by Autumn Piper
This book tells quite a tale. It took me a long time to believe it. But at least it explains why you talked so weird. Haha. Can’t believe I forgot to clear the air before you took off, but I want you to know, I wasn’t really trying to kiss you that night at Ma’s. It was a test, you know, to see if this diary was for real.
I’m looking forward to seeing you one day when I’m old and you’re not. Sometimes I take this notebook out to remind myself I wasn’t tripping and imagining this whole nutty time-travel story.
Dad
* * * *
March 17, 1991
Dear Randi,
It’s been a lot of years since I cracked this open. I keep it hidden from my new wife, so she doesn’t get any goofy ideas about getting us together.
You’re gonna love the last name I picked out, smart-ass that you are. Dennison. Get it? Perfect to pass on to my son. Wish he could meet you.
Today is your birthday again and I’ve been thinking of you. Now you’re a teenager and I don’t even know what you look like.
Your grandma died last year. I’ve got a P.I. who keeps up on the family back in Florida. He told me about all the P.I.’s she hired to find me. Guess I did a pretty good Houdini act, huh? Castro never tracked me down, either.
I wish there was a way to let you know I think of you. All the time. Not just the little girl in Colorado, but the fearless chick who helped me get the best of Rico Romero, once and for all.
The water biz is taking off, like you told me. Still working on a way to improve my flashlight idea that bastard Stu stole from me, but it’s more of a hobby than anything else.
Doc tells me I’ve got high blood pressure. Lucky me. Guess I should have been carting around that dumb busted turtle more often. Anyhow, I wrote a will and you’re in it. You know, just in case.
Love,
Dad.
* * * *
March 17, 1997
Dear Randi,
It’s St. Pat’s Day again. Your birthday and also the day your little brother got grounded for life. Stupid little shit took my credit card and two of his brainless buddies and went skydiving.
Guess you two got more in common than my good looks. Haha! Bet you’d hit it off. Maybe one day, huh?
Anyhow, I sent him out to clean the garage and work off the credit card bill. And what does he find but an old box with the Souvenir Jacket from Miami. I said when his brain gets fully developed, I’ll tell him the story about the bullet hole.
Happy Birthday.
You’d damn well better be a virgin still.
Love,
Dad.
That last bit was sweet, if downright paternally clueless. One more entry to go. Good thing, because at this rate I’d be dehydrated from the tears alone.
September 22, 2001
Dear Randi,
Yeah, I know. It’s not even your birthday. But you will never believe who I just saw on TV! Spouting off about national security. That lousy little fucker Tino. He’s with the God damn FBI now. For two cents I’d call ’em up and tell ’em everything I know about him, then watch his bigshot career go down the drain.
But I have a feeling he’s the reason your man Miguel or Mitch or whoever he is, ends up coming back in time with you. Guess if I messed that up, you might not ever meet him. Seems wrong, somehow, to be keeping you and a cop together. But in my gut, it feels like the right thing to do. If you’re like me, and I think you are, you fall all the way for somebody when it’s the right person. Pretty sure you were flat-out in love with him. I’ll lay down the law with that punk though. He’d best treat you right or he’ll have me to answer to.
And I might be getting old, but I can still kick his ass if I need to.
Love ya,
Dad.
P.S. Only seven more years now.
Oh, good God. To think Keen had passed up the opportunity to get revenge on Tino, Rico, and take a top cop down at the same time, all in the name of protecting my heart.
It was hot as all hell out against the giant rocks. Might as well head back to the room.
I was wiping at my eyes when a runner bumped into me. Was it my half brother back to hug me? No, this guy smelled like Mitch. Felt like Mitch.
“Baby, I’m sorry.” Held me tight like Mitch.
“What? How’d you know?”
“My flight was late and I was down in the parking lot. I was gonna give you guys some time. When I saw it was a young guy, through the binocs, I came as fast as I could.”
He held me while I cried hard for quite a long time, and sniffled for even longer.
“God. What a shitty break. What are you doing here? Your party!”
“Aww. I got ’em to postpone the party. I wanted to be here for you today.”
So sweet of him. Maybe I’d have been better off if I’d stayed in D.C. with him instead of keeping the appointment with my dad.
He held my hand, leading me back toward the parking area. Only, he led me from off the trail to our vortex.
“What are we—”
“Shh.” He turned and put his hands on my shoulders. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but I need to do this today. I came up here as a surprise, because I planned to ask him—Dennis, I mean—for his blessing.”
“Blessing? Mitch, it’s okay, he understood you’re different from the other cops he knew.”
“That’s not what I mean. Look, I thought it’d win me some brownie points with him if I asked him first.” He dug his finger in the tiny little key-pocket of his running shorts. Then chased it around and stretched the waist band away until I couldn’t resist peeking at his package. “Shit. I can’t get it out. Your fingers are smaller. Can you get it?”
“Cute, Goodman. Nice way to trick a girl into putting her hand in your shorts.” But I put my journal and envelope down and reached in to retrieve his key or whatever he was after.
It was a ring. Which he took from me.
Down on one knee, with the diamond sparkling between his big thumb and finger, he said, “I want you to be my wife. Will you?”
“Oh my God.”
He poised the ring at the tip of my finger. “Babe, I thought I told you to only call me that in bed.” His eyes were brimming. “Um, is that a yes?”
“Yes.” Mine were brimming, too.
He slid the ring on my finger.
Goodbody sure knew how to turn around a lousy day.
* * * *
September 5, 2010
Dear Randi,
They all think I’ve lost my mind.
Me, Mrs. Mitchell Rawlings—I’ll forever be Mrs. Goodbody in my heart. Mitch managed to find a guy to perform our the ceremony on Picnic Attempt Hill, at dusk, with Venus looking on. He’s a hopeless romantic, besides an old-fashioned stickler for tradition. When I told him we were definitely pregnant, he wanted to get married ASAP. Heh. As if nobody would suspect Junior was conceived out of wedlock. Silly man. I humor his naïveté because I love him more each day.
But I digress. The most recent way in which I’ve dismayed my mother? I’ve quit my secure teaching job. Harley and I opened a business—Keen On Skydiving. For now I’m stuck in the office doing paperwork, at least until after Babyhead arrives. But Mitch is okay with me getting certified as a jump instructor afterward. He even promised to do his first jump with me.
Mitch ‘officially’ resigned from the FBI right after receiving his promotion. We’re living just outside Sedona and he’s building a private detective practice. Off the books, though, I know he’s working on something with the Feds. Something big. And though the rest of the world thinks Professor Sudo is the only person to have completed a time-travel mission—aside from those who believe it was all a hoax—I have a feeling Mitch’s superiors intend to use his unique skill as a secret weapon of sorts. I’ve got one thing to say on that subject: he’d better not get any big ideas about jetting off across the space-time continuum alone. We’re a family now, and we have to stick together.
Besides, he tends to
get into trouble, where he needs my help.
Signing off for now,
Randi
About Autumn Piper
http://www.lyricalpress.com/autumn_piper
I write contemporary romance and women’s fiction/mom-lit. My stories often have a high heat index to match their American southwest settings. Known by my writing buddies as “Angst”, I have a penchant for making my characters suffer. My stories may be tributes to the old saying, “No pain, no gain”, but my hero and heroine always get the happily-ever-after they so deserve.
I love sunny days, hot bread, the ocean, and that fluttery feeling I get inside at the first spark of a great romance. In between being a wife, mom of two adolescents and writer, I like to read, take morning walks, make people laugh—this probably happens when I break into a jog!—garden, and conquer the beast that is Sudoku. Working as a substitute teacher keeps me on my toes and makes me hope to become a very successful writer!
For me, an excellent book has characters you can sympathize with or hate, sometimes both at once, a story you simply must see through to the end, and realistic dialogue. Give me those key elements, and I’ll read any genre or time period, any author.
Autumn’s Website:
www.autumnpiper.com
Reader eMail:
[email protected]
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