait to put a baby in you, sweet Betsy. Are you ready for that?
Can I be so bold as to describe to you what it feels like to be with you? Your tight little pussy gripping me, shaping around to fit me, shook me to my core. I’d like to think I’m a man with stamina, but your dirty imagination and your hungry body conspired against me and destroyed every last ounce of sanity. I dare say I waited almost too long to take you as my mate because I nearly released the second we came together.
Is this too much for you? Too bad. You’re all in now, darlin’, I hope you know that.
