I understood Audrey better after listening to this man who never laid eyes on her.

He preached a sermon full of Bible verses warning against the wages of sin and the promise of rewards for the faithful and virtuous. Then, as all Southern Baptist preachers do with rare results, he called all the sinners among those present to the altar for a chance to repent. After a one hour and thirty minute service, it would’ve taken a very brave person to go forward. When no one did, we all breathed a sigh of relief and slowly followed the crowd behind Audrey’s pallbearers down the steep front stairs.

Kristin waited until we four walked alone to speak. “Hey, Ronni,” she said. “How is your book coming along?”

“It’s been written and rewritten and rewritten. I think I’m pretty close to finishing it,” I said. “Thank you for asking. I still don’t know if it will be published.”

“Of course it will. I’m looking forward to it!” she called, turning toward her car.

“So am I, Kristin. So am I.”

“It has more twists and turns than Chubby Checker in a maze,” Rick added. We stared at him blankly. “Children,” he muttered. “Y’all are children.”

The letter was waiting when we got to my apartment, addressed in Bettina’s perfect script with no return address. I hurried to the kitchen to open it as Rick tapped a drumroll.

“Well,” I said, “this is it.” I slit the envelope with a sharp knife as Rick watched from across the kitchen table. The smaller envelope within was the color of weak tea, taped twice with flaking cellophane. The back flap read “CeeCee, please give this to Violet only after I’m gone.”

The seal was undisturbed and I had to open it very carefully. I pulled out the typewritten pages and gasped as I scanned them.

“What? What is it?” Rick jumped up and came around to read over my shoulder.

March 23, 1958

Dearest Violet,

You are always on my mind, no matter where I go or what I do.

The thought of you brings light into the darkest day.

There is something I have to tell you. Nothing happened the way it was supposed to, Violet. I was a stupid, heartsick kid at the time.

Please understand. I was ten years old, longing to go home with you every time you left. I only wanted to look at your face and stroke your blonde hair. I would’ve done anything, given anything, to hear you laugh at my jokes. To notice me. To need me for something. For anything.

You were the only world I wanted to live in.

Over and over I watched you get into Johnny Perkins’ shiny black car, the one that cost more than my family’s house. I saw Johnny kiss your lips. I saw the light beaming from your eyes when you talked about him.