I love you forever,
Billie Marie Price
No answer. Two weeks and no response. Not just to the first letter. I'd written him several-sometimes they were just song lyrics or excerpts from a book or poems. In each one, I gave him another piece of me. What if he wasn't getting the letters? Oh God, what if it was too late? I wouldn't think that. I'd keep writing. And each day I waited anxiously at the mailbox, wondering if I'd get all of them back.
* * * *
Rick had to go to Davenport to argue with suppliers about their lax shipping practices for his latest client. He didn't want to go.
"You have to go, Rick," Marley said. "It took a long time to get this appointment."
"I don't want to leave you. It's three hours away."
"I'll be here," I offered. "And Dillon's coming over later so we can sort out the nursery."
"I'm not due for another two weeks anyway. Go, Rick," Marley urged.
After a few more negotiations, he grudgingly went.
I helped Marley mail out invoices for him and update his database.
"How about tea?" she asked, clapping her hands. "We deserve a break."
"Sounds good. I'll make it."
"You sit. I need to move around," she said.
She brought it out on a silver tray.
I picked up a porcelain cup, sticking my pinkie finger out and shaking it with great exaggeration. "Fancy."
"Remember we used to do this as kids?"
"We used plastic cups and filled them with Kool-Aid. You and Stevie were too old for it, but you always played with me."
"We liked it too." She took the composition book from me. "Maybe you should take a break from this too. Just for a little while."
"I stopped writing them. They weren't working anyway. I bet he's not even reading them."
"I'm sure he's reading them."
"It doesn't matter. I can't convince him."
"Why do you say that?"
I buried my face in her shoulder. "I think he already resigned himself to it. He's not suicidal but he's also not opposed to death. I can't understand it myself, so it's hard to explain."
"I understand it, Billie. I wasn't far off from that place once."
I lifted my head. "No, you weren't. You were in a bad place but not … not-"
"I was. It was right after my father died. Everything came out. The nightmares started."
"How did you pull back from that?"
"With your help."
"I know … the family."
"Yes, everyone, but especially you."
"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything for you. I was just a kid."
"You did. And you have with Evan too, even if he doesn't have the surgery. You've made a difference in his life."
"It won't matter."
Marley took the teacup from me, setting it down. I leaned against her shoulder. "I want to show you something." She took out a worn page from her pocket. The paper had torn in a few places from being unfolded and refolded many times.
"What's that?"
"Your letter to Santa. You were seven and I was fourteen."
"Why do you have it?"
"I found it in Mom's purse that year. Do you remember me when I was fourteen?"
"You got in trouble a lot."
"Yeah, the nightmares were in full swing. I hated my life. I was at a point where I welcomed the misery. Anyway, I was trying to steal a twenty from Mom, and I found this letter. I stole it instead. Mom knew. Hell, I think she planted it there on purpose."
"Why did you want it?" I asked, carefully unfolding it. I remembered the paper-my mom's special stationary. The writing was all uneven, the letters formed with such sharpness that I had surely broken quite a few pencils writing this. But I could tell I must have been determined for it to be neat.
"You'll understand when I read it to you." She went to reach for the letter but stopped. "Actually, I have it memorized. Dear Santa, My name is Billie Marie Price. I know that sounds like a boy's name but I swear I'm a girl. I met you at the mall last week, but you probably don't remember since there were a lot of kids. I asked you for a Lady Lulu doll, but I changed my mind. I hope that's okay. You see, my older sister Marley is different now than she was. She has scary dreams and swears a lot. One time she hit my mom. She didn't mean to do it. She cries at night. I can hear her. She's not bad girl. She's a great sister. She showed me how to throw a ball like a boy. I don't know why she is like this now. Santa-please fix her for me. Please make her smile again." Marley's voice choked. "I pray to God every night, but I think he's too busy to help us. Maybe you can talk to him for me or put some magic potion in my stocking for Marley. I promise if you do this, I will give up all presents for the next ten Christmases and birthdays. All I want is my sister back. Write back if you need to ask questions, but not in cursive. I can't read cursive yet."
I choked out a laugh at the last line, which transformed into a cry. Marley wiped my tears, or maybe I wiped hers.
The memories started flooding back all at once. The reason I didn't like Lady Lulu to begin with? She wasn't the gift I wanted. The reason I loved her after? Marley seemed to be better after that Christmas, even though Santa hadn't granted my wish.
"Over the years, I've pulled this letter out, especially when I'm in a really dark place. It's helped me more than you can know. It didn't cure me of my depression but it provided the ray of light I desperately needed at the worst times. To know that someone loved me so much she'd give up Christmases and birthdays to see a smile on my face." She patted my knee. "Little Bird, don't ever think you don't make a difference."
Dillon found us huddled up in the midst of tears.
"What the hell is wrong with you two?" he asked, dragging a hand through his glossy curls.
"Hormones," we both said in unison.
He shook his head, heading toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make a sandwich. There's too much estrogen in here … even for me."
"Wait, Dillon … my water," Marley said, her eyes widening.
"Is it in the kitchen?"
"No, it broke."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
"I don't see anything," Dillon said, looking around the sofa for what I assumed was spilled water.
Then his eyes landed on her lap. I'd never heard a guy shriek, but that's what Dillon did.
I stood up. "Oh my God, your water broke? Just like that?"
"But the baby's not due yet," Dillon spat.
"I guess she wants to be early," Marley said, attempting to get up.
"Shit!" Dillon and I both commanded at the same time. Then we head-butted each other as he went toward Marley and I headed for the stairs.
"Damn, that hurt!" I screamed.
"You have a small head but it's as hard as a brick," he said, rubbing his scalp.
Marley sighed in frustration. "If Abbot and Costello are done with their routine, I'd appreciate a bit of assistance."
"Actually that was more like The Three Stooges."
"Dillon!"
I took Marley's hand just as a labor pain shot through her.
"Is that your first labor pain?" I asked.
"Yes."
I walked Marley to the car while Dillon locked up.
"I couldn't find your overnight bag," he said, jumping into the back seat.
"It's okay. We can get it later. Let's just go."
I stepped on the accelerator.
"Breathe, Marley," Dillon said. Then he scrunched up his face and sucked in so much air I wondered if there was any for the rest of us.
Marley bent over.
"Are you okay?" I asked, grabbing her arm.
"Yeah," she said, cracking loudly with laughter. "You looked like you were going to poo, Dillon."
"Very funny. C'mon, kid, breathe with me. Why are you slowing down, Billie?"
"Look." I gestured to the elderly woman walking steadily despite her cane. Rolling down my window, I called to her, "Mrs. Garcia, what are you doing out here? You have to go home." She wasn't even wearing a jacket this time. No doubt she'd snuck out of the house again.
"Oh, Marley, how are you?" she asked me. She looked inside the car. "What's wrong with Billie?" I had no time to correct her. Marley let out another yelp but it wasn't laughter this time.
"You have to turn around and go home. It's cold out here and there's a busy street up ahead. You could get hurt."
"I'm going to the restaurant. It's a big night for us. My husband will be wondering where I am."
"Billie," Marley's stained voice brought me back to reality.
"Dillon?" I asked. "We can't leave her."