Page 64 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
* * *
Speaking of the best . . . how is your lovely sister, Claudia? What? I wasn’t supposed to write that? Well, I did. Edward showed me the picture you sent. She’s a pretty one, and she looks smart too. I’d love to meet her someday.
* * *
Hello, my love! I’ve wrestled the pen away from Jack. He’s keeping busy running the finances for the Caribaldi Extravaganza. He says it’s doing quite well, but his parents miss the theater. Perhaps they will sell it someday and return to the stage. Maybe we’ll all do it together! Run theaters—can you imagine? Who knows? All I know is this: I am getting closer.
* * *
Every day, I’m closer to coming for you.
* * *
Every night, I think of you. I remember our times together—the shows we performed, the meals we ate, and the late-night conversations where we shared all our hopes and dreams for our families and for us and the adventures we’d have.
* * *
You told me of Claudia and how you cared for her when your mother was too ill.
* * *
I remember you telling me of your sister’s every little accomplishment and how they felt like yours too. When she did well on her English exam, when she treated your brother’s broken arm, how she snuggled with you on Sunday morning.
* * *
And most of all, I recall the night we spun the globe instead of the wheel. We spun it, picking all the places we wanted to travel to someday. I showed you my favorites, told you my plans. “We’ll go to the Amazon and find treasure.”
* * *
“We’ll go to Paris and see the Moulin Rouge,” you said.
* * *
“We’ll travel to China and walk along the Great Wall.”
* * *
“We’ll go to Vienna and hear the orchestra.”
* * *
“We will do it all. We will travel the world.”
You placed your palms on the globe, I covered your hands with mine, and we kissed over the world.
* * *
All those stories you shared, I keep in my heart, locked tightly in a secret compartment that belongs to you. When we reunite, you can tell them to me again, and they will never grow old.
* * *
For I know we will reunite.
* * *
I never doubt that soon, soon, I will find my way back to you and give you the life you deserve.
* * *
Only ever yours,
Edward Wilkinson
(It’s a good banker name, no? It sounds so official. Soon, I will be Edward Wilkinson, industrialist, and perhaps, after hours, a midnight rider who gallops on horseback through the circus to steal away his girl for a lifetime of new adventures.)
Dear Edward,
* * *
A midnight rider? Ooh. Now, I am intrigued.
* * *
Tell me more about this horse and this plan. I love a good escape. Will you hoist me on the horse, and shall I wrap my arms around your waist as we race away under a starry sky, no one any the wiser?
* * *
Or will you storm into the big top, ride past, and lasso me from the wheel of death right before a blade slices me? It will be a story told for generations, of course. The intrepid knife-thrower-turned-banker-turned-midnight-rider who rescued his woman from the clutches of an unsavory ringmaster? I can picture it now.
* * *
We’ll change our names.
* * *
We’ll start a new life.
* * *
We’ll begin a brand-new adventure.
* * *
You and me.
* * *
And we’ll make sure Claudia is taken care of. We’ll make sure my family is safe for all time.
* * *
That will be our great escape.
* * *
Ah, that will be the bedtime story I tell myself tonight.
* * *
For now, I sit in front of the mirror, applying my makeup, turning my lashes long, my face pancake white, my lips red.
* * *
I brush my hair.
* * *
I tie a red ribbon in it, for I no longer wear pink. I am only the Pink Ribbon Girl with you. With him, I am the Woman in Red, and I long for the day when I can shed that identity and leave this servitude behind.
* * *
Yours now and forevermore,
Greta Drumansky
(The woman who longs to be in pink again.)
December 1922
* * *
My Dearest Greta,
* * *
The time is coming. Please know I will be there, and you will never have to worry again.
* * *
P.S. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. What if you don’t remember what I look like? How I kiss you? What if you no longer love me? These are the things I worry about when I can’t sleep.
December 1922
* * *
My Dearest Edward,
* * *
You are a silly man. Do you think I love you for your face? I love your heart. Your big, beautiful heart. I love your iron will. It cannot be broken. I love your steel determination. Most of all, I love your soul, and when I see you again, I will fall into your arms and kiss you so madly, the world will wink off. It will be you and me, and it will feel like we are the only ones alive.
