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Anthony started fiddling with the radio.
Curiosity finally overcame me, and I carefully opened the envelope, pulled out the stack of letters, and kept her pictures inside, not wanting Anthony to get a glance at them.
Country music blared out of the radio.
I glanced up.
Anthony gagged and switched to a hip-hop station, bobbing his head to the beat for a moment, before flipping to a rock station next.
“No. Not that either.” He shook his head in disapproval and continued his quest.
I returned to the letters and found the first one Zuri ever wrote to me.
It was now five years old.
I took it out, the paper still crisp, her handwriting still graceful and elegant, her perfume still lingering. The envelope seemed to pulse with life, with memories, with love.
Meanwhile, Anthony landed on a station playing “Oh Holy Night.”
Go ahead. Read it.
I shivered with fear and put my gaze on the window.
The city sped by outside, a blur of lights and people, but I was lost in a different time and place.
Why am I so scared?
It was insane that I could go into a bar with just two guns and kill seven men, yet when it came to Zuri. . .
My fingers shook.
Do it.
I broke the seal, a strange sense of anticipation and dread filling me.
I unfolded the letter, Zuri’s words coming to life as I began to read.
My Love,
I hope this letter finds you well. I know how hard these days must be for you, but please know that I’m thinking of you, praying for you, loving you.
I miss you more than words can express, and my heart aches every day without you.
There’s so much I want to tell you, so much I want to share. But for now, let me just say that I believe in you, in us, in our love.
No matter what happens, no matter how far apart we are, we are connected.
Always and forever.
Be strong, my love.
I’m looking into possible appeals for your case.
Hold on to hope.
You said move on, BUT I’ll be waiting for you, counting the days until we can be together again.
All my love,
Zuri
The words washed over me, a balm to my soul, a connection to a past that seemed both near and far. I could hear her voice, see her smile, feel her presence in every line.
Yet, there was no mention of a child.
Did she know yet? Or. . .is the child not mine. Is it someone else’s?
Rage roared within my frame, but I calmed it down.
No. Don’t get mad. I told Zuri to move on. If the child is not mine. . .I will understand.
The car continued to speed through the city, but I was adrift, trapped between hope and fear, love and loss, the past and the future.
I tucked the letter back in its envelope.
Then, Anthony started singing. “Fall on your knees!”
What the fuck?
He dramatically gestured with one hand as if conducting an invisible orchestra. The other hand remained firmly on the steering wheel. “Oh, hear the angel voices!”
I raised my eyebrows.
“O’ night divine!” He hit the high notes with ease. “O’ night when Christ was born!”
So, he’s a choir boy too?
Ignoring Anthony’s concert, I reached back into the envelope and grabbed the second letter.
“Led by the light,” Anthony sang, “Of Faith serenely beaming!”
Sighing, I opened the second letter.
More of Zuri’s perfume filled the car.
Her handwriting danced across the page.
My Love,
I went there today, hoping to see you, to talk to you, to touch you, even though the cold glass.
But they told me you had refused all visits.
I know that you think you’re doing that for me, trying to protect me, to shield me from the pain.
But Dante, PLEASE, don’t do that.
Don’t push me away!
I will only love you, forever and always. There’s nothing you can do to change that.
I don’t know if you got my first letter. I hope you did. I hope you know how much I miss you, how much I need you. Every day without you feels like an eternity, a void that nothing can fill.
And. . .there’s something else, something I need to tell you, something I hope will bring you joy.
I’m pregnant, Dante.
We’re going to have a child.
I love you, Dante. More than words can express.
By the way, your lawyer Clinton thinks we have a strong case for your appeal. We just need your approval to move forward.
Please, let me visit you. Let me be there for you, as you have always been there for me.
Forever Yours,
Zuri
Something slipped from the folds of the letter and landed softly in my lap.
It was a picture of Zuri.
I picked it up with shaking hands.
In the picture, Zuri stood sideways. She wore a white top and black pants, and there, unmistakably, was a baby bump. It was more than just a slight curve—it was a prominent, beautiful swell.
Fuck. . .
The white top’s fabric stretched over her belly.
