A Flash of Something Better

Welcome back, gentle reader! This is my entry for the Letters of Love 2022 event headed by SisterJezabel. I love her idea of bringing attention to an overlooked category, so here we are! This short tale has a softer tone and isn't as weighty as some of my others.

The letter is a follow-on from my story A Flash of Red. Reading that story would help provide background but I think there is enough context for this to stand on its own and in any event, it's not very long. Thanks always to my special friends who gave this a test read. You know who you are and you are all appreciated!

As always, I apologize in advance for my poor copy-editing skills and appreciate any feedback, whether good, bad or indifferent.

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Will had barely climbed in the back seat and clipped his seat belt before the driver accelerated the car away from his job site. The force all but threw him backward.

Jesus, am I going to have to tell this guy to slow down?

After a moment, when he was somewhat certain he wasn't headed for a wreck, Will pulled the folded letter from his pocket and opened it, smiling as he recognized Anna's scrawling handwriting. Doing his best to ignore the driver's erratic steering, he began to read.

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My dearest Will,

I hope you're settled in nicely while reading this. I've tinkered with this all day as I try to get the length right without leaving out anything. Hopefully, you will have just enough time to read it before you get home.

I know that taking a ride-share home isn't really your speed and I apologize for that, but I think if you read this before you got behind the wheel of your truck, you might wreck your truck before you got to the house. I want you to be able to concentrate and absorb everything I'm about to say—umm, write.

Now, before you panic, I am not going to reveal any tragic or devastating news on these pages. I have not been cheating on you, I don't have cancer, or anything of the sort. Let me just put your mind at rest on that score by adding one thing.

I love you so very much.

I never thought I would find a love like this. After watching my mother and father and seeing what his leaving did to her, I wasn't sure I wanted to ever put my heart at risk. Who would want to endure such pain? I told you before that my father was a complete bastard but my mom loved him. I think she still does, a little. She hid her rejection behind a tidal wave of booze. I hated watching her descend into that hell and what it did to my relationship with her but I did understand.

If you ever left me, would I do the same thing? The rational portion of my mind knows you won't but I cannot imagine anything more devastating and on an emotional level, I'm afraid to look at the idea too closely.

Watching your parents reassured me. I love Mona and Jack as if they are my own and they are completely adorable! It doesn't matter that they've been together for three decades. They still smile and laugh together, hold hands, and look at each other with longing. With that example, I figured you'd want the same sort of relationship for yourself.

I know in every relationship, partners have expectations of each other, and I'm glad we talk about ours. I hope I'm living up to yours, because you're certainly living up to mine. You've done so, so much for me—for us—and my affection and desire for you have done nothing but multiply these last four years. I loved you, I think, almost from the very beginning. From that first time we had breakfast together, I felt the spark. And now? Now you are the air that I breathe, the water that I drink, the blood that pumps in my loving heart.

Two years ago, when you knelt and placed the ring on my finger, I thought I was going to pass out. You remember how much I cried, right? I was happy and excited and so in love ... and I was so scared that it was all in my head—that the universe was dangling the thing I wanted most right in front of me, only to snatch it away in a moment of cruel taunting. But a few weeks later, as we stood before the justice of the peace and pledged ourselves to each other, while your parents smiled and watched, I knew it was real. I didn't care about a big ceremony, or lots of presents, or a fancy reception. We had each other and that was enough.

And it was so perfect. You looked so handsome in your new suit. I fretted a bit. I thought I was too heavy, that my dress was too simple. So, so badly, I wanted you to be proud to have me on your arm, and I was terrified you'd come to your senses, see me for the plain, fat girl I am, and call it off. In my bout of worry, I made myself queasy. The thought of fleeing, just before we saw the judge, was incredibly strong. The closer the time got, the more eager my runnin' feet were.

Your mother, God bless her, smacked some sense into me—verbally, anyway. She saw how edgy I was, pulled me aside, and grilled me until I confessed my fears. I was stunned when she laughed at me. Mona reminded me how in love with me you were—are. She said that she and Jack both knew their son and that he would never get as far as the judge's outer chambers if he didn't love me like he did. So we went in and when I saw the look in your eyes ... Let's just say I could tell you were thinking of throwing me to the floor and making love to me right then. All of my fears disappeared and I knew we'd be married forever.

It was, too that point, the happiest day of my life.

Our brief honeymoon was perfect, too. I know we couldn't afford to take much time off from work but the weekend was wonderful. You didn't have to carry me over the threshold but I loved that you did. And our first time together as a husband and wife? I know it wasn't any different from a hundred other times we've made love but I still treasure the memory. It wasn't different, but it was.

Writing that made me think of the next night, in the restaurant. I can't believe you convinced me to sneak under the table and give you a blowjob right there. It's probably the naughtiest thing I've ever done in my life. The notion that we might be caught had me shaking, and incredibly excited. You were already rock-hard the moment I unzipped your pants. The only regret I have is that I wish I could have seen you try to keep a straight face while I glided my lips up and down your shaft, and the moment when you finally blew. You know that was the first time I ever swallowed, right?

Of course, you could have warned me that the waiter had come back with our meals before I popped out from beneath the tablecloth. Even though he was nonchalant about it, I thought I was going to die from embarrassment. You just laughed. I honestly wanted to stay mad at you ... but both the back massage and the time you spent with your head between my thighs that night were acceptable penance.

Penance. We've often used that term loosely, in a joking way around the bedroom. It was always flirtatious, especially those times you would chase me, grab me, and throw me over your knee. You'd say, "Pay your penance for being a bad girl and running," as you gave me a couple of light swats. I'd just laugh and laugh. It usually led to something even better. I've always thought it was a playful way to tease each other, and always associated that word with it.

Except ...

I don't even remember what exactly started that fight. You know which one I mean. The fight. Something minor, I'm sure. I know we were both tired and stressed. You had just started the contract at the truck repair shop and I'd made assistant manager, and neither of us was sleeping enough. Looking back, I'm appalled at how fast it escalated. Even now, my face turns red and I start to tear up when I think of some of the awful things I said in the heat of the moment. I don't think it really hit me until you stormed out, slamming the door behind you, and drove off.

The moment you were gone, my anger fled, and in an instant, I regretted every single angry thing I'd just uttered. I'd spent plenty of time by myself in our small home but that was the first time I felt truly alone. My mind flashed back to my father and before long, I had convinced myself that you were going to leave me.

That probably sounds silly but remember the example I had. We'd never fought like that and I was worried. No, I was panicked. Nine months into our marriage and I was terrified it was over. No, scratch that. I was terrified that I had lost you. I did the only thing I could think of.

I called your mother.

There's no doubt my incoherent words, half-slurred by my sobbing, spurred her to drive over and come to my rescue. Mona sat with me, held me, and let me weep until I had cried all the tears I had. Her quiet calm became my refuge amid my fears and in her comfort, I developed the desperate hope that maybe I hadn't destroyed us.

I wasn't surprised that when you returned, your dad was with you. Like your mom, I expect Jack was the same firm-but-gentle hand directing us back together. The look on your face broke my heart all over again. I could tell you weren't angry at me any longer. You were hurt but what I saw most was regret.

As fast I jumped off the couch, I'm surprised it didn't slam into the wall. I grabbed you and started babbling and apologizing. When you wrapped your arms around me and pulled me close, the tears came again. That was a surprise; I thought I had nothing left to cry. You whispered in my ear, telling me you were sorry for what you said and for leaving, and that you loved me. I didn't have the strength to squeeze you as hard as I desired. I wanted to pull us so close together we'd never be apart. I barely remember Jack and Mona slipping out and leaving us alone.

We performed our penance—our mutual appeal for forgiveness—on each other that night. It was soft, gentle, and healing, and before I fell asleep with your arms holding me in your embrace, I knew our love was secure. I know that probably won't be our last fight but when the next one happens, I want us to make sure that we come back together before long.

Your parents, lovely as they have always been, are hardly the best thing you've brought into my life. I'm not even talking about all the small things you do for me day-to-day, like making me my first cup of coffee in the morning or rubbing my feet after a long day, even when I know you're tired yourself. I hope you never feel I take those actions for granted. I don't; I love and appreciate every one of them and I try to do things for you, like making sure you have a hot meal on the table every evening. I know I'm not a great cook but I'm trying and I think I'm getting better!

No, I mean the big things you've done.

I love you for taking hold of the damage to my self-esteem, wadding that damage up, and tossing it over your shoulder like a hot dog wrapper at a baseball game. You know how I've always felt about myself. Wavy red hair, pale skin, glasses, a round face, and carrying some excess weight. I've never thought of myself as beautiful, or even attractive. But you, Will ... you look at me like I am the most desirable creature on the planet. You make me feel gorgeous, lusted after, and everything in between. You've given me a confidence in myself I never had. Oh, I was always able to take care of myself out in the world. The circumstances of my teens saw to that; my mother and I would have been homeless, otherwise. But you give me security in myself, to feel like I'm worthwhile.

And you can't keep your hands off me! Even if your words lie, your body doesn't. I love it when you walk up behind me when we're both naked and wrap your arms around me. The press of your chest against my back, while your hands are about my waist, is delicious and wonderful. And I love it when you let your hands wander between my legs, when you separate me with your fingers and stroke me until I come. It's gotten so bad that as long as your hands are on my waist, I'm fine. But the moment you creep down my abdomen, I become soaking wet. That's why I am happy to give you surprise blowjobs or have sex when I'm not in the mood (though if I start that way, it never lasts, 'cause you always end up getting me in the mood). I talk to women at work who, after a couple years of marriage, barely have sex and don't even touch their spouses all that much. I never want that for us. I always want your hands on me, sexually or not, and you seem to want that too. I love that you desire your wife as much as you do, which is as much as she craves her husband's touch. Thank you for that.

Speaking of my weight ...

(We weren't speaking of that but allow me my vague segues!)

I love you for encouraging me when I wanted to lose weight. You knew after our wedding that I felt self-conscious about my size even though you've never said a discouraging word. You working out with me and offering all that positive reinforcement so I could lose that thirty pounds was so encouraging—as was you dragging me through it on days I wanted to give up. I thought it was cute that you pouted when the weight loss meant I had to buy new bras a few months ago. You looked so disappointed. Will, I only went from a DD-cup to a D-cup. Quit whining, there's still plenty there for you to play with! (That was written with a smile and a wink.) I'll never be super-slender but I feel comfortable and healthy now, and you were a big part of me getting there. I love that you still help me stay in shape. Thank you for that.

I love you for encouraging me and helping me with my mother. Her relapse was hard on us and I admit, I was frightened. The idea of going through all that—again—was so daunting. I didn't know if I had the strength to deal with it when she went back into rehab, and I worried about it affecting us. Marriages have broken over far less.

But you were so patient. I remember you gripping her hair when she was vomiting, then picking her up off the bathroom floor and just holding her when she had the withdrawal shakes. You were my rock, my anchor. You tethered me with your love and gave me hope. I know you even offered to pay back Aunt Betty for the rehab money she spent on Mom. You thought I didn't know but I did. I also know Betty refused.

(By the way, as she's gotten to know you, Betty told me I'd be insane to let you get away. She thinks you're the best thing that has ever happened to me. She's right!)

Mom's been without alcohol for thirteen months now and she's doing as well as I have seen her since I was in high school. You know that already but it feels so good to write it! She got her first pay raise at the clinic, too. Did I tell you I think she met someone? She only hinted and was coy about telling me too much but I think she has. For the first time in a long time, she actually seems happy and it feels like our relationship is finally starting to heal. I love that you were so caring and wonderful with her. Thank you for that.

I love you for taking care of me. When you told me that we had saved up enough money that I no longer had to work, I was a little taken aback. I mean, I was upfront that my job was just that and not a career I loved or anything, but I wanted to contribute to us. I wanted to be an equal partner. I can only imagine my expression when you told me you wanted to concentrate on my writing and try to get my books published. I remember my hands shaking and asking you how we could afford that. When you told me you had sold your first piece of wrought iron artwork, I was ecstatic. Not because of what you were offering but because you had succeeded! I was so proud and happy for you! Of course, I immediately started going on about how you could quit work too and we could live the dream as starving artists and ... and ...

You gently took my hands and said that it was one dream at a time—that you loved your job doing welding and that you were happy with the few hours a week that you could put into artwork but also wanted me to have something that made me happy, to be able to pursue my aspiration of being an author. No one has ever taken such a big step on my behalf and I am still equal parts chagrined, humbled, and adoring that you would do that for me. If there was ever a time in our marriage where you were in danger of dying from being fucked to death, that week might have been it. We didn't but not for lack of trying!

You've laughed and told me you found it adorable how I stare at my computer screen, scowling and scrunching my nose as I rack my brain for the right word; at how I sigh, take off my glasses, and rub my eyes when I get stymied on a plot point; and you describe my smile and intent stare at the screen when I got in a good groove and the words were flowing. Having watched you circle a piece of your art, which you eyed with your critical gaze, and seen how excited you got as you welded it together—and knowing how much of a turn-on that was for me to see you so happy—I know exactly how you felt.

You're aware that I've spent the last eight months polishing some things I'd written and sent off queries to publishers and agents and all. I could not have done that without you giving me the time to do it or without your belief and faith in me. I love you for supporting me in my writing. I love you for reading my work and offering feedback. I love you for giving me the opportunity to make my dream come true. Thank you for that.

So, so much you've done. I am in awe of how you treasure me and put me first. I honestly wish you would let me do as much for you as you do for me. I could go on and on—fill page after page—about all the things you've done for me in the past but Will, I actually want to talk about our future.

Before I do, I have to make a small confession. I didn't need the truck today and I don't have an appointment that's keeping me from picking you up. I wrote this yesterday but I suspect when I asked for the truck this morning, you agreed though the look on your face was annoyance since I have put off buying my own car. Yes, you've been (not-so-subtly) reminding me for weeks that I need to make a decision, and yes, I do feel guilty about that. No excuse, aside from that I've been procrastinating—which turned out to be a good thing, as I've had to change my plans on which vehicle I want.

We've talked so much about where we go from here. I think we were in agreement that as long as we were together, everything else would be fine. That's true, of course, but I also want you to know that I want nothing more than to build a life with you, Will. I want the joy of everything we can share: our successes, a family.

I know that we talked about kids. I love children. Their innocence, their joy. I do want them. I admit I'm nervous. After my father left and my mother crawled into a bottle, I was deathly afraid. I'm fearful of destroying a child the way I was almost destroyed. I mean, my mother told me she loved me in one breath and called me a whore in another. I remember you saying there were no guarantees in life but that you had every faith in me that I would never end up like my mother. As with everything else we wanted, you said we had to be willing to chase our dreams—and that as long as we were together, we'd be able to handle anything else. I agree. A thousand times, I agree.

I agree. I'm glad you want children. I'm glad your family is so stable and that you've had a good positive example for our foundation.

So back to building our life together. I have to tell you a couple of things.

First off, I sold a book! It was The Care and Feeding of Wild Dragons. You told me that it was a wonderful story and would be the first one I got sold and published and you were right. A few weeks ago, an agent agreed to represent it. Carol told me that it was perfect young-adult material and she was eager to show it to some people. Well, two days ago, she called me and let me know a publisher has expressed interest. I was offered an advance of five thousand dollars. Not enough to make us rich or anything and I haven't signed yet but Carol is negotiating a long-term contract, meaning they want me for as many as five books! I can only say that I could not have done it without your love and support—from giving me the time to dedicate to my craft, to instilling me with the courage and confidence I needed to risk submission.