Unpredictable Love Page 4

  “You don’t get it. Fine. We’re done.” He stormed off in a huff.

  Gladys in the advertising department looked over at Jory. A sharp glance from the journalist sent the nosy, older woman back to her computer.

  Jory arrived home to find a letter waiting for her. She took a cup of coffee and the envelope to her room. Distracted for a moment by the feeder, she watched the birds jockey for the best perch. They’re no better than we are. Fighting to live. Isn’t that what Trent is fighting for?

  She sat cross-legged on her bed and took a final sip of coffee before opening it.

  Dear Jory,

  I assumed you don’t have a boyfriend. Maybe that’s wrong.

  Maybe you’re just a kind person writing to me in your spare time? I get my hopes up for us, but then I remember the picture. Any girl who looks like that has a million guys asking her out.

  Although I’m not sure I want to hear the truth, please tell me. Are you dating anyone? Is it serious? I need to know if there’s a chance for me or we’re just going to be friends.

  She skimmed through the rest. There was news about Rocky and what music Trent was listening to. Yep. Amber does have a million guys asking her out. She pulled up her lap desk and started a reply.

  Dear Trent,

  To answer your question, yes, there was someone. But it was never serious. This is a small town. There aren’t too many guys here for me. Maybe I’m too picky . We decided to stop seeing each other today. Frankly, I’m relieved. He’s not my type. Though I’m not sure what my type is. So, there’s no competition for you. Is that what you wanted to hear? What about you? Aren’t there women where you are? I mean, American women, like you, in the service? Are you dating anyone?

  I’m not just being nosy. I spend a lot of time thinking about you, writing to you. I don’t want to do that if you have something else going on. I hope you understand. You’re my one and only right now. I hope you feel the same.

  Fondly,

  Jory

  She chewed her lip. Waiting was the hardest part of her relationship with Trent. Within a week, she had her answer.

  Dear Jory,

  Did you hear my cheer when I read your letter? You made my day.

  Not that I’m happy you broke up with someone. Well, to be honest, yeah, I am. (he drew a small smiley face) So, it’s you and me. Am I single? You bet I am. I’ve had a few friends with benefits out here. It’s not an easy place. But nothing serious. Last I heard, Sheila, the last girl I dated, had been shipped back to the States. I have no idea where she is now.

  I know we don’t know much about each other, but being here makes every minute precious. You appreciate what you have, even just life itself. I hope it isn’t too soon to say you mean a lot to me. It might sound crazy to someone else, but I feel we have a connection, something, bringing us together. I hope you feel the same way. If you don’t, please forgive a lonely soldier hoping you’re the one.

  Trent

  Jory grinned so wide it hurt. She blasted the song “Dancing on Sunshine” and twirled around the room. She threw open the window and whistled to the birds perched on her feeders. Blood pumped through her veins at a record rate, beating a quick, steady rhythm in her ear. Denial was out. Celebrating was in. Winning his heart lifted her spirits until she was light as air.

  She snatched a piece of pink paper and plopped down on the bed with her laptop.

  Dear Trent,

  I was so happy to receive your letter today. I haven’t had a real boyfriend for a while. I don’t fall in love every day. Not saying I’m in love with you, but I’m happy with the way things are between us.

  I feel I could tell you anything, and you’d understand. And you’re so smart. You know everything there is to know about birds and a helluva lot about people too. Things here at the paper are getting sticky with the guy I was dating huffing around me all the time, glaring. He’s pissed, and I’m worried about my job.

  She filled in some details about the finches at her feeders, commented on her favorite music, and then closed. When Nan called up that dinner was ready, Jory brought her letter down, took a deep breath, and placed it on the dish by the front door for Nan to mail the next morning.

  At the evening meal, Jory expressed her curiosity about food in the military. She lifted her fork, ready to dig into her Aunt’s beef stew pie, but stopped short. “I wonder what Trent gets to eat?”

  “Probably shit on a shingle,” Amber said, taking a forkful of the hearty dish.

  “Meaning?” Jory cocked an eyebrow.

  “Crappy stuff. Yucky, smelly, disgusting.” Amber made a face and shivered.

  “You don’t know. Can’t feed them garbage if they have to fight.”

  Later that night, driven by curiosity, the older sister wrote to her military friend. In two weeks, she had a reply.

  On base, we get hot meals. Not like home, but okay. Even fast food sometimes. In the field, we get MRE’s. Meals, ready to eat. They’re pretty bad. Some parts, like the bread, peanut butter, and cookies are okay. But the main course stuff is brutal. Except for the ravioli. Kind of like the stuff my mom served from a can.

  I got hungry visualizing your aunt’s meat pie. Would you make one for me when I get home?

  “Aunt Nan,” Jory called from her attic room.

  They met up in the kitchen.

  “Can you teach me how to make beef stew pie?”

  When her aunt stared at her with narrowed eyes, the young woman explained.

  “I can teach you. But when he returns stateside, how are you going to explain to him that you’re not Amber? Or rather, Amber isn’t you?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. Maybe we’d better forget it. I mean, when he returns, this charade’ll be over, right? He probably won’t speak to me again, so I don’t need to learn.”

  Nan grabbed her niece’s elbow and steered her back into the room. “If it’s not this man you’ll be cooking for, there’ll be another.”

  “I don’t think so. But what the heck.” Jory donned an apron.

  * * * *

  As the days marched on, spring warmed Pine Grove. Trees unfurled light green leaves. Roses grew buds. Bundled up to the eyeballs in down became wool coats, and then lightweight fleece jackets. Jory worked away at the paper, avoiding Archie whenever she could.

  Rumor had it he’d started dating Marla from the post office. Jory let out a breath when she heard. He no longer scowled at her, but gave her a knowing look. He thinks I’m jealous? She could barely keep the grin off her face.

  As Pine Grove blossomed, Jory’s heart still hung heavy. She’d been living a seriously big lie with Trent that only got bigger and bigger week after week. The weight seemed to get heavier with every letter she received.

  Dear Jory,

  Rumor has it spring is happening in your neck of the woods. I remember spring, green leaves, flowers everywhere. At least I think I do. This place is still a hellhole. Then, I think of you. You’re like a spring flower. A daffodil. I don’t mean to get poetic or anything.

  Just that I think of your golden hair and the fresh spring air and my heart takes off. You do that to me. That and more. I’ll show you when I get home. I’m coming home, by the way. In case you had any worries. No body bag for me. I’ve got someone to come home for. You, beautiful Jory, my springtime girl.

  I know we agreed not to say it. We agreed we couldn’t possibly know it, not even meeting or anything. But I’ve never met a kinder or smarter girl than you. And pretty—hell, you wrote the book on that one. So, I’m going to break the rules and say it. I love you. I do. I know I do. Every letter lifts me up in many ways.

  Oops, there I go, getting hinky again. Sorry about that. Lol.

  Seriously, I mean it. And when I get back, I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much. I hope you feel the same and will break the rules too. Be safe, well, and happy. I still have to be in Afghanistan for a while, but as soon as I can get back to the states, I will. Having you t
o come home to makes all the difference.

  Love,

  Trent

  There it was, in black and white. The thing she had most hoped for and most dreaded at the same time. Love. Did she love him? Of course she did. Would she send him one like this? Impossible.

  She clasped the pages to her chest. Warmth coursed through her veins. Happiness and sadness blended, making her eyes water. Guilt swirled through her. Only one path would alleviate the bad feelings –she had to tell him the truth. She slipped out a fresh piece of paper and clicked the point out on her pen.

  When she sat down to write, all her regard, her love for Trent, welled up. She longed to tell him how she felt, but words wouldn’t come. Spinning a tale of her love for him around the reality that she was a liar and a fraud didn’t work.

  Courage gathered in her. If she really loved him, she had to confess. That was the only way they could possibly stay together. Although fears and doubts flashed through her, she had to take the chance. The flutter in her chest as she sat down to write made her hand shake. Where to begin?

  Dear Trent,

  I know you’re falling for me, but I’m a liar and a phony.

  She balled up the paper and shot it at her waste basket. She missed.

  Dear Trent,

  Sometimes things aren’t what they seem. People too.

  She shook her head and discarded it.

  Dear Trent,

  It’s time I told you the truth. The real truth about who I am.

  She took a deep breath and continued writing. Jory tossed off most of her correspondence to Trent in a matter of minutes. This one took her an hour and a half. Strong tears stung her eyes, and she had to stop several times. Taking the gamble that he’d understand, and not toss her out on her butt, made her heart beat faster.

  Always clinging to the safe side of life, Jory had ventured out on a tightrope without a net. She’d chided herself a thousand times not to take it further. But each time a letter arrived, she opened it, eagerly drinking in his words of friendship and love, then responding in kind. Had she remained cool with him? No. Had she hidden her ardor for him? No. She had no one to blame but herself.

  His words had morphed from discussions of birds and childhood experiences to more intimate topics. Handwritten, steamy scenarios exchanged pulled her closer. Finally, Trent had declared his love for her. It had pushed her over the edge. She had to fess up now. Although she hadn’t shared her feelings with him, she knew she loved him, and it ate her up.

  When she finished, she cried herself to sleep. The letter sat on her dresser for several days. She agonized over whether to send it or not. Maybe she should take her chances when he got back. If you really love him, you have to do the right thing. You owe it to him.

  Friday morning, Jory screwed up her courage. She handed the envelope to Nan.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “This is it, Nan. The letter. Where I tell him the truth.”

  Her aunt gasped. “You didn’t?”

  “I did.”

  Amber came up behind them. “Did what?”

  Jory explained.

  “That’s totally dumb. You should just tell him you met someone else. He’ll get over it,” Amber tossed off.

  “I can’t do that. I’m in too deep.”

  The concern in her aunt’s eyes made Jory’s water.

  “I don’t know what happened. It was just supposed to be a friendly correspondence.”

  “And?” Amber prodded.

  Emotion choked Jory for a second.

  “I don’t know. It’s stupid. I’m not supposed to love him. He’s nothing like the man I want. He’s totally wrong for me.” The words rushed from her mouth. “He’s not an intellectual. Never read any of the same books I have. He likes action movies. Hates chick flicks. Loves meat, hates salad. Likes guns. He’s everything I should despise. But I don’t! I don’t!”

  She was fairly screaming and crying, flinging herself into her aunt’s arms. “Why, Aunt Nan? Why do I love him? This isn’t supposed to be.”

  Nan stroked her niece’s hair as she held her close. “Love is unpredictable, sweetie.” Nan rubbed Jory’s back.

  Amber retrieved a box of tissues and handed it to her sister. “I’m so sorry, Jory. I never meant for this to happen. Maybe it’ll work out?”

  “In a pig’s eye. When he reads this letter, that’s it. I’ll probably get an angry response. Or maybe nothing. It’ll be over.”

  “Then, why are you sending it?” Amber rested her hands on her hips.

  “Because I have to. I can’t lie anymore. It’s not right. If he walks away, then that’s that. It’s the price I pay for carrying this too far. It’s not fair to him.” Jory stepped back, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes.

  “I think you’re very brave,” Amber said, giving her sister a hug.

  “I’m not. No, I’m not. This is definitely the coward’s way out. A letter, rather than face him in person. I couldn’t stand the disappointment in his eyes when he sees me. I just couldn’t take it.”

  A fresh bout of tears halted conversation.

  “I’m so sorry,” Amber whispered.

  “It’s not your fault,” Jory said. “I did it to myself. I let it go on too long. I should have written the truth months ago.” She wiped her face and tried to smile.

  Nan put the letter in her housecoat pocket. “If it’s what you want. Sure you don’t want to think about it a while?”

  Jory shook her head. “Nope. I’m ready. Please give it to Marla.”

  Nan nodded once, embraced her niece again, and left the room.

  A shudder ran through Jory’s body as she opened the door. She hugged Amber then slowly descended the steps. On her walk to the car, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

  “Oak Bend Reporter, how can I help you?” said the voice on the other end.

  “Can I speak to the editor, please?”

  Chapter Three

  Jory didn’t expect the waiting to be so hard. One day she’d be glad there was no angry letter when she got home. The next she wondered why he didn’t answer. Dread rocketed through her, making her hand tremble when she opened the mailbox.

  She imagined all the horrible things he’d write and shuddered at the names he’d call her. It would have been worse in person. But when no response came, the disappointment all but crushed her. Could he be so angry he’d never speak to me again? He hates me. That’s it.

  Fear of his words melted away, replaced by a greater sadness. She kept track of each day. It’s only four days. He didn’t get it yet. Then, it’s only a week. Not enough time for it to arrive and him to write back.

  Day after day, she’d yank open the little door, only to view emptiness or a few circulars. Then, she’d make an excuse as to why there was no letter there. One week became two. Two slid into three, then four. When the month had passed, there was no escaping the truth. She had to admit to herself that it was over. Trent didn’t even want to yell at her, call her a lying phony, nothing. The frustration of not knowing exactly what he was thinking bit into her.

  He had simply disappeared, the way he had appeared. Jory stopped checking the mailbox. Her appetite went south, and she lost weight. She nursed her broken heart by rereading his old correspondence, looking for the truth—he didn’t care about her and never had.

  “The county fair in Oak Bend is coming. Why don’t we all go to opening day together?” Nan asked over Saturday breakfast.

  “You guys go. Have fun.”

  “Come on, Jory. You never want to go anywhere or do anything anymore,” Amber whined.

  “Is that true? Huh. Maybe. Maybe you’re right. I’m fine here.”

  “All you do is mope over that asshole, and feed the stupid birds.”

  Jory shot her a look. “You live your life the way you want to, and I’ll live mine.” With that, she pushed away from the table and went up to her room.

  Going to work didn’t make things better. Archie Peabody pranced around the
office like the biggest stud in the world. He made references to hot nights with Marla and what a sex goddess she was, especially when he was within earshot of Jory. She ignored him, but his low-class bragging irritated her to the point where the idea of duct-taping his mouth tempted her to the edge of her control. Archie was a great reason to move to Oak Bend and work for The Reporter.

  When she ran out of birdseed, she didn’t have the heart to buy more, so she simply took down the feeders. When the chickadees and finches chided and scolded her from nearby branches, she closed her curtains and turned on music. She missed their sweet antics and appreciative calls. But everything that smacked of Trent needed to be gone from her life.

  Except his letters. She had tied them with a pink ribbon and packed them away in a scented box in her dresser drawer. There was no way she could get rid of those.

  One Sunday afternoon, Jory lay on her bed reading a romance novel when her aunt knocked.

  “I’m going up to the V.A. hospital in Oak Bend. You know Dan’s retired military. He said they need volunteers. People to hand out magazines, chat with the patients, write letters for them. Stuff like that. So, I’m going. Why don’t you come with?”

  “I’m busy. Reading.”

  “Jory Wheeler! Get your ass off that bed this minute! Honestly, you’re setting the world’s record for the longest pity party. You make this house feel like a funeral parlor. Get up! Get going! Do something positive with your life.”

  Tears clouded Jory’s eyes. “You think this is easy? He broke my heart. I broke my own heart. I don’t know what to think, and I can’t stop. Honest, Nan. I’m sorry, but I have no energy. It’s all I can do to get to work.”