A Man For All Seasons (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

19. What If, Part One

Julia

Freddie didn't respond right away- verbally, that is. His mouth worked nervously, lips parting a time or two, but nary a sound left them; he flailed his hands around, as if trying to act out a solid, bona fide explanation now that words had betrayed him. I gave him no direction, I asked no questions; I just sat there and waited.

"Well, uh- you see, darling," Freddie finally stammered when he saw that Charades wasn't getting him anywhere fast, "yesterday Danny wanted to sort of show- uh, show us what was in there, the box I mean- and uh, I guess he forgot to put the envelope back in or whatever, because then John had it and he passed it to me while we were at the mall, and- and that's actually why I ran to be honest, I wanted to, um- sort of look at the contents. I mean, he said you had meant it for me, so really I just thought there would be no harm in opening it, since uh... um..."

He trailed off, casting his gaze to the floor. "Well, anyway, there you have it," he concluded with one last awkward smack of the lips.

I peered into the chest one more time, took inventory of everything else. On the bright side, if one had to be optimistic, the cats were still there, along with the rest of my commemorative junk- but nostalgia was no substitute for the truth.

"Did you know what was in that envelope, Freddie?" I asked.

He nodded. "Your letter. That's what he said, anyway."

I snapped my fingers. "Bingo. The one I dated July 14, 1977, explaining why I was walking away. The one that by a great miracle made its way back to me, singed and still sealed."

Freddie swallowed hard.

"And now we don't know where it is. Right?" My voice was cool- not chilly, just cool. There is a difference.

As for Freddie, though, by now I could barely hear him. "Right."

Like the nasty little opportunists they were, Stuart's words from throughout the day rose once again from their hiding places. But I studied the man before me, could practically see the regret dripping from every pore; I had seen less pitiful expressions in SPCA commercials. I knew all it would take was one sour note to change the key of the night from major to minor- and whatever my current feelings, that was the last thing I wanted to do.

Nevertheless, the question had to be asked: "Did you at least get to read it?"

The skin of Freddie's face seemed to pull even tighter. He looked away in shame, the black brows carving a deep ridge between them as, with obvious effort, he shook his head no.

I closed my eyes. Breathe, I begged myself. Don't yell. Don't be snide. Don't curse him, or be mean, or waspish, none of that. Just breathe.

I breathed- and I didn't yell, and I didn't curse him. In fact, I didn't raise my voice in anger the whole evening. But the rage had to come out somehow, some way, or else I would have burst with the strain. So I laughed.

It was a kind of flabbergasted laugh that lets rip when you have hit a dead end, very different from what I had heard bubble out of Freddie two days before I wrote him the letter- and only minutes before he "convinced" me to stay. Nothing accusatory, nothing even particularly angry, just complete, resounding defeat. But I might as well have been shouting all sorts of vile things at him; the longer I laughed, the more visibly devastated he became.

"Okay," I sighed at last, reining myself in bit by bit. "Okay, then."

That's all I said- but somehow it scared him even more. Fear shooting through his eyes, Freddie took my hands again and squeezed them. "I didn't mean to lose it, I promise, I never- I wanted to read it, that's all. I'm sorry."