Letters from Becca: A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel by Margaret Ferguson Page B

and he had arthritis in his hip—the one they hadn’t replaced.  He’d had his gall bladder removed, his appendix removed, and part of his pinky finger blown off.
    He looked around the bus station.  It smelled—for lack of a better word—musty.  There was every size and age, race, denomination, and background of people imaginable waiting there to board.  A teenager with torn jeans and something in his ears that made his lobes look like he’d been initiated into an African tribe lounged on the bench to his right.  A Hispanic family with four children chattered away in Spanish by the cashier, while another family next to them spoke a language he’d never heard before. 
    A dark-skinned man and his young son, both wearing matching Dallas Cowboy jerseys with the number 22 on them, were talking excitedly about football.  A woman and a man in business suits carrying briefcases talked on their cell phones, while a couple of teenagers were kissing—bordering on petting—by a wall.  A young corporal in fatigues played with his camouflage hat, twisting and turning it in his hands.  There were dozens of others, waiting for buses to their ultimate destinations.  He held his bag tighter in his lap.
    He looked at the people and wondered whether they were traveling to somewhere or running away.  How many of them had seen war?  How many of them had suffered abuse?  Either at the hands of someone they loved, or even a complete stranger?  How many of them were on their way to see their families or friends?  Would they be able to hold a loved one just one more time?  Would they be able to say “I love you”?  Or would they be too late?
    John opened his bag and took out the shoebox.  He slowly slid off the lid, a small tremor in his hand causing it to shake.  He shuffled through the letters, all in dated order, and pulled one out.  Slowly he took it from the envelope and unfolded it.
    Dear John,
    Still here.  Still waiting on the letter you promised to send six months ago when we last saw you.  Still not pregnant.  It’s heartbreaking because we both want kids so badly.  David reminds me it’s all in God’s timing.  I just wish He would hurry up!  I told him if we have more than one son, I wanted to name him Johnny Dale, after you and his dad.  He said that’s fine as long as the kid doesn’t grow up to look like you!  Marissa writes me and tells me she sees you when she’s in town.  She’s really crazy about you, you know?  Maybe when we are back in Texas we can all get together again.  It’s always too long between our visits.  I miss our talks.  I miss seeing you.  I miss you hugging me and telling me everything will work out and that everything is going to be okay.  I miss you…Always Yours, Becca xxo
    John refolded the letter and placed it back into the box.  He picked up a stack of pictures, placing them one behind the other as he looked through them.  He found a few that gave him pause.  There were assorted pictures of the four of them standing in front of his old coupe with the forests of Canyon Lake as the background.  He smiled, then closed his eyes.  For a moment he could smell the cedar trees around him and the clean lake air.  He could hear the waves softly lapping at the shoreline and the frogs singing to each other.

Chapter 8:  Friday, October 13, 1967
    John wasn’t thrilled about the idea of girls on a camping trip, but David kept insisting it would be fun.  Of course, he was singing a different tune when they only came up with two tents, and Becca insisted that the guys bunk together.  To add insult to injury, Becca had insisted that he and John use the smaller tent and that she and Marissa use the larger one.  She hinted at a few sexual incentives, so he reluctantly acquiesced.
    Although David and Becca had been married just over four years now, John and Marissa had only recently started dating.  So this was stepping way outside his comfort zone.  Oh, they had