The Letter

The flames crackled, danced around the logs, blackened the paper’s edges. Lavinia, feeling every one of her eighty years, picked up another log, and fed it to the fire. Lifeline could have her furniture and her china, but the fire would get her photos and her memories.

‘Here you are.’

Lavinia felt her heart skip, then flip, faster than any eighty-year-old’s heart had a right to.

‘Johnathon, I didn’t hear you arrive.’ Her eyes darted to the white cockatoo on the veranda of the old Queenslander. ‘Sarge asleep at his post. Again. Never mind.’ Her tone brightened. ‘I had a feeling you’d visit me today. You always seem to know when I need cheering up.’

Johnathon held both her hands in his. ‘You’re freezing. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll make you a cuppa.’

‘Donna might call in this morning.’

Johnathon’s face fell. Lavinia’s heart fell even further.

‘Donna would love to meet you.’

Not exactly the truth.

But then Lavinia’s relationship with the truth was the same as her relationship with Donna. And Johnathon.

Complicated.

They climbed the steps and stopped at the door to the living room.

‘Looks like you’re ready to move.’

‘Next month. We’re taking these boxes to Vinnies on Friday. You could come with us?’

Johnathon threw her a look that said he’d rather face a fleet of enemy submarines.

‘Then after we could all go out for lunch. Together.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Good.’ Lavinia gave a smile that stretched all the way up to her eyes and reached all the way down to her heart. ‘Sit down, and I’ll make your coffee.’

Jonathon sat on the lounge, flicked through the pile of photographs on the coffee table, and picked up the one of Donna playing on the beach. Lavinia placed the coffee on the table and sat down beside him.

Lavinia nestled into his shoulder. ‘I’m so glad you came back.’

‘You know I would’ve come earlier if …’

‘Shhh.’ There was no time for apologies or regrets, or resentment. ‘We’re together again. That’s all that matters.’ Lavinia closed her eyes wanting the moment to last forever.

‘Enemy off the port bow.’ Sarge screeched.

Lavinia flicked open her eyes. Where was she? The framed mirror on the wall. Boxes piled as high as the Empire State Building. Donna standing at the door. And Johnathon missing in action.

Donna walked into the lounge room, looked at the cups on the coffee table. ‘You’ve had visitors.’

‘Johnathon dropped in today. He wanted to stay and meet you, but he had another appointment.’ Lavinia struggled to her feet. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea.’

‘No need. I’ve only got an hour to spare and wanted to go through some more of your things.’

‘There’s no rush is there?’

‘Well. No. I guess not. But you’ll feel so much better when you get rid of this stuff.’

Lavinia wasn’t sure how getting rid of her ‘stuff’ was supposed to make her feel better. Pretty soon there’d be nothing left of her life. It’d be as if she’d never existed.

Donna went into the bedroom and returned carrying an armful of clothes which she dumped on one of the armchairs. She held up a floral dress with knife edge pleats. ‘What’ll we do with this one?’

 ‘I want to keep that. It was your father’s favourite. Those Saturday nights we’d spend dancing.’ Her voice was soft and filled with longing.

‘Dad didn’t dance.’ Donna’s words were sharp, slashing Lavinia’s memories, leaving her deflated. Donna rolled up the dress and dumped it back onto the pile,

‘I remember wearing it to the Trocadero. In 1944. Or was it 1945?’

‘More like 46. Dad was one of the last groups of soldiers to be brought back to Australia.’ 

Lavinia remembered. Definitely 1945.

Just before the war ended.

Just before her life changed forever.

She remembered every second. The spring sunshine, the scent of roses, the weight of the letter, heavy in her handbag.

And Johnathon

Waiting for her in the park.

She ran the last part of the way down the path into his arms. Johnathon held her tightly, so tightly she could barely breathe. When he released her, she looked into his eyes, tried to read the expression on his face.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘We’re shipping out in a couple of days.’

Lavinia’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. ‘But…you can’t. You have to stay.’ Lavinia’s tone begged for more time. More to dream, more time to find a way to be together forever.

Johnathon held her hands. ‘Lavinia.’ His voice was distant, already on its way over the ocean to California. ‘Be sensible.’ There were no tears, no we’ll meet again promises. ‘Besides, Robert will be home soon.’ Johnathon said it like the future was inevitable, and hearts could be mended with a consolation prize.

Lavinia wanted to scream, tell him how much she loved him, beg him to take her with him.

But she didn’t. ‘At least we have a few more days.’ More than enough time for Johnathon to change his mind. After all they were in love.

‘Why make it any harder than it already is? Let’s remember the good times.’

Remember? How could she forget. She slipped her hand into her pocket, touched the letter she’d written the previous night. Her hands closed tightly around the envelope.

 ‘Mum? What about this one? Mum?’

Lavinia’s eyes flicked to Donna, then to the dress she was holding. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

Donna’s sigh turned into a moan. She accompanied it with a God-give-me-strength expression, then glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Mum I’ve got to go. She stooped and gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek on her way out. ‘We’ll finish this later.’

 When Donna left, Lavinia went to the box and liberated the floral pleated dress, folded it gently and placed it in the bottom kitchen drawer under the lace tablecloth. Some things just deserved to be set free.

                                                 ***

‘Ahoy ya landlubbers.’ Sarge was on the afternoon watch and welcomed Donna and Lavinia back from Vinnies. Lavinia scanned the empty lounge room hoping Johnathon had changed his mind about meeting Donna, then sat at the kitchen table as Donna made a pot tea. She opened the bottom drawer to get a fresh tea-towel and found the floral print dress with the knife-edge pleats ‘What’s this doing in here?’

‘I wanted to keep it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I loved it. Your father loved it.’ Lavinia stood up and turned.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I want to show you a photo. You’ll see how beautiful it was, why I can’t throw it away.’ Lavinia found the photo, returned to the kitchen, and handed it to Donna.

‘See?’ Lavinia’s word dropped, landed with a thump like a shoe dropping on a wooden floor.

Silence

Donna’s eyes narrowed.

Silence.

A silence so wide and deep it stretched like a canyon between them.

The thud of the second shoe. Donna’s eyes flew to Lavinia’s. Her face twisted. ‘No-o-o-o.’ Her voice was hushed so as not to disturb the truth.

Lavinia’s stomach churned, acid burned her throat, but she refused to turn away from the truth and the horror in her daughter’s expression.

‘This isn’t my father.’ Donna’s voice was low and slow and measured.

‘Donna, I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time.’ Her tone was gentle trying to soften the blow. ‘I only wish Johnathon were here, so we could’ve told you together.’

‘I’m glad he’s not here. I don’t want to speak to him. Or meet him. Or get to know him.’

‘It’s time you met.’ Lavinia kept her voice even-keel calm.

‘Why? He’s had plenty of chances to meet me before now. Why hasn’t he?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘I don’t want to ever want to hear his name again.’

                                           ***

Lavinia walked through the empty shell of her home. No furniture, no furnishings, just a giant, aching hole in her heart. She stood on the veranda, pulled her jacket closer.

‘Mum it’s time to go.’ Donna’s voice called from inside.

‘Just a few minutes longer. Johnathon said he’d call in this morning.’

Donna joined her on the veranda. ‘You told him where you were going didn’t you?’

‘What if he’s forgotten? Besides, I have to give him this.’ She held up an envelope. A scrunched, dirty, time-worn envelope.

 ‘Why don’t you leave the letter here?’ Donna gently pulled the letter from Lavinia’s hand and tucked it through the bars of the empty cage, then put her arm under her mother’s elbow.

 Lavinia shrugged off her hand and turned. ‘One more minute.’ One last look. A pile of ashes, Sarge’s empty cage, Johnathon’s letter. Tears pooled in her eyes. She blinked them away. Tears didn’t help, didn’t change things, would never extinguish the eternal flame burning in her heart.

Lavinia straightened her back, took a deep breath, then turned to join her daughter.

‘I’m ready.’