Escaping Life Read Free Page B

at his bedside.  No calm
smile and early morning kisses, the familiar kind that are undeterred by the
smell of stale breath from the passing night.  “What’s wrong?  You look like
you’ve seen a ghost!”
    Elizabeth
placed the paper neatly before him.  She knew that it would sound crazy to say
she had received a letter from Rebecca.  Better just to show him , she
thought.  She spread out the pages, pressing them into the soft down of the
quilt.  She pretended to search for the notice, as if she didn’t already know
exactly where it was she was looking.
    “Here, look.” 
She tapped the paper frantically with her ink-stained fingers, as Graham sat
himself upright in bed, the duvet falling away revealing his naked chest.  Any
other morning Elizabeth would have reached over, pushed him back onto the
sheets and kissed him, his tight chest and sun kissed skin too much of a
temptation to ignore.  Today, she had other things on her mind.  Graham reached
for his glasses on the bedside table and after securing them in place and
rubbing his gritty half asleep eyes, he sat upright and picked up the paper.
    “Betty, I never
stopped missing you.  I’m so sorry that I had to go away.”  He looked up at his
wife, who was nodding in agreement at the strange letter before them.  “I know
in your heart you will believe this is me, and I know you will read it.  It’s
time to learn the truth.  Your big sister.”  Taking a big breath in, he bought
himself some time, unsure of how to respond. 
    “You missed the
name, Graham.  Becca.  It says Becca.”
    “I know.  I
know.”  He paused.  “This is today’s paper?”  He rummaged for the front cover,
snatching at hope as he looked for the date.
    “Graham, of
course it’s today’s paper.”  She wasn’t irritated by him.  She knew he wasn’t
stupid, but rather like her, was completely bereft of answers.
    “Listen, baby,”
he said as he tried to stifle a yawn.  “There is no way that this can be from
your sister, or even intended for you.”  In her mind she knew that that was the
most reasonable answer.  But she couldn’t accept it so easily.  Biting her top
lip, she pushed on.
    “Learn the
truth?  What does that mean?”  It was the most cryptic message, as much in its
wording as the possible identity of the sender.  He could see her initial
eagerness for answers was giving way slightly:  giving way to a look of hopeless
hope, impossible dreams and the kind of sadness that he hadn’t seen on her face
for such a long time.  He didn’t say anything at first.  Instead he put the
paper down and stretched himself back onto his pillows, one hand on his neck, and
one hand running through his floppy hazelnut bed hair.
    She tried to
wait for his silence to pass but her impatience was no longer able to withstand
it.  “It sounds like her,” Elizabeth said.  She was almost embarrassed to say
it out loud as she looked down at the bed, aware of how crazy her last
statement sounded.
    “Elizabeth, it
can’t be.  It’s a horrible coincidence.”  He reached forward, and she felt the
heat from his body against her own skin.  “It can’t be from Becca.  She’s
gone.”  As he reached out his hand, his large and supportive palm caressed her
che e k.  She nestled her face
into it.  He took off his glasses and placed them back down on the bedside
table as he guided her down next to him.  She shuffled herself into his
embrace, and he held her in his arms, their faces touching, his stubble
scratching familiarly at her face.  It always left a red rash, but she didn’t
care.  She felt so cared for in his arms, and knew in her heart that he had to
be right.  The dead cannot speak.  She thought of the day when he had told her
that there had been an accident.  She thought of the visit she had made to the
scene of the crash, and how the images of the burning car had stayed with her
for so long.  It had happened only four days after her