Explosive Paradise: From the Eyes of the Injured (eBook)

Chapter Three:
Opening Letter

From Meta

October 3, 1979

Dear Breta Gale,

Can’t wait to come. Last week I rushed into the cleaners to pick up my winter clothes. They are as ready to leave as I am. I skipped out of the cleaners, humming with anticipation at the thought of escaping Miami’s brutal humidity, but this thrill stopped as I saw my car’s front passenger window smashed. I thought to myself, that is what I get for parking in a convenient spot in downtown Miami. When I sat down in the car, I reached for my pocketbook, but it was gone from the seat, and the realization hit: not only did my car have a damaged window, someone had robbed me. Coin change from the laundry provided me enough to phone Uncle John and Aunt Ann. Uncle John promptly contacted the police.

As I stepped out of the phone booth, two policemen appeared near my car. One collected finger prints from my 1968 Volvo while the other asked about stolen items. Then I remembered besides cash, my driver’s license and my Sears and American Express credit cards were inside my pocketbook. Once the police finished, I drove to Uncle John and Aunt Ann’s condo. At Ann’s recommendation, I called the two credit card companies to report them stolen. Uncle John’s being a district court judge has its perks. The police likely responded more promptly than if I had phoned them. Uncle John explained to me burglars required fast action because they could’ve still been hiding nearby or in my car, ready to steal it and kidnap me. I did not think of this, but John reacted from years of experience in criminal hearings. The police called the next morning, waking me. They’d found my purse but no money. They wanted to return it to me. I wasn’t sure if it was really the police talking or the thief. My tension eased when they said I could pick up the items at the station. I asked how they’d found my pocketbook.

“A Sears cashier became suspicious when three guys used a credit card with a woman’s name on it. The cashier pushed her alarm, which led to our response. We matched their fingerprints to the ones we took from your car. She deserves thanks.”

Can you believe the police solved my case in Miami within twenty-four hours? The police have yet to close a year-old murder case of a friend in Coconut Grove. I look forward to seeing you in the Rocky Mountains. Do you think Lake Evergreen will have ice for skating by December? Will write you again with trip details. Love, Sis

October 31, 1979

From Meta

Dear Breta Gale,

Miami’s intense summer heat is shifting. The stale air that hung on for days began a subtle change that I sense parallels my life. My male friend from the past five years pressured me to become his girlfriend. I don’t feel the same about him. Although he is a fun date, our relationship became stagnant, similar to Miami’s humidity. Weighing thoughts about telling him goodbye burdens my mind, yet it is only a matter of picking the right time. I sense this will be soon because I accepted a part-time night position teaching English. It starts at the community college tomorrow and will not only pay for my vacation to see you in Colorado but leaves me an excuse to spend less time with the guy who wants more from our relationship.

The image of your smile while riding Rommey under yellow aspen trees rustling in a cool wind refreshes my mind away from Miami’s smothering heat. These days Miami’s heat slows you to a turtle crawl, drowning you in perspiration. With today’s weather, I am headed to Aunt Ann and Uncle John’s pool for a cool swim.

Last week, Aunt Ann felt my winter coat lacked enough warmth for your house at ten thousand feet of elevation. Maybe she used this as an excuse for us to go shopping. Aunt Ann is full of fun, even with her malignancy. She hides any signs of cancer with an infectious smile. Her dimpled smile almost matches yours. Looking at her, I do not perceive her tumor spreading. Shopping with her flooded me with her energy. Ann insisted I buy a wool poncho with a matching skirt from South America and nudged me to buy leather boots lined with sheep’s wool and then insulated gloves guaranteed to minus forty degrees. You would think I am flying to the North Pole instead of to your house in the Rocky Mountains. With the powerful Miami sun shining down, Ann chuckled at me trying on winter outfits. I giggled while wiping away beads of sweat from my freckled face. We enjoyed the day despite profuse perspiration.

Before writing to you, I called Dad to plan a surprise visit for Mother’s birthday. Our mutual purchase for her birthday gift should arrive by tomorrow. I look forward to staying over in their house on St. Pete Beach with cooler ocean air, a reprieve from Miami’s overbearing humidity. They are both well and enjoying retirement. Love, Sis

November 25, 1979

From Meta

Dear Breta Gale,

Happy Birthday! Enclosed find two gift cards, one for your next hair appointment and one for the day spa. After eight hours of manning the phone at work, I am writing. At work, if I am not on the reference desk phone, I am holding another phone to plug it into the side of my computer to locate medical research articles. I am thankful to be off the phone and have quiet, uninterrupted time to write you.

As Mother told you, both John and Ann are dead. I am not sure what details Mother passed to you, so I’ll fill you in from my view. I still can’t believe Aunt Ann and I were shopping less than a month ago. Her lung cancer diagnosis came at too late a stage for survival. What started as a cough persisted. Chemotherapy and radiation were palliative and not meant to prolong her life. Uncle John informed me two months ago of her situation. I dismissed the seriousness of her condition given her appearance. Two weeks before she passed, I drove her to a barbershop to shave her head. Ann wore short hair and often drove with John to this same barbershop. I opted to take Ann so John could rest. When the barber finished with her, Ann’s sunken eyes directly stared at my hair, matted and damaged from hours of swimming in the ocean and pool.

She said, “Meta, today I am going to pay for your haircut. I remember when your sister, Breta, lived with us, her thick curls withstood the harsh pool and sun. Your hair is finer and appears unhealthy.”

Her remark led me to feel the knotted split ends in my long hair. The barber suggested cutting off all of the dead ends. I agreed. Only when the barber handed me a mirror did I regret my choice. I had to suppress my shock at looking more like a boy than a girl. Ann sensed my dismay. She told me that short hair requires little management and is cooler. She was right. When we walked out of the barbershop around noon, I felt less of the scorching sun than when we entered that morning. Ann handed me an extra pair of her long, dangling earrings as a remedy for me to appear more feminine. On my last visit with her, her capturing smile deceptively created a separate picture from her emaciated body. I did not expect her imminent death. She remained at home with painkilling medication, allowing her to pass away peacefully in her sleep.

I didn’t expect Uncle John’s death. After Ann died, John announced he planned to wed a nurse in a private ceremony. They met while she was taking care of Ann. Only from Mother’s call did I learn of Uncle John’s death. Mother phoned me after our parents had an unexpected Miami visitor. The visitor presented to our parents dressed in a tailored suit. He introduced himself as Henry, John’s bailiff for over twenty years. To verify his identity, he whipped out his driver’s license and a photo of him with John and Ann. Henry had only our parents’ address and no phone number. Further confirmation came later when he described to our parents an Easter photo Ann once showed him of our family.

He said to them, “In a family photo at John and Ann’s, I saw your daughter Breta with blonde hair and a flawless complexion standing next to Meta. Tucked under the brim of Breta’s Easter bonnet, her cute smile beamed to command the photo’s center of attention. Despite Meta being shorter and having freckles on her face, anyone would know they were sisters. I recall an older boy and girl blended into the photo in their church attire, yet seemed to have different facial features from the rest of your family. Ann informed me you became their foster parents.”

Uncle John briefly introduced me to Henry yet I saw him from afar each time I waited for Uncle John to finish in the courtroom. I am unsure of how much Mother told you about this, so I will continue. John gave Henry a house key and a letter authorizing Henry to act in case of emergency. He showed this letter to our parents before continuing to explain his visit. John had urged Henry to come over the day before his marriage. He found John sober and of clear mind when John said, “Go after my new wife if something happens to me.” Evidently John had second thoughts. Henry felt John’s instincts had warned him not to trust his bride-to-be. A few days into their honeymoon cruise, John’s wife found him with a bullet in his head. The authorities declared it a suicide. His newest wife honored John’s navy service and had his ashes sprinkled at sea. Mother told me Henry had tears in his eyes when he told them he found no prenup. The new wife...