If I Could Do It Again

  Smiling, I stare at it for a second, five, ten, before curiosity gets the best of me. I open the other envelope and pull out a new letter.

  August 11, 2015

  How’s my beautiful angel doing? I was so excited to get your letter today. I’ve been thinking about you all day, every day. Did you get the present I made you? I hope you like it. I’m glad you said in your last letter that you like handmade things, because that’s really all I can do for you in here.

  I got the book you sent today, too. I can’t wait to start it. I’m going to start reading right after I finish this letter. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. It means so much to me. I can’t believe you signed it to me. Means the world to me, beautiful. I’ll treasure it always.

  I’m just chilling now. Got back from REC not long ago. Worked on legs today. Do you work out? I work out six days a week, even when I was on the streets. It’s a passion of mine. I used to compete in powerlifting growing up, before I hurt my back.

  We had burgers today. That was cool. Most of the food is not so good here, but I like the burgers. We’re going to have strawberry waffles this weekend. I’m really excited for that because I haven’t had strawberries since I came to this prison. What’s your favorite food?

  Can I call you sometime? No pressure. If you’re not ready, I’ll understand. I’d just like to hear your voice is all. Think about it, and when you’re ready let me know.

  So what are you thinking about? I’m thinking about you, and about reading your book. The cover looks very sexy. I’m really excited to start it.

  I enjoyed reading your answers to my questions. I think we have a lot in common. I really like that you’re being one-hundred percent open with me. Here are my answers.

  The best gift my girl could give me is her heart, and the best thing about starting a new relationship is the excitement of getting to know someone’s likes and dislikes.

  I’m definitely scared of being vulnerable and getting hurt when it comes to falling in love. If you give yourself to somebody and get hurt, it’s like you did it for no reason.

  From my bedroom window, I can see the grass, some birds, a basketball court, barbed wire fences, and farm fields behind that. It’s so cool that you can see the ocean from your window. Could you send me a picture? I love the ocean and would really like to see what you see.

  I get nightmares, too. They’re really bad and I take sleeping meds because of them. I’ve been taking them for years and can’t sleep without them.

  My turn-offs would definitely be bitchy women. I can’t stand women who bitch and moan all the time. As for turn-ons, big asses do it for me. I like thick thighs, too. Hair, makeup, and nails done. High heels are very sexy. And a woman that’s caring and thoughtful is a huge turn-on.

  As for soul mates, I believe we meet by destiny. I think there is someone out there for everyone and our whole lives lead up to finding that one person we’re meant to fall in love with.

  Tell me, what person in your life is the best example of love? How often have you fallen in love? What is the nicest thing you ever did for someone else? Define intimacy in your own words.

  The question book I’ve been using also has a whole bunch of sexual questions in it, but I’m skipping them for you. I want to be respectful of your situation. Even if you don’t love your husband, I don’t want to come in between you two. So if I ask anything that bothers you or crosses the line, just let me know. Sometimes it’s hard for me to know because I’m really open about sex with my friends. I want you to feel one-hundred percent comfortable with me all the time.

  Well, gorgeous, it’s time to eat and then I’m going to start reading your book, so I’m going to end this one here. I hope you have an amazing week and I’m really looking forward to your next letter. Hope you write back soon.

  Sending you my love,

  Joshua

  P.S. I just got some new pictures of me. My parents are copying them and once I get them back I’ll send you copies. They’re also sending some pictures of my motorcycle so I can send them to you. Hope you like them.

  It takes only a few minutes for me to get home after reading the letter. It’s late afternoon, and the house looks quiet, though Richard’s car is now parked in the driveway. I park beside him, strolling up to the house, pausing to stare at our perfectly manicured, oversized lawn, seeing the pool peeking out past the corner of our Greek Revival mansion. I shake my head. The house may be overly large and gorgeous, but it isn’t worth my happiness. I’m not sure why I ever thought it was.

  On the pillared entryway, I stop to pick up a box. I glance at the label, and grin a little. The swag I ordered for my next book launch has finally arrived.

  Carrying the box inside, I smile politely to my neighbors as they wave hello. When I unlock the front door, juggling the box as I come in, Richard is standing in the foyer, arms folded over his chest. His expression is blank. He looks at me, his eyes shifting to the box in my arms, before he meets my eyes again. He’s quiet for a moment, just staring at me, before he speaks, “Where have you been?”

  “I went to check my mail,” I say, closing the door and locking it. “When did you get back?”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “About twenty minutes ago.”

  Twenty minutes ago? Was I really gone that long? Huh.

  Walking through the house, I step into the kitchen, setting the box and my purse down on the countertop, before grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the fridge. Richard follows me, so closely I can nearly feel his hot breath puffing against the nape of my neck. He’s agitated. I can feel it. The air around us is so thick it’s suffocating and all I want to do is disappear into my office, except I know doing that will only make things worse.

  “What’s that?” he asks after a long moment.

  “What?” I put the Brita jug away and close the fridge, before glancing at him.

  “On your wrist,” he says, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the beautiful beaded bracelet. “What the fuck is that on your wrist?”

  I swallow hard, trying not to flinch at his sharp tone. I’m still on a high, my heart still racing from Joshua’s letter and gift, and I don’t want to let the feeling go.

  Actually, I’d be happy if I could hold on to this feeling forever.

  I pad over to the table, setting my glass down and taking a seat. “It’s a bracelet.” I place my elbows on the tabletop, folding my hands together in front of me.

  Richard turns up his nose. “When did you have time to make a bracelet? You were supposed to be writing. Wasn’t that the deal when I let you leave that waitressing job?”

  “I didn’t make it, Joshua did,” I say, rolling my eyes and biting my tongue on the ‘Fuck off’ that’s trying to fight its way out of my mouth. I quit waitressing because Richard was worried about how it would look if his wife was working at a bar. It had nothing to do with my writing and everything to do with his image. The man has never supported my career choice, always treating it like a hobby. If he only realized how much I actually make …

  Richard laughs once, unamused. “It looks cheap.”

  “It looks perfect,” I snap instantaneously.

  He jerks back a little, as though my sharp response was a physical slap, and stares at me with wide eyes.

  And there goes the high.

  Silence falls.

  Seconds pass, turning into minutes.

  I sip my water, not sure what else to say.

  Richard paces for a moment, before planting himself down on the chair across from me. He’s still watching me, and I’m not sure what it is I’m seeing there in his eyes. Anger? Fear? A mix of both or something entirely different?

  I have no idea.

  His emotions are moving across his face so quickly that I can’t track them or make any sense of them.

  Finally, he speaks, keeping his voice low. “I know his kind.”

  I shift on my chair, turning slightly to face him as I take a sip of water. “And what ki
nd exactly would that be?”

  “He’s a criminal,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the tabletop. “He’s playing you, preying on your low self-esteem. If he hasn’t asked you for money yet, I bet he will soon. All it takes is one internet search to find out we’re loaded. He doesn’t give a shit about you, and the bracelet … it’s just all part of his fucked up game.”

  I wince. The idea that Joshua has been playing me has crossed my mind, so much so that I spent hours on Google looking into pen-pal relationships. I found some interesting articles, even one from an ex-convict pointing out what to look for. According to that one, Joshua, if anything, has been genuine so far. “Maybe you’re right, but you could be wrong, too.”

  “I know I’m right,” Richard says, his eyes suddenly heavy and tired, his age showing through. “This isn’t one of your romance novels where the big, bad biker really has a heart of gold, Vic. He’s not going to change into your knight in shining armor and save you from your so-called shitty life. You shouldn’t believe all that shit you read. Life isn’t like that. You’ve got to stop romanticizing this shit.”

  Romanticizing this shit? Huh. “I think life can be like that, and you know what, Dick, I’m not the only one that wants to believe it.” My voice rises with every word, and I pause for a second, taking a calming breath, before continuing. “If I were the only one, romance books wouldn’t be one of the top selling genres out there. And honestly, I don’t even know why we’re talking about this. He’s just a pen-pal, a friend maybe. We’ve just started writing.”

  “I’m just saying, four years from now when he gets out, you’ll still be stuck right here with me, and he’ll be out doing whatever it is bikers do. There’s no future for you with him. You’re wasting your time.”

  His words make me shiver, because I think there may be some truth to them. Four years from now I may actually still be stuck here with him.

  “He wants to talk on the phone,” I mumble. “I’m going to look into that and try to set it up.”

  “No.”

  “No?” I ask, surprised.

  “No,” he repeats immediately. “You’re not talking to that dirt bag on the phone.”

  I laugh, shocked. “You really don’t have a say in this.”

  “You’re living in my house, of course I have a say in it.”

  “It’s our house, Dick. Ours, not yours.” And it is. I may not have purchased it, but we’re married. We don’t have a prenuptial agreement—Richard didn’t want one. Everything we have is fifty percent mine and that was his choice.

  “Wow.” He laughs once in disbelief, shaking his head. “You’re still my wife, Vic.”

  “Maybe on paper.” I close my eyes tight, letting out a deep breath before reopening them. “But I haven’t been your wife for at least a year now and you know it.”

  “I get that you don’t love me anymore,” he says, keeping his voice low as though trying really hard not to yell, “but you promised you’d give me a chance to fix this. I’ve wasted two years of my life on you. You owe me.”

  I freeze for a moment, feeling like a cornered animal. You owe me. Do I? He’s said it so many times since we met, each and every time he helped me with something. New car … you owe me. Dinner … you owe me. Officially moving me into his house … you owe me. You owe me … You owe …

  Shit. It’s emotionally exhausting.

  I sigh. “When are you going back to work?”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he says, his tone full of disgust. “I’ll be gone once my laundry is done.”

  4

  Phone Calls

  It takes me three weeks, three long, frustrating weeks to get the phone accounts set up.

  When I decided to do it, I figured it would be easy. Something as simple as giving Joshua my number. As it turns out, nothing is easy when it comes to dealing with the prison system. I had to get a U.S. number because inmates in Pennsylvania aren’t allowed to call outside the country, and then I had to set-up a prepaid calling account for collect calls and register my number.

  Sounds pretty simple, right? Well, trust me, it’s not. I’ve never had to jump through so many hoops in my life.

  But even frustrating, these last three weeks have still been … amazing. My world has been wrapped up in letters. Sweet, sweet letters from a killer.

  Okay, maybe Richard is right. Maybe I am romanticizing things, but I don’t care. The truth is, I’ve never been this freakin’ happy.

  Never.

  And any day now, Joshua will be receiving the letter with my new Pennsylvania number.

  It’s sunny this afternoon, and Richard is home. It’s Saturday, and as far as I can tell he’s home for the weekend. I’m sitting on the couch with my laptop, trying to get a handle on my emails and clean up my inbox, when he thumps down the stairs.

  “You want to go out?” he asks, pausing in the living room entryway. “I feel like getting some lunch, maybe taking a drive down to Peggy’s Cove.”

  I shake my head quickly, keeping my eyes on my emails. “I’m just going to make something here and work.”

  “Come on, Vic. It’s the weekend and I haven’t been home in a month.”

  Pulling my gaze away from my laptop, I glance up at him. He’s dressed in jeans today and his neatly pressed button up blue and green striped shirt is untucked with the top three buttons open. He’s watching me, his expression almost pleading, as he takes a couple steps toward me. It’s the same look he gave me the day I finally gave in and went on a date with him nearly three years ago. He was so persistent back then, asking me out every single time he came into the pub I worked at. I’d waited months to go out with him, because he was intimidating to me. So sure of himself, so … impressively confident, and I could never understand why he wanted a waitress like me.

  I still don’t.

  “Please, Vic,” he says when I say nothing. “Spend some time with me. You promised you’d try.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I mutter eventually, because he’s right. I promised I’d try, though at this moment, I have no idea why I made such an absurd promise. “Lunch and then right back here. I really do have to work today.”

  Grinning, Richard turns away. “I’ll meet you in the car,” he says as he walks toward the front door. “Don’t take long.”

  Pressing my fingers to my closed eyes, I let out a groan of frustration. I need to write the back cover story for my current work in progress and book a cover reveal tour. That’s what I’d planned on doing today, but he sounded so sincere, like he really wants to spend time with me …

  Ugh … When did I become so gullible?

  Setting my computer down on the coffee table, I get up and make my way upstairs to change. Discarding my yoga pants and tee, I slip on my favorite sunflower printed baby-blue summer dress and a cute pair of ankle laced sandals. I let my hair down, running my fingers through it a few times. It’s wavy from being tied up all day, but I don’t have time to fix it, so I quickly pull it back up, twisting it into a French knot. I swipe some gloss onto my lips, and quickly put on some eyeliner and shadow, before rushing back downstairs and venturing out of the house.

  I find Richard sitting in his Lamborghini Elemento, fiddling with the radio. God, I think that car is ugly, but I get in anyway and he speeds off to Starbucks, pulling into the drive-thru. He orders me a large coffee, with one milk and one sugar, surprising me when he remembers what I like—he never remembers—and he orders a black coffee for himself. He pays, handing me my drink, and then he starts driving once more, heading toward Peggy’s Cove.

  The conversation is strained at best. I try filling the silence with random chit-chat, but he pretty much shuts me down on every topic, only supplying small grunts or one-word responses, and after about ten minutes, I give up, staring out the window instead.

  Minutes pass. The silence is nice, peaceful, and the view, beautiful, and I—surprisingly—find myself enjoying the drive.

  And then my phone rings, shattering
the quiet moment.

  Digging my phone out of my purse, I glance at the caller display, seeing a Pennsylvania number flashing on the screen. My heart races and my stomach clenches tight. It’s Joshua. I stare at the phone for a beat. Now that he’s calling, I’m not sure I’m truly ready to talk to him.

  “Who is it?” Richard asks.

  His voice startles me, and I jump a little in my seat. Shit. I totally forgot about him. I shake my head quickly. “I think it’s Joshua.”

  Richard frowns, cutting me a sideways look. “Answer it.”

  My face flushes. I really, really don’t want to talk to him in front of Richard. “No, it’s fine. I’m sure he’ll call back later.”

  “Really, I don’t mind. Take the call, Vic.”

  “No,” I say again, this time louder. “I don’t want to talk to him for the first time with you sitting beside me. It’s kind of uncomfortable.”

  He laughs once, a dry, bitter sound that makes my stomach clench—hard. “Yeah, I guess talking to your new boyfriend in front of your husband would be awkward.”

  My face burns hotter, the heat, spreading down my neck, and I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just a friend.”

  The ringing stops and silence falls.

  Five, ten, fifteen seconds pass.

  My phone chimes, indicating a new voicemail.

  “If he’s just a friend,” Richard says, “you would have answered it.”

  I’m not really sure what to say to that, so I merely lift a shoulder in a one-sided shrug, and slip my phone back into my purse.

  And then, it rings again.

  “He’s calling again?” Richard asks.

  I pull it back out and look at the screen, seeing the same Pennsylvania number flash there, and I shrug. “I guess so.”

  Richard’s eyes narrow as he watches me silence the call. “Just answer it and tell him you’re busy.”

  I don’t answer it. Instead, I turn off the ringer, and put my phone back into my purse. Retrieving my electronic cigarette, I settle back into the seat, taking a drag and then a long sip from my coffee. I really freakin’ hope he tries again later.