Unpredictable Love Page 3

  She slipped her finger under the flap and tore it open. The thin piece of paper inside had scrawl on both sides. Another gulp of her drink gave her courage. She unfolded it.

  Dear Jory,

  I shouldn’t be surprised to find there aren’t many birds here. Guess with all the shooting, they get scared away. But there’s one persistent one. I think he’s a hawk of some kind. Binocs here aren’t used for bird watching. You know what I mean. He’s not big, but definitely a raptor. I watch him scan for mice and rats.

  Seems like he and I are both doing the same thing. I’ve seen him on and off for the past few days. I call him “Rocky,” cause he’s gotta swoop down pretty low to see between the rocks. Anyway, he’s tough, and Rocky is a tough name. I miss the birds at home. The little finches are my favorite. They’re tiny compared to Rocky, and he’s not even big by hawk standards. But they are pretty. They come to my feeder and don’t mind if I watch.

  Wish I could be there with you on a stormy night, I’d hold you until the crashes are over. I’m not afraid of storms. Never have been. Here there’s too much else to scare the shit out of you. A little thunder would be a relief.

  Had a few other things in mind to do with you on a rainy night, but I’d better keep this clean. You know where my head’s at. Hope you don’t meet some normal guy who isn’t sleeping with a gun and naming birds. Please keep your letters coming. They give me hope.

  Yours,

  Trent

  Jory put her drink down long enough to wipe her eyes. Then, she chugged the rest, tucked his letter away in a scented box, and pulled out fresh paper and pen.

  * * * *

  Monday, on her lunch hour, Jory drove to Hanson’s Flower and Feed. She cornered the owner, George Hanson, and gave him the third degree about finches.

  “Here’s what they like to eat,” he said, dragging over a huge bag of wild birdseed. “We got a lot of finches up in this neck of the woods. So, you’re gonna need a couple of feeders and a shitload of seed.”

  “Okay. Can you give me a break, seeing as I’m feeding wild birds out of the goodness of my heart?” She shifted her weight.

  “Nope. How’s things with that soldier? I hear you write him pretty regular.”

  “What business is that of yours?”

  “Marla at the post office says.”

  “Marla should keep her nose out of my business. So, are you gonna cut me a deal?”

  “Not for the finches, but anything for our boys in the military. I’ll take five bucks off.”

  “It’s not much, but I’ll take it.”

  “Hope you’re gonna show that boy a good time when he gets home.” George winked at her. His eyes glowed with salacious mischief.

  “George, aren’t you a bit old for that kind of thing?”

  “Never too old to use what God gave you.” He snickered, walking to the register.

  Jory chuckled and shook her head. The man’s over seventy and still getting it up?

  George hauled the big sack of seed to her car and loaded it in the trunk, along with three plastic feeders, and an Audubon guide. Jory left work early to set up her little avian fast food eatery. She placed them where they’d be visible from her window on the second floor as well as the living room. She dusted off an old pair of binoculars that had belonged to her father then made a pot of tea to take upstairs.

  It wasn’t long before the colorful, small creatures found the food. She watched the chickadees and goldfinches peck at the seeds as the sky mellowed to a warm pink. Leafing through the book she’d bought, Jory identified each one dining at her feeder. She wrote down their names. Their tiny beauty intrigued her. She marveled at the different kinds that landed on her perches to grow fat on sunflower seeds.

  Chickadees, nut hatches, and goldfinches were her favorites. Watching them eat brought peace to Jory and an almost palpable connection to her soldier. She wrote to Trent about her new feathered friends. He shared his stories and doodled drawings of small birds from memory. She tucked his little pencil scribblings into glassine envelopes to preserve them.

  His next letter inched closer to her heart.

  Dear Jory,

  Do you have dreams? When I was a kid, I wanted to be a fireman. In high school, I took a bunch of computer graphics classes. It was fun, but not an easy road for a career. At eighteen, I decided to follow my dad’s example and be a Marine. We moved around a lot, but Mom and Dad were happy. So I didn’t complain too much.

  I hope to be stateside permanently, someday. A little house, with that standard, white picket fence, 2.3 kids, and a beautiful wife sound damn good. Sometimes, I see that when I close my eyes. Helps me sleep. Who do I picture as the beautiful wife?

  Why you, of course. Tell me your dreams. Gotta go. Lights out.

  Love,

  Trent.

  It was the first time he had signed “love,” and it took her breath away. Did she love him back? No way, not yet, couldn’t be. He wasn’t her type. But, oh, he was so sweet! She pushed the idea out of her mind, smoothed a piece of stationery on her lap desk, and clicked a pen to begin.

  Dear Trent,

  You asked about dreams. I used to have all kinds. But not for a long time. My only dream has become making it through each day. I’m sad to admit I don’t dream anymore. But I used to. And in huge, colorful scenes.

  When I was little, I wanted to be a princess and dreamt about a handsome Prince. As I got older, I realized that was silly. After all, you either had to be born royalty or marry a prince. And how was a prince going to find little Jory Walker, tucked into a cramped apartment on 77th Street in Manhattan, amidst all the much prettier girls?

  By thirteen, I had abandoned that dream. Then, my dreams involved pro athletes, movie stars, and rock stars. I had a crush on about a dozen hunky guys. Even a few on our football team, I’m embarrassed to admit!

  I pictured living in a townhouse in Manhattan with a rich man. Having four kids. Sending them to private school. Having a cook and maid. When I dream, I dream big! Lol.

  By the time I was sixteen, my dream had changed to a nice house, two kids, a job writing, and Mike Longley, our quarterback, as the husband. But the next year, my parents died. Mike went to college, and my dreams came to an end. I’m sorry to be such a downer, but you asked.

  It’s getting late, and I’ve an early deadline tomorrow. Sleep well. Be safe and come home to me.

  Hugs,

  Jory

  She wiped her eyes, tucked the letter in the matching envelope, and sealed it. Her revelation to Trent dug up old feelings. Carefree days when she’d simply lived without worrying about money, cooking meals, and her sister’s behavior, seemed so far away.

  “No sense going back there. Nothing is the same. Move on,” she said to herself as she switched out the light.

  Every week, she deposited four letters with Nan and retrieved four from the mailbox. She marveled at how he managed to find the time to write. Sometimes, his were only a few lines. Even the shortest note said she was on his mind. He treated her as if she was special, a new experience for Jory. Her lengthy responses surprised even her, as she had never been talkative.

  After a month, she felt comfortable enough to write about her parents and the traumatic events of their death.

  Dear Trent,

  I don’t talk much about my parents. Their death seems so long ago, but I doubt I’ll ever get over that day. I even remember the sound of the doorbell when the police came. Up until then, it had been just an ordinary day. I came home from high school, thinking about my bio test and which homework I should do first. Life was so simple. After that visit, nothing has been the same.

  Things got complicated, damn complicated. I had my little sister to think about. I grew up about ten years’ worth in a month. Even now, I miss them. There are still times I wish I could ask their advice. They were great parents.

  At least I have my aunt Nan. She’s pretty good, but she’s not them. You’d think by 32, I’d be over that crap. Nope. So
rry to get so maudlin. Didn’t mean to be negative. Otherwise, life here is good. How are you getting along?

  Please keep your head down, and don’t forget to write.

  Warm regards,

  Jory

  Trent’s reply came faster than most. She wondered what his response was to her sob story. Her fingers itched to rip it open and drink in his words right there. There was no way she could wait until bedtime. Passing the envelope from hand to hand and back again, she decided to read it now. Jory slipped the letter in a pocket and headed for the door.

  “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Nan said, her hands on her hips.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be back soon, real soon.”

  Jory headed out the back door of their modest house to the woods. She had a “sad place,” as she used to call it. About a hundred yards in was a fallen tree. Jory had piled up stones to make a small wall. She’d sit on the log and mope on days when being an orphan got to her. Nan knew about it and left her alone.

  When she reached the spot, she was relieved to see an opening in the trees, allowing afternoon sun in. How else could she read his letter in such a dark place? She sat on the trunk, her back against a large pine, and ripped open the envelope. Hmm. Two pages.

  Dear Jory,

  Wow. Your letter blew me away. How did you do all that stuff? You weren’t even eighteen yet. You took care of your sister, managed to move in with your aunt, and get along with her? That’s a pretty sad story. You must be strong to go through that and survive.

  I lost my parents too. But I was much older. I was 26 when they died. Dad first, from cancer, then mom, a year later, from grief. I’m an only child, so I didn’t have to look out for a sibling. How did you do it?

  My uncle came for me. He helped me sell the house, pay off their debts, and find a room to rent. I lived there until I was deployed and ended up here. I get how you miss them. I still want to ask mine stuff too.

  Especially my dad. He was military too. It’s been seven years, but I don’t think that ever goes away.

  If I was there, I’d find a way to make you forget. Heh heh. There I go, getting dirty again. You’ll have to straighten me out when I get back. Or maybe make my dreams come true.

  Hey, this letter is supposed to be about you! I wish I could wave a magic wand and make you smile. Suck the sadness from your heart. I’m sending you one, monster bear hug to make you forget. Us orphans have to stick together.

  I’m impressed you made it without going nuts. That shit isn’t easy. I think you must be an amazing lady. I can’t wait to meet you.

  Yours,

  Trent

  Jory couldn’t believe how similar their stories were. As she read his letter, he seemed to be sitting right next to her. In her mind, she heard a voice she imagined as his, reading it aloud. His words were comforting.

  She touched the paper then brought it to her lips. So many people had said they knew what she was going through, but no one really did. That was the other hard part—the loneliness. Nan had been a good listener, but she’d grown up in an intact family. Although she tried hard, she couldn’t quite get the emptiness engulfing Jory.

  This was the first time she’d felt a connection with anyone about her loss. Deep down inside, something from Trent touched her through this letter. It was a game changer. No longer could she shrug him off as some stranger she had nothing in common with. Now, she had something so basic, so essential, so down-to-her-core the same with him, she trembled at the thought. He got her. Through the mail, he got her, got who she was, how hard her life had been.

  Tears flooded her eyes. She returned his missive to her pocket to keep it dry as she searched for a tissue. Jory had given up hoping to find someone who’d understand that part of her life. She’d closed it off, put it on the shelf to gather dust, to forget the fear, the sadness, and the uncertainty she had faced at seventeen.

  Now, she had opened it up for SSGT Trent Stevens. She had put aside her fear of seeming childish or stupid and shared her feelings. He didn’t disappoint. He hadn’t made fun, or ignored it, or pretended it wasn’t important or serious. He had done the right thing. His understanding lifted the darkness from her heart, even if only temporarily. She smiled as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  Maybe her mom had sent Trent to comfort her. Then, she shook her head at the notion. Don’t get all mystical. Take it for what it is. A great guy who gets you.

  Jory pulled it out and read it again. She loved his support, until it got to the part about meeting. Her blood ran cold. That would be the day when this attachment would break. Her heart slowed and depression closed in around her, like a dark cloud. So? We meet. He hates me. We part. So what? Nothing ventured, nothing lost.

  But she didn’t believe her own bullshit. Anticipating his correspondence, putting life on hold to write back, kept Jory on a high. Love? She shivered at the thought. Friendship was more like it. One thing was set in stone—it was much too late to call it off.

  Sometimes, she got nauseous when she thought about the day of reckoning. He’d signed up for three years and only half of that had passed—she had plenty of time to figure it out.

  This new letter` had changed the stakes. The writing that had started out as a lark, with Jory picking up the pieces of another Amber mess, had progressed way beyond. Trent had become much more than a pen pal, and it was time to admit the truth.

  * * * *

  Days without letters were disappointing. She noticed a sluggishness about her gait when the mailbox was empty. I’m not falling in love with him. He’s just a friend. A good friend.

  “Do you know that your appetite is less when you don’t get a letter from Trent?” Nan said, putting a mac and cheese casserole on the table.

  “That can’t be true.”

  “It is. You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” Nan pulled out her chair.

  “Nonsense.” Jory added a healthy portion to her plate. “Where’s Amber?”

  “Out with Troy. Fast food for them tonight.”

  “She shouldn’t eat that stuff.”

  “She’s thin enough. It won’t kill her. When are you going out with Archie again?”

  Jory’s stomach got queasy at the thought. “I don’t know. If I get lucky, never.” She shoved the spoon in her mouth.

  “Never? You’re finished with him? I thought you two were an item.”

  “No one says that anymore. And no, we never were. Never will be.”

  “He struts around town like he owns you.”

  “Amber says he complains to everyone that I won’t sleep with him.”

  Nan choked on her food. Jory handed her a glass of water and patted her on the back.

  “Do you have to tell me that when I’m eating?” Nan said, when she regained her breath.

  “Sorry.”

  “What are you going to do? One man here you don’t like, the other over there you do, but he doesn’t know it’s you.”

  Nan’s succinct spelling out of her dilemma brought tears to Jory’s eyes. “I don’t know, Nan. I just don’t know.”

  Her aunt put her arm around the young woman’s shoulders. Jory cried, hiding her face behind her napkin.

  “Hey, kiddo. It’s okay to cry. This is crazy.”

  “I need to dump Archie. He keeps asking me, and I keep turning him down.”

  “What about your job? Doesn’t he have influence?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I need a new one. The guy from the Oak Bend Reporter has been calling me. Mac Caldwell, my old dean from Kensington State, recommended me for managing editor.”

  “Why don’t you go for an interview? Not that I want you to move. But if it’s the best thing, then do it.”

  “How will you and Amber get along without my contribution every month?”

  “I’ll make Amber get a real job.” Nan chuckled.

  Jory dried her eyes and nodded. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  There was no time to c
all the Oak Bend editor because Archie Peabody had been stalking her, hovering around her desk all morning. Ever since she had written about the Pine Grove soldier pen pals initiative, her sort-of boyfriend had been shadowing her.

  Archie strolled by Jory’s desk for the hundredth time that day, and stopped. He leaned on the corner. “After that piece on the soldier, I suppose you don’t want to go out with tame old me anymore,” he said, making eye contact for a few seconds before lowering his gaze.

  “I’m writing him letters, Archie. That’s all. I wouldn’t know him if I fell over him.” She turned her attention back to her computer and continued typing.

  “Does that mean you’ll go to the concert with me?”

  She looked up, frowned, and nodded.

  Archie leaned over to whisper in her ear. “And spend the night?”

  “Nope,” she replied, turning her attention back to her work.

  “What’s the point?” His face flushed. “I spend all this money on you, and you won’t even sleep with me.”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  “It’s the truth. I’m the one who should be ashamed, not you.”

  “So, it’s about money? Doesn’t that make me a hooker if I sleep with you?” She drew her stare from the keyboard to meet his and cocked an eyebrow.

  “You twist everything I say. Forget the concert. I’m done, Jory. I like you well enough, but this celibacy thing, it’s not for me. It’s gone on too long.”

  Wounded by his words, she sat back. “Just out for sex, eh? Goodbye. Forget it, Archie.” She made a shooing gesture with her hand.