Letters from Becca: A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel (12 page)

John smiled, watching her eat.  “I will come by soon.  I promise.”

“You’d better,” Becca reprimanded, narrowing her eyes.  She set her burger down and wiped her hands.  “Thank you for coming, John.”

“What are friends for?” he asked with a weak smile.

Becca smiled with relief.  “I love you.  You know that right?”

John looked into her eyes and hesitated, then nodded.  “I love you, too, Becca.”

They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence.

John nursed his beer and stared at the television set at the end of the counter under the rows of watered down alcohol.  A heavy haze lingered, seemingly caught mid-air.  The hole-in-the-wall bar smelled of must, smoke and stale peanuts.  It had been months since he’d seen David, and after his visit with Becca the day before, John suddenly didn’t know what to expect.  Every time David’s route passed through Dallas, they’d meet for a burger and a beer.  That was, until the accident.

Many of the Vietnam vets John had encountered that had actually seen battle either wore a vacant stare, as if they were looking through you, or a wild-eyed look, hinting at a lingering neuroticism inherited from the war.  When John last saw David, he had seemed somewhere in between the two extremes.  There were perhaps a handful of men who said they hadn’t been changed by the war, but John knew they had.  These were the ones to be feared.  They internalized or repressed their emotions, allowing them to build to dangerous levels; which would then erupt to confrontations with spouses or children, bosses, or even random strangers.  John knew all about repression.  He practiced it daily.  It was one of his shortcomings, as Marissa had so eloquently pointed out.

Marissa always wanted John to share with her what he was feeling, what he had gone through.  She wanted to help him.  She wanted to fix him.  What she could never understand was that he was too broken to be fixed.  He felt, as did so many others that had returned, beyond help.  They had served their country, faithfully, and returned to scorn and political criticism.  What gave anyone the right to judge him?  He was doing his job—a job that he had both loved and hated, a job that his country told him would bring freedom from oppression to hundreds of thousands of people.  And in the end, hundreds of thousands of people had died.  The world hadn’t been changed for the better.  And tens of thousands of lives had been forever altered by surviving the devastation.

Survivors returned to nightmares and night sweats, screaming out in the dark in fear that being home was just a dream.  Now, night terrors destroyed their peace, altered their thoughts.  Their minds played tricks on them, stealing their joy at being home.  How many nights he had woken with a start, crying out, his bed linens soaked?  Marissa would hug him and stroke him, but it could not erase the haunting memories of war.  Nothing could.

A faint light shone through the haze and receded as the entry door opened and closed.  He felt a presence beside him and heard a familiar voice.

“Miller,” David said, tapping the bar with his keys in front of John.

John reached over and held out his hand.  David took it and squeezed before sitting down.  “What’s the score?”

It was the fourth week of the third season of Monday Night Football and people had already settled in nicely to the weekly change.

“Washington up by seven,” the bartender said, while John sipped his beer.  “Helluva game,” he added, setting a beer before each of them before turning back to the action on the colored set hanging above him.

They sipped their beers and stared at the screen along with the other patrons.  All moaned as Roger Staubach was sacked in the third quarter.  Finally, a commercial time out.  David started playing with the paper on his bottle.

“How long are you in town for?” he asked, looking up at the set.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” John said, looking up as well.  Neither of them spoke for many moments, staring at the television, as if the commercial playing on it held their interest in the slightest.  Finally, John broke the silence.  “So, how ya’ doing, man?”

David guzzled his beer, emptying almost half the bottle.  “Fine,” he answered flatly.  “My back’s still bothering me, but I’m getting around.  Feeling much older than I am.”

John nodded, looking down at his beer.  “How are the boys?”

David turned to face his friend.  “You can cut the crap,” he began.  “I know Becca asked you to call me.”

John wrinkled his mouth.  “I was going to call you,” he said honestly.  “Whether she asked me to or not.”

David looked back at the television again and nodded.

“You know she’s worried about you,” John said, pulling at the paper on his own bottle.

David finished his drink and tapped the counter for another.  “Yeah, well, Becca isn’t happy unless everyone around her is,” he added dryly, still facing the screen.  “You know better than anyone how she is.”

“Uh-huh,” John replied, turning on the moveable stool until he was facing his friend.  “She said you’ve been having nightmares.”  He watched as David continued to stare at the screen, occasionally sipping on his beer.  “Have you gone to the Veterans Administration?”  David didn’t respond.  “Hey, buddy,” John said, to get his attention.

Several seconds later David turned to face him.  “What?” he asked, almost annoyed.  “You going to try and save me now, too?”

“Save you from what?” John asked, studying David as his friend turned away again.  When David didn’t answer, John knew not to push.  Brig Owens picked off an errant pass and ran the ball 26 yards in for a touchdown, putting the Redskins on top.  The crowd erupted with mixed emotions of cheers and moans.  John sipped slowly on his beer.  “So I was thinking about going hunting in a few weeks and didn’t know if you wanted to go.  I have a buddy who has a deer lease in West Texas on about a thousand acres.  He was out there a couple of weeks ago and shot an eight pointer.”  He watched his friend continue to watch the television and gulp his beer.  “He’s got a hunting cabin.  There’s a lake on it.  Maybe we could do a little fishing.”

David just stared at the television.

“Maybe take a couple of girls up there, you know, and some six packs and see what happens.”

David turned to him, a perplexed look on his face.

“Just kidding,” John smiled.  “I was just seeing if you were listening.”

David turned back to the television, emotionless.  “What? Are you my wife now?”

John chuckled uncomfortably.  “No, seriously.  Let’s go.  Take your anger out on Bambi.  Get us a couple of bucks.  Knock back a few cold ones.”

David finished his beer, set it down and then tapped on the counter for another one.  He tapped next to John’s bottle.

John held up his hand to the bartender.  “No, I’m good.  Thanks.”  He turned back to David.  “What do you say?”

David turned to his friend.  “I say, quit trying so hard.”  He stared John in the eyes.  “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” John said, holding up his bottle.  “Just thought you’d like to get away for a while.”

David stared at him for a moment, then tapped his bottle to John’s and smiled.  “Sure.  Why not?” He turned back to the television.

John continued to watch David watch the TV.  “So, three weeks from Saturday.  Okay?”

David took a long pull on his beer.  “Sure.  Three weeks from Saturday,” he said without looking away from the screen.

John watched his friend for a few moments longer, then turned his own attention back to the television.

After about a minute, David spoke.  “Last one to get a deer buys the beer.”

John nodded, more to himself, as they both stared at the fuzzy screen above the counter.  He smiled to nobody in particular.  He knew at that very moment his friend was going to be just fine.

John and David met at the cabin in West Texas.  Their first couple of conversations after meeting at the bar seemed more upbeat.  John still wasn’t sure if David would show, but he was hopeful.  David had been talkative, even making jokes like he used to.  John talked to Becca, and she said she didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he’d seemed less depressed for the past week and was really looking forward to going hunting with his best friend.

David pulled up in his beat up old red ‘65 Ford truck.  Becca called it his “man-mobile.”  He used it to help move people, haul firewood or to go hunting or fishing.  If he went off the main road, he didn’t worry about tearing up a good vehicle.  It was ten years old and had less than a hundred thousand miles on it, but it looked like it had been through a demolition derby.  There were scrapes and scratches—deep ones.  The back window was missing; a casualty of a stray foul ball during one of the neighborhood baseball games.  No one claimed the ball; although David was pretty sure it was the newest kid on the school baseball team who had just moved in down the street.

John was unloading his gear when David pulled up.  The door to the old truck squealed painfully when he opened it and whined when he closed it, a sure sign that it was in dire need of lubricant.  John motioned a hello with a nod of his head.

“Hey,” David said, carrying his sleeping bag and rifle bag over his shoulders.  He dropped them on the ground a few feet from John.  John tossed him a cold beer, which he caught in midair.  He twisted the top off in a single motion, and sucked on it until it was half gone.  “Ahhhh,” he gasped.  “Now that’s how you start a weekend.”

John smiled.  “That and two eight-pointers right off the bat would be just perfect.”

“Yeah, well, same deal.  Last one to get one, buys the beer.”

“Feelin’ lucky, my friend,” John said as he picked up his sleeping bag and rifle.  “Feelin’ lucky.”

Walking into the cabin, they decided the guy who owned the property must be married.  No self-respecting hunter would build a hunting cabin then decorate it with frilly pillows on a nice couch, or have placemats and a decorative centerpiece set on the dining room table, or a rug on the toilet.  They enjoyed another beer and joked about how the conversation must have gone when John’s friend was having it built. 

It was still early in deer season and they had a thousand acres to themselves.  Both men filled their pockets with jerky, cheese and crackers, shells and cigarettes.  David carried his dad’s prized ‘67 Winchester over his shoulder, while John carried his Remington rifle under his arm.  They met in front of the cabin and went in search of the deer blind.  John’s friend told him they wouldn’t be able to miss it.

“I thought you were bringing D.R.?” John inquired, as the tall Johnson grass beat against their jackets.

“He wasn’t feeling good, and Becca didn’t want him out in the cold,” he said.  “I told her it would be good for him.”

“Won that one, did ya?” he chided.  “Now you have an excuse.  We’ll just have to bring him sometime before the end of the season,” John offered.

David glanced over at his friend.  “You’re awful cocky!  How’d you get away from Marissa?” he asked with a crooked smile.

“You kidding?  I told her it was a guy weekend,” he said gruffly.  “I told her that I deserved a weekend away to do manly things.”  He beat his chest with his fist.  “I’m not a pushover like you are with Becca,” he added without smiling.

David glanced over at him.  “Uh-huh,” he answered, “So, you gonna tell me what really happened or you gonna stay with that story?”

John lowered his head.  “I had to promise to take her to Vegas next month.”

“Sounds like a win-win to me.”

John shook his head.  “I’m so ashamed.”

“Welcome to the club, man,” David laughed, slapping him on the back.

John’s recent visit with Becca only reminded him how much he missed having Marissa in his life.  He had spent the rest of that evening and the next day wrestling with whether to call her.  His heart won out and he called her after David left the bar.  He then drove to her condo on the northwest side of San Antonio, so they could talk.  As usual, they did more than talk.  She moved back in with him the following Monday.  That was three weeks ago.

If he wasn’t working, he was with Marissa.  And both simply wore him out.  Marissa had an insatiable sexual appetite.  Her psychiatrist suggested it was because she hadn’t been shown much affection by her parents when she was younger, much like Becca, as Marissa had confided.  John didn’t need to hear that.  He’d already had to block out Becca and David’s exuberant, noisy lovemaking on their disastrous camping trip a few years before.

He loved being with Marissa, but felt she was always trying to make up for all the missed time in just a few short days.  She simply wanted to spend the whole time in bed whenever they were together.  He couldn’t handle it.  This weekend was a welcome respite from the bedroom.  John was ready for a man weekend.

The deer blind was more like a cabin on stilts.  John had no idea it would be as nice as it was.  Heck, he would have carried the sleeping bag and stayed here.  They climbed the blind and looked inside.  It was at least twenty by thirty, had a small kitchenette with potable water and a sink, and could easily sleep ten.  There was even a cooler.  It was empty.  No self-respecting hunter would leave a beer for the next guy, either.  There was also no toilet.  But guys didn’t need toilets.  Or at least if they did, they didn’t admit it to the other guys.

It was only about four in the afternoon and the best time to hunt would be dusk or early morning.  Neither of them were big on deer blinds, but since there was one, they would certainly entertain using it.  David and John stowed their equipment and their supplies inside and stood out on the deck, getting a bird’s eye view of the acreage to determine the best place to hide on the ground and speculating where they might see the deer first.

“Been working on your old coupe,” David said, glancing over at his friend.

John stood upright.  “Really?” He shook his head.  “Thought you’d given up on her.”

“Nope, think I’m close to having her running again.”  David looked out into the woods.

“We’ll have to take her out, then,” John smiled.  “For old times.”

David nodded, pensive.  He pointed at a clearing by one of the cluster of trees.  “That’s where they are going to show,” he said.

John looked around.  “Maybe,” he said cryptically.  He pointed to another area about 300 feet away.  “There.  That’s where they’ll show.”

David pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to John.  John took out his Zippo and lit both of their cigarettes, then grinned.  “You know there’s a rumor these things’ll kill ya,” he said, the cigarette between his lips.  “After what we’ve been through, wouldn’t that be a helluva deal?” he scoffed.

David continued to look around.  “Helluva deal,” he repeated almost as an afterthought.  “So, we gonna kill something or what?” he asked, standing and stretching.

John stood up straight, stretching as well.  “Hoorah!” he said loudly.

David turned.  “Up here or down there?”

John motioned with his head he wanted to go down.  They each grabbed their rifles and slung them over their backs while crawling down the ladder.  If they didn’t plant themselves now, there was a good chance they wouldn’t see anything tonight.  They walked several hundred feet in the direction of the clearing to see if there were any scrapes where the males had been.  John motioned his head toward a cluster of lower brush where there were a few honeysuckle and wild blackberry bushes.  The grass around the brush had been trampled recently.  But how recently, was the question.  If they were on a three-day cycle and they had just been here that morning or the night before, they might not see anything before Monday.  If the deer hadn’t been through in a couple of days, they might show tonight or in the morning.

David knelt by a pile of droppings and picked them up.  They were dry.  He wiped his finger on his pants, pointing at the brush by a trail.  John nodded in acknowledgment.  They walked fifty feet apart and each planted themselves on either side of the trail in different locations.  John watched as David crouched low and then leaned against a tree behind the foliage.  John did the same.  He looked around for a few minutes then leaned back on the tree, adjusted his hat and closed his eyes.

There was a faint whistle and John lifted his head.  He glanced up and saw David crouching and pointing toward the woods.  John readjusted his hat, then checked his watch.  He must have fallen asleep.  It was almost dusk.  John readied his rifle as he saw the first doe tentatively walk out of the forest, hesitating cautiously before continuing forward.  Suddenly two fawns trotted up behind her.  Twins.  Followed by four other females.  ‘Cmon, c’mon, c’mon,’ he said under his breath.  Just then an eight-point buck walked from the shadows of the woods.  He held his head up majestically as though wearing his rack like a crown.  John saw David slowly rise, setting his sights on the buck.  John slowly rose as well.  He raised his rifle.  He had a perfect shot.  He glanced across at David and then lowered his rifle.  When he swung his rifle back he hit the bush and suddenly a family of rabbits ran from beneath it, startling the deer and sending them scattering.

David stood, took aim and fired.  The deer ran in every direction, further startled by the report of the gun.  David tried to aim at the buck, but knowing he wouldn’t make the shot, aimed at a doe.  Suddenly, he held his gun up and watched as they disappeared back into the woods.  He turned to John and shrugged.  John walked from his hidden spot, and they met in the middle of the clearing.  “Had him in my sights, too,” David said, shaking his head.

“At least you took the shot, John said.  “Let’s go in.  Nothing’s gonna show now.”

David slung his gun over his shoulder.  “Becca packed sandwiches for us.”

John grinned.  “Marissa said she packed me something, too.”

“Well, if hers is as good as Becca’s, we’ll share.  Especially if they are cookies,” he smiled.

They went back to the cabin and sat outside on their campstools, each opening their special packages from their mates.  David opened his up and took out four sandwiches, two whole bags of chips and a large paper plate of cookies with browned edges.  He handed one to John.

“I’ve tried her cookies, remember,” he said, stone-faced, waving off the plate.

“That’s my wife you’re talking about,” David said, trying to sound offended.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, unable to come up with a better excuse.

“At least take one, so that I can honestly tell her that you had some.”  David looked down at John’s cooler.

John took a cookie and put it in between his lips without biting down, as he reached into his cooler and pulled out a Thermos and three Tupperware containers.  John popped the Thermos and smelled.  It was filled with Johnny Walker.  He took a sip and passed it on to David.

“My kind of woman,” David said as he smelled then drank from the Thermos.

John opened up one of the Tupperware containers and then looked up suddenly at David.  He wasn’t sure, but he might have blushed.  He tossed the uneaten cookie into the grass and wiped the crumbs from his lips before resealing the container.

David grabbed the container from John’s lap and opened it up.  Slowly, he reached in and picked up the contents and held them up.  He turned them around and looked at John, perplexed.  “What the hell is this?” he asked.

John started laughing and dropped his head into his hands.  When he finally looked up again, he grinned.  “That, my friend, is crotch-less underwear.”

David had a look of astonishment on his face.  “The hell you say!” He quickly dropped them back into the Tupperware container and shook his head.  “If I gave those to Becca she wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

John took the container back.  “Well, they aren’t exactly for her, if you know what I mean.”

David shook his head, quickly reached over and grabbed the Tupperware container, and stuck it into his knapsack.

John laughed out loud.  “And what am I supposed to tell her I did with them?”

David chuckled.  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

John opened the second container cautiously, peering through the side; then, exhaled.  He pulled the top off and showed it to David.  Homemade iced marbled fudge brownies.  His favorite!  He offered one to David, who waved him off as he was biting into one of Becca’s cookies.  It crumbled all over him.  He looked at John, stopped chewing and spit it out, then tossed the rest into the grass and motioned for John to hand over the brownies.

David nodded as he bit into a brownie, and gave John a thumbs up.  He took another sip from the Thermos and said.  “A deer hunter asked his pastor if it was a sin to hunt on Sunday.  His pastor looked at him and said, ‘from what I hear, with your aim, it’s a sin for you to hunt anytime.’”

John laughed hard as he opened the last Tupperware container, which was filled with pimiento cheese sandwiches.  He offered one to David and stopped, trying to remember something.  John smiled as he turned to his friend.  “So, there were these two hunters that weren’t having any luck,” he began.

“Sounds familiar already.”

“So they asked advice from an old timer,” he continued.  “‘You can just about guarantee a deer if you learn to hunt with dogs,’ he told them.  The two hunters got a trained deer dog and hit the woods.  At the end of the day and still empty-handed, one hunter said to the other, ‘Maybe tomorrow we’ll get one if we throw the dog out of a higher tree stand.’”