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BARBARA

My darling,

I’m at my desk at the office working late tonight until about ten or so.

I don’t mind too much anymore because it delays my going home to that empty apartment and makes my evenings a little more tolerable.

I started to write you this morning, but then at noon, I had such a marvelous surprise that I thought I’d better start all over again.

It was really good hearing your voice so unexpectedly.

All morning, I sat looking at the phone, thinking how easy it would be just to pick it up and dial your number.

It’s an awful temptation, you know. I don’t know if I can go through with this time apart!

I miss you oh so very much already. It doesn’t seem fair that two people in love such as we are should be kept apart!

Knowing I’m not going to see you, hold you, touch you…

leaves me with a horrible feeling of being all alone, like a whole portion of my being has been removed.

You have become an integral part of my life, and your presence is essential to my peace of mind.

I feel too that I’ve similarly affected you, which makes this all so difficult.

And at times like now, sweetheart, the whole waiting for passing of time seems so senseless.

But I do love you, and I do want you so very much. And time will pass…

I keep champing at the bit. I’m crazy to get started on our plans—specific plans for our house and everything.

I’d like to sit down at the board or sprawl on the floor with you beside me and get something tangible down on paper.

Start figuring out the little things—like where the bookcases go, what we will put in the dressing room, and what kind of pictures we will do for Frankie’s room.

I want to get going on any planning and dreaming that we can share—really share!

I want to take care of you and love you truly—no more of this tomorrow or day after or later business, but NOW!

I have to give my written consent for Dorothy to speak to my lawyer. I understand, and I’ll take care of it after I finish my note to you. I want to get the divorce finalized as soon as possible so that you can finally file.

How goes the battle with you, sweetheart?

Bet your days are long and lonely too, probably more so than mine because I have so many distractions all day long—work, I mean.

I’m terribly sorry for the upheaval I’ve caused you.

You’ve gone through so much on my account.

I know you never would have done it if you didn’t honestly love me and want me for your own.

That’s the only thing that makes it possible to go on waiting and hoping.

Your devotion is the dearest thing in the world to me.

Your love is the thing I count on when there is nothing else.

This is the last letter I can write this week.

I’ll send it by courier so that you get it tomorrow.

I’ll write again on Saturday, so you’ll get another letter on Monday.

I’ll be working the next four Saturdays at least. If you need me for anything, I’ll be here…

As a matter of fact, I think I’ll have a surprise for you.

Maybe I’ll get Phil to bring it by, or perhaps I’ll mail it.

We’ll see, but since you’re not the curious type, I won’t even give you another hint!

Bet you’re just as beautiful (and you are, you know) today as you were the last time I saw you—your long blonde hair, your fresh “just showered” look…

Everything I remember about you starts the fire all over again for me.

You excite me and make me want to do wonderful things for you, my darling.

You’re all I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever hoped for.

Until later, dearest. Remember, you’re mine, and I adore you.

Always,

—V

PS: I wish I could have one of your extra special “kisses” right now…

I always thought those girls who gushed about butterflies in their stomachs were hopeless romantics. But Victor’s words, his voice, and the feel of his hands on my skin—all of it sent a delicious flutter through me. Maybe those girls weren’t just spouting vaporous nonsense after all.

I folded Victor’s letter, replaced it in its envelope, and locked it away in the hand-carved wooden box he had brought me from his trip to Mexico. I traced my fingers over the intricate designs on the lid, lost in thoughts of Victor and what lay ahead for us.

The doorbell startled me from my reverie. I hurried out of my room, half expecting to see Phil with the surprise Victor mentioned in his letter. My heart quickened at the thought as I made my way to the door, smoothing my dress and checking my hair in the hall mirror.

When I opened the door, my excitement deflated like a punctured balloon.

“Mother,” I said, unable to mask my disappointment. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

My mother, the redoubtable Agatha Montgomery, stood tall and imperious, her eyes taking in every detail of the entryway with their usual critical sharpness. She wore a navy-blue overcoat and clutched a small handbag, her lips set in a thin line.

“Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, wondering what she could want this time. I was never on her list of social calls.

“Of course,” I said tentatively, stepping aside to let her through.

Agatha slowly, deliberately removed her overcoat, revealing a slate-gray dress with black piped trim along clean, sharp lines. Her low-heeled black leather pumps matched her handbag. She handed her coat to me as she strode through to the living room.

“I see you’ve…redecorated,” she said as she surveyed the room down her nose.

“A little here and there. If you visited more often, it wouldn’t seem so drastic. Shall we sit?”

Agatha let out a short huff as she perched on the edge of the sofa and crossed her legs at the ankles. “It’s rather…austere.”

“I prefer to call it modern. Would you like some tea?”

“I’m not staying long enough.”

I settled into Frank’s armchair. “All right then, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Agatha’s eyes flicked toward me, cool and assessing. She unclasped her handbag, then thought better of it and clasped it shut again. “I was relieved to hear from Frank that you’ve set aside your little secretarial position and resumed your proper place at home.”

Of course Frank had run straight to Mother. The two of them had become thick as thieves. I braced myself for the lecture that was sure to follow.

“Left is not the same as quit,” I corrected. “It’s just a pause.”

“Whatever you call it,” Agatha said, sitting rigidly upright. “It’s good for your family. They need you here.”

“You’ve made your position abundantly clear, Mother. Surely you didn’t drive all the way out here to tell me that.”

Agatha tilted her head, lips pursed. “Frank tells me things between you are…strained.”

I gripped the arms of the chair, the rough fabric like steel wool against my palms. “Frank has been rather chatty, it seems.”

“He’s concerned, Barbara.” She paused, weighing her next words with uncharacteristic care. “As am I.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but Mother held up her hand to stop me.

“Listen, Barbara.”

I remained silent.

“Now it’s no secret that I didn’t approve of your marriage in the first place.

You married beneath you when you could have done so much better.

But what’s done is done.” She shifted her weight and recrossed her ankles.

“And I will even go so far as to admit that Frank has proven himself to be a decent man, despite his less-than-stellar credentials.”

“How magnanimous of you, Mother.”

“What I’m saying is you chose him. You chose this life. So it’s on you to make it work. Our kind of people are never unhappy in marriage. At least not publicly.”

I studied her face, searching for some trace of the warmth other girls described when speaking of their mothers.

Her features were as precise and unyielding as a marble statue—cheekbones carved high, nose straight as a ruler, lips a severe slash of red, gunmetal-gray hair scraped back into a tight bun—any trace of softness long sacrificed to dignity.

“Mother,” I said slowly, choosing my words with the same caution she had employed earlier. “I appreciate your concern. Truly. But this is something Frank and I need to work out on our own.”

Agatha studied her manicured fingernails, then me, then the pictures on the walls. “I do hope you will work it out,” she said, her tone softer but no less piercing. “But tell me, how can you, when you’re spending so much time…elsewhere?”

My breath caught in my chest. I sat up straighter. “Say what you mean, Mother.”

Mother picked up a studio portrait of Frankie from the side table, running her fingers along the embellished silver frame, then set it back down.

“Where is your son?”

“Your grandson ? He’s asleep in his room. And you’re deflecting.”

She pursed her lips for a moment before speaking again. “You were twelve when your father campaigned for state senate. You remember that, don’t you?” she asked, looking at the photo of Frankie, not at me.

The change in subject threw me off balance. “Of course I remember.”

“He spent nearly every weekend away, traveling the district, as politicians do.” She turned to look at me, hands clasped primly in her lap. “It was a difficult time for our family.”

I shifted uneasily in Frank’s chair. “What are you saying?”

“By then, his campaign was already behind him. He’d bowed out of the race, if you recall.” She shot me a pointed glance. “But he continued to stay out on the road.”

Realization sunk in like a cold stone going straight to the bottom of a pond. I gripped the chair’s arms tighter, my knuckles blanching.

“He was having an affair?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Agatha shrugged one shoulder, the movement almost nonchalant. “It wasn’t the first and certainly not the last. Why do you think he’s still in Hawaii?”

“He’s there with the statehood commission,” I answered dutifully, though the words felt flimsy as straw.

“He could have come back a dozen times over, but he hasn’t.” She gave me a long, assessing look. “Men have their weaknesses. The important thing is he always comes back to us in the end. He fulfills his responsibilities and keeps up appearances.”

“Why are you telling me this?” My voice was low and tight.

She shot me a sharp, knowing glare. “Men have their indulgences, Barbara. But women don’t get that luxury.”

I shot up from the chair, unable to sit still any longer under her scrutiny. “Times have changed, Mother. You act like we’re still in corsets.”

“Not where it matters.” Mother’s eyes bore into mine, unflinching.

“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Barbara.

One wrong step, and everything your father and I built— everything —comes crumbling down.

You aren’t some nobody from a no-name family.

What you do reflects on all of us. And for what?

” Her voice dropped to a searing whisper.

“A tumble in the sheets with your employer?”

My blood turned cold. “Get out.”

Agatha rose with the measured grace of a ballerina, plucking her coat from where I’d draped it over the back of the sofa. She made no move to put it on, instead letting it dangle from her fingers as she made her way toward the door.

“Struck a nerve, did I?” she asked.

I opened the front door, letting the cool spring air rush in. “Thank you for your visit, Mother. Now, please leave.”

She stepped onto the threshold and turned back, her posture as erect as a flagpole. “The family always comes first, Barbara,” she said. “Never forget that.”

I shut the door before she could say another word.

The silence of the house closed in around me like a heavy quilt. Outside, I heard the rhythmic click-clack of her heels on the walkway, then the soft, muted slam of a car door. The low growl of the engine roared to life before fading into the distance.

What I wouldn’t give to be in Victor’s arms.

This enforced separation was going to be hell.