With Love from London(70)
She shakes her head, mouth agape.
“What?”
“Val, she did write you,” Millie says, “every day.” Her words sting. “Every single day. She’d stop by the post office each morning—it was her daily routine. Valentina, your mother was always writing to you. Always.”
“But, Millie, I…” I say, my voice shaking. “I…never received any of them.”
Later That Same Night
I pulled the car into the driveway, and gathered my bags before walking along the familiar path that led to our front door. Crickets chirped in the warm night, singing their lullabies for my sleeping family inside.
I rushed upstairs, then tiptoed into Val’s bedroom. The floppy-eared bunny rabbit she’d slept with since birth had fallen from her grasp. I bent down to pick it up, then tucked it in beside her, kissing her cheek gently. She still looked like a baby when she slept, even if she was well on her way to womanhood.
I decided it was time to tell her a love story. My love story.
Val stirred in her bed. “Mummy? Is that you?”
“Yes, my darling. Mummy’s here. Don’t wake up. I’ll sit with you, while you sleep.”
“Tell me a story,” she murmured softly, “about London.”
I closed my eyes. “Yes, let’s travel back in time, to the year 1968.”
“Let’s go,” Val said, only half awake.
“That was the year I met my love.” I pause. “The year I met your father.”
Val curled tighter into her blankets, comforted.
I was emboldened to continue.
“There once was a fine place in London,” I said. “Someone like me would never have been invited. Until I was.”
I skipped over the part about my lifelong, crippling insecurity, my feeling of never belonging anywhere, except in the pages of books.
“Everyone there was dressed in fine clothing. The tables were set with real silver and china. Only the tastiest dishes were on the menu.”
“Is that a real place, Mummy?” Val asked. “It sounds too pretty to be real.”
“It did feel like a dream,” I said. “A dream come true.”
I retreated into myself then, my thoughts spiraling until I could no longer separate the stories of the two men on that fateful night. Frank and…Edward.
The night I met him…
He understood me at once.
He finished my sentences.
He was kind.
He looked at me like I was the one he’d been waiting for.
And then he was gone.
And then he took me away.
“That’s where the story ends, Val. And where you begin. He changed my life forever. He brought me to you.”
Two Days Later
At the Book Garden, Millie, Liza, and I are hard at work—and also trying to take our minds off the results of the fundraiser, which haven’t come in yet.
“Have you heard from Daniel?” Liza asks me.
While his absence at the event had been a disappointment, to be sure, he’d made up for it with his generous and unexpected donation. And yet, two days had passed and my thank-you text to him went unanswered, which I tell Liza.
“He’s probably just busy,” Millie chimes in.
Liza shakes her head. “No, I think it’s more likely that he’s playing the game.”
“The game?”
She nods. “Yeah, he doesn’t want to seem overly eager. Everyone knows that after the first date, you wait three days to call or text. After the second, you wait two, and after the third, you wait one. Those are the rules.”
I shake my head. “The…rules? So, what happens after the fourth date?”
“Oh, that’s when you can call or text freely, but not too freely until after the third month.”
I bury my face in my hands. “This is way too complicated for me. I quit.”
“Now, now,” Millie says. “It will all work itself out.”
I smirk. “That’s easy for you to say. You and Fernando call each other every five minutes! And you’re not playing by any rules.”
“Well,” counters Liza, our resident relationship expert—who, I might add, is presently single. “If you count all the flirting that led up to their first date, you could argue that the rules don’t apply to them. They’ve already surpassed all that. You, on the other hand, still have work to do.”
“This is too much for me,” I say, placing my hand on my forehead for dramatic effect as Millie answers her phone. Naturally, it’s Fernando.
“Those two,” Liza says with a sigh, “are getting a bit nauseating. But bloody hell, are they cute together.”
“They are,” I say, glancing at my phone with a sigh.
“Any word from Jan?” Liza asks.
“Still waiting.” She’d promised to call today or tomorrow with news about the total amount raised, as some credit card transactions and checks required a few days to clear. We’d need at least £250,000 to pull us through. I know the goal is staggering and the likelihood of succeeding small, but we made a pact to remain optimistic—it’s all we can do.
When my phone rings, I startle, but it’s neither Daniel nor Jan, just an unknown number. I decide to answer.