Twelve

It had been over three long, heartbreaking years since he’d heard from Francesca. Over three years since she’d boarded the plane that whisked her out of his life. Three years since he’d spoken with her.

All this time, Tommy thought Francesca didn’t reply to his letters because she’d moved on with her life. A life meant to be shared with men of wealth and intellect, not with men like him. When days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and Tommy still hadn’t received a response from Francesca to any of his letters, he’d felt broken, alone, miserable. Tommy felt as if their time together meant nothing to her.

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief when Peter set the stack of unopened letters in his hands. It was proof Francesca hadn’t replied because she’d abandoned him, but because she hadn’t seen any of his letters. When Tommy imagined Francesca had almost certainly felt as abandoned and hurt as he had, his first instinct was to ram his fist into Peter Thompson’s lawyerly face.

Peter was fortunate they were at his parent’s wedding reception at the time, and Tommy banked his anger for their benefit. Otherwise, Tommy may have ended up doing his second stint behind bars—for manslaughter. Instead, Tommy settled for the more restrained approach and let the air out of all the tires on Peter’s Ferrari. Tommy didn’t get the satisfaction he would have if he’d broken Peter’s jaw or a few of his ribs, but it felt good nonetheless.

Staring at the envelope, Tommy wondered why Francesca would write to him after all these years. Her reasons for doing so, all bad, roiled in his head. Was Francesca writing to tell Tommy she’d found another? Was Francesca writing to say to him she was getting married? Was it a Dear John letter?

For a long moment, Tommy debated whether to open the envelope. He couldn’t handle more disappointment, not from Francesca. Tommy struggled until he couldn’t hold back any longer. Letting out a long breath, Tommy tore the envelope open.

I write this letter to you from my terrace where I spend most nights looking up to the sky while I read the only letter I have from you.

Since the beginning of the war, I’ve listened to news of the escalating conflict in Europe never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you were in the midst of it. When Uncle Will told me tonight you’d enlisted, I felt sick to my stomach, for so many reasons, but mainly because of the anger I’ve carried all these months in me for you for thinking you’d deserted me.

Until tonight, I thought you’d abandoned me. I thought our time together meant nothing to you. Until tonight, I thought all the beautiful things you said to me were fluff, and I’d hate you.

I’d hate you so much, Tommy.

But I also love you so much and to tame my hateful feelings I’d read your beautiful letter. It’s wrinkled and brittle from handling now. Anyway, as much as reading your letter helps dull the pain, it makes my head reel in confusion. I didn’t know what to think, and all I do is hurt again.

Tommy’s hand bunched into a tight fist when Francesca’s words left him sick. That she’d felt this way, all this time, made anger war with fury. Goddamn Peter Thompson, Tommy thought, pushing to his feet and ramming his fist into the tree’s trunk. He leveled a second punch, just because. Wrapping the bandanna around his bleeding knuckles, Tommy picked up the letter and continued reading.

I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m so sorry for thinking of you the way I have these past few years. I should have trusted you more, but I was hurting so much.

I try not to think about you being over there, but I can’t escape the images rushing at me. Why, Tommy, why would you put yourself in the path of such danger? I don’t want you to end up hurt or worse. I want you to come back to me. Please come back to me, Tommy.

Francesca aroused feelings in Tommy that had been long since buried. Suddenly a wonderful peace washed over him, and life had meaning. “I want to go back to you too, Francesca.”

I want you to know Tommy there’s never been anyone but you. Even after all the hurt and the anger I’ve felt, you’re the only man that fills my thoughts. I often think of the times we watched the stars or walked the boardwalk. I think back to the first night we made love and how beautiful and wonderful it was. I want to do all those things with you again, Tommy. I want to feel your body pressed to mine. I want to feel your lips on mine. I want to feel your breath on my face.

You claimed my heart, Tommy Scott, and I want you to reclaim it. You told me I was the best of you, but you, Tommy, are the best of me.

Please come back to me, safe and sound.

Indifference melted into inspiration. Tommy hadn’t felt this full of life, not in years. The passion he’d lost long ago fueling him again, he looked up to the sky. “I promise I’ll come back to you, Francesca.”

“Sarg. Hey, Tommy.” Mike’s cries shocked Tommy out of his reverie. “We’re pushing out tonight.”

“What are you talking about? We’re not leaving for a couple of days.” Tommy called back.

“Guess they changed their mind. We need to pack up. We leave for Sicily tonight.”