"Let's find out."
She looked back at the note.
It was the perfect first kiss. I thought it would be awkward, but it wasn't. It felt so right to have your mouth on mine. I wanted it to go on forever. But of course we had to stop. My parents were right inside.
I'm going to miss you so much. I can't wait until we see each other again. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, but I'm not scared, because you're there to catch me.
See you soon, my love.
Juliette set down the letter and looked at Roman. "Definitely not my mother. This woman was living with her parents when she wrote these letters. And it's like she's writing to him but also to herself. She didn't mail these, did she? Are there any envelopes?"
"I just saw the notes," he said. "But we don't know if she was living here and hiding the notes away like pages in a diary or if she sent the notes to her love and he was the one who lived here and hid the notes in the box. Maybe he didn't want his friends or his father or his brothers to see them."
"That's a good point."
"But if they don't belong to your mom and dad, then we should probably just toss them."
"What? No," she said, annoyed at the suggestion. "We should find out who they belong to, and return them."
"Why would we do that?"
"Because…" The handwriting caught her eye again. "Because they are about love and they feel important."
"They would only be important to the people involved."
"Or their kids. I want to keep reading and find out what happens next."
He gave her a knowing smile. "I'm not surprised—not with your curiosity."
"Can I take them back to my place?"
"I think you should read them here," he said.
"Oh, so you're curious, too."
"I might be a little interested," he admitted. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"
"No, I was working late at the bakery."
"So was I. Why don't I order us a pizza? We can read the letters while we're waiting."
"Okay," she said. "Piazza's has the best pizza in town."
"I remember that place. It's still around?"
"And better than ever. Plus, they deliver."
"Perfect." He pulled out his phone and looked up the number. "What do you like?"
"I'm a meat pizza kind of girl, so sausage, pepperoni, ham, and whatever veggies you want to throw on top."
"Sounds good to me," he said, punching in the number to place the order. When that was done, he looked back at her. "I'm ready for the next letter."
"You want me to keep reading them aloud? You're not finding them too sweet and sappy?"
"Oh, they're definitely sappy, but I'm still interested in the content."
She picked up the next note. "I think they're in order, at least they have been so far, although there aren't any dates." She unfolded the paper and began to read aloud.
To My Love,
Last night was the most wonderful night of my life. You touched me with such tenderness. You kissed me with such passion and ferocity. I felt desired and loved. I never imagined it could be like this. And then you held me through the night. I told you I slept well, but I didn't sleep at all. I stayed awake, listening to the sound of your heartbeat, the swoosh of your breath. I didn't want to close my eyes. I didn't want to miss a second.
I wish you hadn't left so early. I felt like I needed more time with you. I have this fear that things are moving too fast and yet not fast enough. I don't want to lose you. I'm sure you would say that you're not going anywhere, but I can't seem to believe that. I can't keep the worry out of my heart. If it were just about us, then maybe I could be more confident…but it's not just about us.
I just hope you know how much I love you. I should have said the words last night. But sometimes the words don't come when we're together. I'm afraid I'll say too much or not enough. Maybe you feel the same.
Now the words are flowing, along with the questions and the doubts. Am I foolish to believe that something so wonderful could last forever? Because then I must be the most foolish person on earth.
"That's it," Juliette said, setting the note down. "Sounds like they slept together."
He nodded. "And she's not sure of his feelings."
"I wonder what she meant when she said: if it were just about us, but it's not."
"Maybe one of them was married."
"I was thinking that, too. At first, it seemed like the letters were written by a teenager, but maybe not, perhaps just a very young woman."
"Did you ever write letters like this?"
"No," she said, with a shake of her head. "I had a diary when I was very young. I used to write under my window upstairs. I had the room with the sloping ceilings, and the sun would come through the window and light up that corner. I had big pillows to flop on, and I'd sit there and read or write in my journal."
"About boys?" he asked with a teasing smile. "Your future Romeo?"
"There were a few boys mentioned in my journal. I had a big crush on Kyle Daniels. He was blond and blue-eyed and oh, so cute. But he only had eyes for Tracy Stone. She was also blonde and blue-eyed and oh, so cute." She paused. "I wonder what happened to them. They were dating when I left school."
"Did you keep in touch with anyone after you left?"
"My friend Cassie. She lives in Chicago now, but we've seen each other a few times over the years. Whenever she came to New York, we'd get together. I'm hoping she'll come to Fairhope sometime to visit her parents. She skipped Christmas here to go to her boyfriend's parents' house. But maybe Easter."
"So this is it for you? Fairhope is your permanent home?"
"I'd like it to be. I feel like it's the right fit for me."
He nodded, agreement in his eyes. "I do, too."
She looked around the kitchen. "It's kind of weird to be sitting here with you. Even stranger that I took this particular seat, because we had a table in exactly this location, and this was my seat."
"Old habits," he murmured with a shrug.
"I used to do my homework here while my mom cooked dinner." She thought for a moment. "So many of my memories involve food. I was either in here with my mom making dinner or in the bakery helping my dad. I guess it's not that unusual. Meal times are usually family times."
"They can be."
"I know your mother had issues, but did she cook for you?"
"Rarely. I usually cooked for her."
"What did you make?"
"I was really good at spaghetti and mac and cheese that came out of a box. Tuna was a popular favorite. Hot dogs occasionally."
"Anything from the fruit or vegetable section of the grocery store?" she asked with a smile.
"Not very often. Sometimes a neighbor would drop off apples or oranges."
"Did you live in a house or an apartment?"
"Lots of different apartments. Sometimes there were roommates."
"Male roommates?"
"Both male and female. Most of them were nice enough."
"You lived a very different life than I did," she murmured.
"I did. I don't want to paint it all black, Juliette. My mom was not a bad or evil person. She had problems, and she didn't handle them well, but she wasn't mean. She loved me in her own way, as best she could."
She had a feeling Roman had been defending his mother for a very long time, and she respected the fact that he didn't blame her for ruining his life or making it hard, because there was no doubt it had been difficult.
The doorbell rang.
"That was fast," Roman said. "I'll get our pizza. Don't read ahead. We're doing this together."
"I'll wait for you," she said, sipping her beer as he left the room.
While he was gone, she closed her eyes for just a moment and let herself remember the old days. She could almost picture her homework before her, her mom at the stove, the sound of the TV in the living room where her dad watched the news every night. But the images were blurry, the sounds not
as sharp as she would have thought they'd be, sitting here in the room where it had all happened.
She opened her eyes, feeling a little disappointment that her memories weren't better, that the house hadn't made them brighter. Maybe she'd been a fool to think they would be any different here.
Roman came back into the room, and she put a smile on her face as he set down the pizza and then grabbed paper plates and napkins for them. She didn't want to think about the past anymore.
"So tell me about the Marines," she said as she grabbed her first piece. "About your friends—the guys in your unit."
"Well, Cole is probably my closest friend. He's from Texas, and he's got a big, loud personality. Jimmy is loud, too, but more of a flirt, more of a ladies' man. Henry is the quiet one. We sometimes forget he's in the room. But his instincts are razor-sharp. Then there's Walton; he comes from the Louisiana bayou, and he talks endlessly about fishing and crocodiles and all other kinds of swamp creatures. He's the most superstitious, too. He has all kinds of rituals to ward off evil. I found myself doing the craziest things just so I wouldn't break some superstitious rule. He took us to Mardi Gras one year, and I met his crazy relatives and finally understood where his beliefs came from."
She liked the softness in his voice when he talked about his friends. "You miss them, don't you?"
"I do. We've spent most of the past seven years together. We're brothers." He took a breath, then added, "I never had anyone in my life who watched my back until I joined the Marines."
"Not even your grandfather?"
"He did the one time—after the fire. I don't think I appreciated it at the time. But the guys I served with—they would die for me, and I would do the same for them. Knowing that there were men I could count on made me want to be the person they could count on."
"I'm sure you were that person."
"Until I got hurt."
"Probably protecting someone else," she guessed.
"You don't know that."
"Am I wrong?"
He shrugged. "There was a lot going on that day."
She knew he wasn't going to give her any more information than that. "Well, I don't know how any of you do what you do. It takes an incredible amount of bravery to face that kind of danger to keep our country safe."
"When I joined up, my interest didn't really come from a place of patriotism," he said candidly. "It was more about having no other real options that I could see. But once I got in it, traveled the world, saw what I was fighting for, I knew I'd made the right decision. I was proud. First time in my life."
She smiled. "So your friends...are they all in it for the long term? I don't know much about the Marine Corps. Do they kick you out after a certain age?"
"No, but you usually move on to less action-filled roles as you get older. Not everyone wants that. And even before that, sometimes you just get tired of the fighting, the deployments, being away from your family. It's a lot easier when you're single, when there's no one waiting at home for you."
"Are any of the guys you just mentioned married?"
"No, Jimmy just got engaged, but he gets engaged every other year and never seems to make it down the aisle. Henry will probably actually get married. He's been dating a woman he met in the first grade. I think things are getting serious."
"If he gets married, will you all be in the wedding?"
"Hard to say where anyone will be, but we'd certainly try to get there for him."
"What I do seems so trivial in comparison to your job. I make cake. The world really doesn't need more cake, but every day I make a couple more."
He laughed. "It's good cake. At least, that's what I hear."
"I should have brought you some cookies. Damn. I forgot. You caught me off guard with your call, and I just rushed right over here. One day you are going to taste one of them."
"Next time."
As he said the words so casually, she was reminded that just last night she'd told herself she should stop seeing Roman, but here she was again. And she wasn't in any hurry to leave.
It wasn't just because the letters had caught her interest; it was him. He was quite simply one of the most intriguing men she'd ever met.
He pushed the last piece of pizza in her direction. "That's yours."
She shook her head. "I'm stuffed. Save it for tomorrow. Pizza for breakfast is always a good choice."
"I would have to agree. So you want to keep reading?"
"Okay." She pushed her empty plate aside, and pulled out the next note.
My Love,
I'm sorry about my father—what he said to you last night. It was wrong. You didn't mean to hurt me. And you didn't talk me into anything, either. I wish you had stayed around so I could have told you that.
I don't know where you are right now, but I hope you're safe, and I hope you come back, so I can tell you how much I love you. So we can figure out how to make this right.
You're the only man for me. It's you or no one. That might sound dramatic, but it's how I feel. Please come back to me. Please don't let last night really be our last night.
"Trouble in paradise," Roman said as she finished reading.
She frowned. "It sounds like her father doesn't like her lover."
"I got the feeling she might be pregnant."
"Maybe, but she doesn't mention a baby, and it seems like she would."
Eager to find out what happened, she grabbed the next note on the stack.
There was no salutation this time. The woman just dove right in.
I can't marry him. I won't marry him. I don't love him. Marriage can't be about money, about union of families, about business, about who's right on paper. It has to be about love.
I'm willing to fight for you, for us, but where are you? You have to fight with me. We can do this together. We can have what we want. I know we can.
She looked up. "The notes are getting shorter, more desperate. Even her handwriting looks scared." She turned the note toward Roman so he could see it. "Don't you think?"
"I don't know. It looks like words to me."
"The first few notes were much more descriptive." She looked into the box. "Two more to go."
"I'm on the edge of my seat."
Oh, my Love,
How I long for you. My heart aches. I didn't know that love could be so consuming. It's in the air I breathe. It inhabits my dreams. It makes me thirsty and ravenous, but nothing will fill the emptiness inside of me. I feel all is lost.
And then I see you again. You're across the street. You look so handsome. I can't quite believe how long it's been since I saw you.
You smile, that half-smile, the one that makes my nerves tingle, the one that makes me believe you love me, too, no matter what you say, what you do.
You tip your head. That small acknowledgment makes my heart pound against my chest.
And then you turn away.
I have seen your back so many times. I yearn to call your name. But I can't.
I'm such a coward. I wish I could be braver.
One day…
"One day what?" Roman asked impatiently.
"That's it. It just ends with three dots."
"Well, let's read the last one. I hope this story has an ending."
"I don't think she wrote these notes as if she were putting a book together," she said, but she kind of hoped there was a happy ending, too. "Last one, here goes."
My Dearest Love
I did it. I ran away from the marriage I didn’t want and from the man I didn't love. But when I got to your house, I heard you had left town.
My heart broke in two. I had left it too late. I should have told you that I wouldn't go through with it, that I would find a way to say no, to be with you and not with him.
Now it's too late. You've chosen another life. I must let you go.
I want you to be happy. I want you to have children, to love and be loved. I want you to live the life you were meant to lead.
But in the dark of the nigh
t, I want you to remember me, the way we loved each other, the passion of a youth I'll never forget. I know it's my fault. I was too afraid to speak. I've never even been able to send you these letters. I want to. I can see the mailbox from my window.
Dare I go out there and at least let you know how I've always felt? Will that make you happy? Or will it make you sad and angry?
I wish I knew the answer.
Good-bye, my love.
"I'm going to cry," she said with a sniff. "This is not the happy ending I wanted."
"It's real life," Roman said, as she dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. "Not everyone gets what they want."
"I wonder what really happened. It sounds like she was being urged or forced to marry someone for money and at the last minute she bailed out, but it was too late. Her real love was gone."
"That's what I got from it, too."
"I wonder who she is." She sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. "I want to find out."
He laughed and shook his head. "Of course you do, but how?"
"I don't know. She must have lived here. And there must be a record somewhere of everyone who lived here."
"Maybe in the county records, but you don't know that she lived here. Maybe he did. Maybe she sent the letters to him in the end, but he was married to someone else by then. He could have hidden them in the box under the floorboards so his wife would never see them."
"That's true. He would have a reason to hide them if he had married another woman. But she could have also hidden them away from her family—her father. I really want to know who she is—who he is. And what happened to both of them. Did he pine for her? Or did he find happiness with someone else? Did she fall in love again? Did she ever marry? Did they ever see each other?"
Roman smiled. "You are so caught up in this."
"I can't help it. Her love speaks to me. Her words are filled with so much emotion. I can feel her longing, her pain. I want to do something about it."
"This could have all happened a long time ago, Juliette."
"Or not that long ago," she countered. "Are you going to help me figure it out?"
"You mean, am I going to delve into someone else's life and maybe cause them more pain and turmoil? Sure. That sounds like a plan."
She made a face at him. "You always look at the glass half-full. We could be returning the letters to someone who really wants them. Or we could be telling someone about a love he never thought he really had."
Sweet Somethings Page 12
