4

Rebecca dropped the envelope. “It can’t be,” she whispered.

Fear, unlike anything Ray had ever known curled in the pit of his stomach. “Can’t be what?”

Rebecca covered her face with trembling hands. “Oh, no,” she mumbled. “What’s happening? Why now? Why her?”

Ray touched her arm. “You’re making absolutely no sense, Rebecca, and you’re scaring the daylights out of me.”

“Wait here,” she said, and bolted from the room.

Stunned by her reaction, Ray stood on leaden legs and forced himself to pick up the envelope. Then he collapsed onto the nearest chair.

Ray stood when she entered the room, noting how her hand shook when she put down the box and how the paleness still lingered on her face. Afraid she might faint, he jerked a chair out from the table and urged her into it.

She clutched her hands in her lap and put her head next to the box.

Bypassing the coffee, he walked over to the refrigerator. He sighed with relief when his eyes fell on a bottle of wine. Fumbling through the drawers for a corkscrew, he uncorked it, poured her a glass and set it in front of her.

“Drink,” he said. “It will steady your nerves.”

Rebecca obeyed without even a whimper of protest. Her hands steadied and color returned to her cheeks.

“Now, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Jesus, help me.” The prayer from Rebecca’s lips was almost inaudible as she reached for the box, hesitated then pushed the container toward Ray.

He removed the rubber band from around the cigar box, the slender strip so old it crumbled in his hand. He dumped the remains on the table, put down the box and lifted the fragile lid. The thin paper holding the cardboard together was so worn it nearly came apart. The contents were slim, Rebecca’s birth certificate, and her mother’s, her father’s dog tags, a diary, a letter.

Picking up the letter, Ray tried to read but was unable to make out the faded text. Only one thing remained visible, the return address on the yellowed envelope: 3255 Port Avenue, Hammondsport, New York, the same address on the envelope that started this whole episode.

“Your father’s family?” he asked.

“Either that or the executer of the estate,” Rebecca remarked.

“Do you know these people? Have you ever met them?”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’m not sure. I have this impression, but it seems so surreal, more like a dream than a memory.”

“Tell me about it.” He hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard, but he knew sometimes talking had a way of helping a person work things out in his or her mind. Besides, he wanted to know everything about Rebecca.

“My mother died when I was four, so I had to be very young, two or three maybe. I remember clinging to her skirt while she cried. There was an old woman standing in the doorway of a big house. She was…” Rebecca hesitated, as if letting the memory fully form. “There was something mean-spirited about her. She frightened me.” She shuddered, took a deep breath. “Anyway, I remember my mother saying something about the way I looked and urging the old woman, whom I’m assuming is or was my grandmother, to look at me and deny that I looked like him. Him, I’m guessing, is my father.”

Rebecca drained the remaining wine from her glass, put it down and buried her face in her hands. “It’s funny how a child assimilates things and then buries them. Strange it should all come back to me. Like something out of an old movie.”

Again, she shuddered, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “I remember the smell of grapes, so rich, so ripe and sweet. And lilacs.” She smiled a little. “I remember sneaking some on the way back to the car and thinking that I’d paid the old lady back for making my mama cry.”

Ray chuckled and pushed the letter toward her. “Are you going to open this?”

Rebecca’s hand shook as she reached for the envelope. On a surge, she shoved it away. “Why should I? She never cared about me, so what difference does it make what she has to say now? Why should I care after all these years?”

He’d never felt truly loved or wanted by his parents, so Ray understood all too well why Rebecca would think this. He remained silent for a few minutes. “So, what will you do?”

In a quick decisive move, Rebecca picked up the envelope and tossed it into the box. “Put it in here with all the other bad memories. She closed the lid and pushed it away.

Ray’s heart trembled with the need to take her in his arms, to comfort her and take away the pain he saw reflected in her eyes. But he feared the touch her soft body against his as much as he desired it. Feared that if he brought her near, he would forever be lost, and now was not the time to reveal his feelings, not while she was fragile and his lunch hour was almost over.

Still, he couldn’t resist one more touch. He enveloped her hand in his. “I really hate to leave you right now, but I have to get back to my route. Will you be OK?”

When she nodded, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back. “Good,” he murmured. He squeezed her hand in a gesture of comfort and support then rose from his seat. “Thank you for the coffee and the pastry.”

“You’re welcome.” Rebecca’s voice quivered.

He walked out of the house to continue his route.

“Wait,” she called out, rushing after him.

In his mind’s eye, she was running toward him with open arms. Paralyzed with fear and need, Raymond stayed seated in his truck, doubting his legs would hold him should he get out of the vehicle.

Rebecca held out an envelope. “I almost forgot to give this to you,” she gasped, obviously breathless from the sprint.

Taking it, Ray looked dumbly at the envelope in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered, feeling foolish and embarrassed at his own thoughts.

She skimmed her lips across his cheek. “Thank you, Ray. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me these past months.”

Ray fought the urge to bolt from the truck, drag her into his arms and confess his love. Taking a deep breath, he clinched the envelope, resisting the impulse to raise it to his nose to see if her scent lingered on the paper. “I’d like to be more than your friend, Becca.” Forcing the heart from his throat he placed it firmly on his sleeve. Fear of rejection made his bones ache.

“I thought you might. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. I’ve been married over half my life, widowed barely a year. I have no idea how to go about being single.” Her voice was soft, her smile tender.

“But you’re not opposed to the idea?”

She touched his cheek with her fingertips. “No. I’m not opposed to the idea.” She stepped back from the curb. “Go to work, and we’ll talk some more tomorrow,” she promised and then turned back toward the house.

“Becca?”

She stopped, faced him once more...

“I’m not good at anything but being single. I promise to take it slow. I would never want to hurt you or rush you or scare you away.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded and eased his truck from the curb.

Raymond’s heart soared. He finished his route, worked out, and, as usual, had supper alone, but as a kid on Christmas Eve, he couldn’t wait for morning to dawn.