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Letters to a Soldier (Traveler x romancerper)

"We can still do all that afterwards." Again, his mind was jumping to the end without considering all the implications for them in the meantime. He looked at her and saw the doubt and concern in her eyes. "Irene, we've been together our entire lives. There's no one who knows you like I do. It would make both our moms extremely happy."

He rubbed his eyes and peered back at the screen. "Just think about it, okay? Don't worry so much about my career. I've been thinking about a career shift anyway, to be honest. I've been tossing the idea of going to law school." He sighed. "Sometimes it's hard to think about what happens after all this," he indicated the scene around him. "It feels like a different world than back home."
 
“But would marrying me right now make you happy?” she questioned, knowing the answer without really having to hear it. He made it clear in his letter, and just now, he stated that their moms would be happy. It didn’t matter if he knew her or wanted to come home out or could still travel the world afterwards. If he wasn’t ready or didn’t want it, too, she didn’t want to marry him yet.

Irene smiled, tilting her head to the side, when he mentioned law school. If that’s what he wanted, fine. But he had also wanted to do this one last tour. “Your men and women need you, Tom. Finish this out. If you want to marry me when you get home, then we’ll get married. As I said, I’ll be fine. I’m not alone. It would make me more upset if you made a rash decision like this simply for my sake; this should be something you really want, too.”

She knew she could be selfish and just agree to everything he was saying, but she had a good feeling that he would live to regret it later.
 
He sighed. Was she onto something? Was his response just because he felt that it was what he had to say, and not what he actually felt?

"I don't know, Irene. There's been a lot of shit going on here and it does get tough sometimes. Sometimes I want to be home so bad, and other times I feel like I could do this for the rest of my life. There's a... camaraderie here, kind of like when I was in football - we all have our roles to play and it's clearly defined. There's no ambiguity about who is in charge of what, or what we're supposed to do."

"But more importantly, what would make you happy, Irene? It's good that our families are there to support you. Do you have someone you can really talk to there? I can't just pick up the phone. I want to, God knows I do, but I can't. I feel like I've let you down on every front. You've already gone through five months of this alone."
 
Irene exhaled heavily, trying to calm herself down. A part of her really wanted him to come home, but any happiness that she would undoubtedly have with becoming Tom’s wife would diminish with time if he wasn’t as overjoyed as she was. She loved him, a lot, and while it was hard to fight him on this, she knew she was doing the right thing. Long-lasting happiness could only come from making a choice they both wanted.

Even, if in this moment, he wanted to come home, just by the way he talked about being where he currently was, Irene knew that she couldn’t ask him to return and marry her in the process. It would be too cruel.

“I didn’t tell any of my friends yet. I wanted to tell you first, but I do have a good support system, Tom. And I want to support you as best as I can. The cancer is a temporary situation. It’s not worth making permanent decisions over, especially when you aren’t sure what you want,” Irene answered, grateful that she was able to keep an even tone of voice. “I’ll always want you with me. I love you. But I can’t imagine us being happy if marrying you and having you come home ends up becoming something you regret.”
 
"Okay," he acquiesced. "And I love you too, and if you change your mind you tell me, okay? Just a quick note or even send it via the Red Cross. They can get things to us quicker if there's an emergency, and this is. I love you and I want to be there for you." He readjusted his seat slightly to offset the stiffness that was growing between his shoulder blades.

"Oh, I wanted to tell you that we got the boxes you sent a couple of days ago.Thank you for that - you didn't have to do that, especially with all you have going on." He laughed softly. "They really appreciated the magazines too. Was that your mom's idea? I can't imagine her buying Playboys." His smile turned warm.

"I really do miss you, Irene. And when I come back - we'll talk about the future more, okay? I promise you I won't let it be like last time." He paused, looking at her. "I have to go. I'm so glad that I saw you though. It meant a lot to talk to you."


Nate's 2nd Letter, arriving the afternoon of May 12, 2020, addressed:

Nate Davis
c/o Mr. Joseph Burnett
Mail Route 52, Box 8
Allenhurst, Ga. 31301

May 8, 2020

Dear Irene,

I've been enjoying the visit with my gramps. "Pops" is what I usually call him. Don't know why - it seemed to fit him better. He's got a new bird and we went up a couple of times. It felt really good to be flying again. I didn't think that I would, considering the last time I wrecked it, but he insisted we go up for old time's sake, and I think it was just what I needed. I also slept in some, partially because of the time zone difference and partially because I could. Pop's coffee is much better than anything we had at the compound, though, so it was hard to sleep too much longer once he had a pot going. I think that was his plan, ha!

I know you must be pretty close to your surgery date. I hope everything goes well, for you. If you are confined to your bed or recliner during the healing process you can always take up a new hobby. Most people find cat videos fun too, or so I've heard.

Can you believe it? When I got home there were about twenty texts from Pops with those things on them, and short videos he took of the birds in his feeder. He really got to me, though; I asked him why he sent them to me when my phone was in the dresser and he said that it was so he could leave me something to remember him by in case he wasn't here when I got back. That just... it broke my heart. He's strong as a mule, though, and twice as tough, so hopefully that day is far away.

I'm driving out to Alabama this morning and I should be settled in by the 10th. Orientation and all that will probably kick my butt the first few weeks, but after that I'm pretty sure I'll be settled into a schedule.

BTW, I'll be thinking of you everyday and wishing you the best, since I don't know which day your surgery is.

Take care,
Nate​
 
"I know, Tom. I appreciate that. If I do change my mind, I will contact you. I promise." She smiled at him, leaning forward once more, her elbows resting on the table in front of her. "But I'll be okay."

Hearing about the packages arriving made her grin more genuine. "I'm glad to hear that. And yeah. She kind of surprised me with that." For the first time during their call, Irene laughed, remembering the moment she turned to see her mother placing Playboys in their shopping cart.

"I miss you, too, Tom, and I can wait. We'll talk more then," she replied, her expression turning into something more serious. "Please take care of yourself. Get some rest as soon as you can. Stay safe."

After they said their goodbyes and the screen went dark, Irene slumped back into the chair, the tears she had been holding back escaping. As she wiped at them with her fingertips, she wondered if she had done the right thing for her own sake, but she knew that she was never the type to force anyone into anything, especially someone she loved. It was sweet for him to want to come home, though, and she was reminded of just how weird life was without Tom around. She thought of him at least once a day, but back when he was home, she saw him constantly. In fact, it was a wonder they hadn't moved in together. If they weren't at his place, they were at hers; they both had stuff in each others' closets. Maybe that was something the two of them could discuss that when he came home? If he still wasn't ready to get married, maybe sharing a home together was?

They both had plenty of time to consider their options, what they each wanted, but right now, Irene didn't want to think all that much. In fact, she was considering a nap, after waking up so early.

It was as she closed her laptop that she noticed the mailman through the front window. Had that much time really passed? The call had seemed so short...But sure enough, when she glanced at the clock on her phone, it was almost one in the afternoon, the usual time for mail delivery, and her mind instantly went to Nate. Maybe there was a letter from him among the envelops currently being put into her box? That curiosity was what propelled her out of the chair she was currently settled in and made her slip on a pair of flip flops before heading outside.

The truck was further down the block when she got her mail, and to her surprise and joy, she saw two letters addressed to her. They were both from Nate, but one of them came from a local address.

Sitting on the front steps, she tore into the envelope with the return address she was familiar with and read through it. Once she was done, she didn't hesitate to read the second letter, the one that had been written when Nate had returned to the United States. Of course, by the end of his first reply, she was smiling, her worries and sorrows forgotten for the moment. He sounded much happier, being back with his grandfather, and she could tell he was excited about going to flight school.

After reading through both letters one more time, she got up and went back inside to start on her reply.

May 12, 2020

Dear Nate,

I'm relieved to hear that what I wrote meant something to you in some way. I was honestly a bit worried that I might have offended you unintentionally.

I got both your letters today, and I opened them after speaking with Tom. He did mention people leaving, and I wondered if you were one of them. Now, I know that you were. Congratulations on getting the opportunity! I'm sure you'll do great, even if you are the oldest there (and 28 isn't that old!). Just means you have more experience in general. Was this something you always wanted to do? And try not to feel too bad. You're still contributing in some capacity, and I'm sure many of your comrades understand, including Tom.

Thanks for the number and address. You already know where to write me, but here's my number, too, if you need anything or just want to say hello: 912-555-0167.

I'm glad you got to spend some time with your gramps, and "Pops" does seem fitting. He's kind of like a father-figure to you, right? Sounds like you had a lot of fun with him, and it's good you had the opportunity to sleep in and get some rest. I'm sure waking up and working hard every day on the compound was exhausting, and it won't be easy initially at flight school. As you said, though, you'll get the hang of it! You have experience flying, and it's something you enjoy doing, yeah?

Cat videos are the best. They're funny creatures, and those clips always get me laughing. I can't believe your gramps did that, though. It's sweet, but at the same time, my god. It's so sad that he even considered that to be a possibility, but I think that's something that happens with age, you know? My grandparents are the same way; although, they like to guilt trip. I think its where my mom gets it from.

But I'm sure he was beyond happy to see you. It's great that you both got that time to be together before you had to leave again.

I appreciate all your well wishes. They mean a lot. My surgery is the 18th, so less than a week! I know everything should turn out okay, and I'm grateful for the people I have around me. I'm a bit nervous, despite that, but I think that's normal.

I'll be thinking about you, too. Wishing you the best of luck! Although, I'm sure you'll do fine.

Your friend,
Irene
 
"What took you so long?" Gutierrez looked up from her supply list when Tom walked in. "Some of this shit is first come first serve, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I just had something to take care of." He flopped down on the fold-out camp chair across from her.

"Women problems?" She smirked up at him.

"Something like that, but it's all good."

"Huh, all good, huh? Sounds like someone is sleeping in the doghouse. When my wife says everything is okay that means that it's not. Thankfully for me, I don't have a dick she can cut off." Gutierrez laughed.

"Yeah, well maybe you can share some of your secrets with me." He grinned as he leaned forward and fished his wallet out of his pocket.

"Nope," she said playfully, holding her lips together and shaking her head. "You're not part of the sister hood." She reached into a drawer and placed a brown pill bottle on the table. "I got ten. Three hundred."

"Fuck, Gute! They were two last week!"

"Yeah, well, go get yourself a prescription then." She shrugged. "I got other buyers."

He sighed and pulled out several bills. "You're killing me, Girl." then he grabbed the bottle and walked out of the tent, his 'appointment' over.


~ * ~ * ~

Nathanial was burned out on book craft. Each day started early, with classroom instruction on the intricacies of rotary-winged aircraft, which he had learned in flight school before the Army, but he had to relearn to pass the program. They drilled them on basic flight physics, flight systems, emergency procedures, and drawing and reading flight maps. He'd skipped college for a reason, but surprisingly his years of working on mission logistics helped, and he scored well. Well enough to pass, at least!

It was past the second week of training when he got the letter addressed to his Pops and sent on to him. And because this had been flight school training and he had much longer than 8 hour days, five days a week, he didn't see the letter until the evening of the 17th, a Sunday. He read her letter and then reread it, then checked the date.

It's tomorrow. It was late, but not too late he hoped, and though he didn't know if she would pick up the phone at six o'clock from a strange number, he picked up his own phone and dialed: 1-912-555-0167.

His own number would show up on her phone: 912-555-6462.
 
The next six days went faster than Irene would have preferred. The day after she had spoken with Tom, she went out to dinner with her two closest friends, Jenna and Molly. They went to their usual restaurant, a fantastic Italian joint in the heart of Savannah, and it was over dessert that Irene shared with them what had been going on in her life the past five months. Jenna was concerned for her friend’s well-being while Molly was more offended that it had taken her this long to share the news. In the end, though, they were both supportive and offered their assistance, should she need it. Some tears were shed, but Irene felt much better once everyone important to her knew.

As far as letters go, she didn’t think Nate would respond before the surgery. It was likely he would get her response by the 18th, but with how busy she suspected he was, she didn’t get her hopes up for a reply. Then there was Tom’s letter; Irene honestly didn’t see a point to responding. They had covered everything the needed to, and she didn’t want to add one more thing to her boyfriend’s plate. However, she decided she would write him once she returned home from the hospital and knew for a fact the cancer was contained to her chest. He knew he would likely worry, so she hoped a letter would assure him some.

The night before the surgery, Irene was alone. She had spent the day with her mother, packing a bag for her hospital stay, knowing she would likely be there a couple of days. Once discharged, she would stay at her childhood home for a week or two—really, as her mother saw fit—before going back to some independence at her own house. Because of that, Irene thought it best to spend the night at her place by herself; it was likely she wouldn’t have that silence for quite some time.

She was curled up on the couch, already in pajamas, with a cup of hot cocoa and one of her favorite movies on: Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Comedies were her favorite genre of film, and this one never failed to make her laugh. It was a good distraction, and she had been quite into it when her cell phone began to vibrate.

Her brows furrowed at the number, not recognizing it, but she picked it up anyways, knowing the area code. “Hello?” She paused the movie, using the remote, so she could hear the person on the other end.
 
Nathanial's heart thudded in its cage and he started to pace back and forth, for some reason more nervous than he had anticipated as the phone rang once, twice... He began to formulate the message he would leave once the voicemail picked up. It range again, and he prepared to leave an encouraging message.

Then the ringing stopped and there was a hesitation.

"Hello?"

The voice was soft and some noise in the background stopped.

He paused now, not prepared for the live voice he had psyched himself would never come.

"Uhm, hi." There was another pause. "This is Nathanial Davis. Is this Irene?" Maybe he had miss dialed the number. Maybe she had given him a fake one. There were so many reasons why it could be completely plausible that it had not been the Irene who answered.
 
Irene was mostly expecting a telemarketer or some scam artist trying to tell her that something was wrong with one of her credit cards. Normally, she wouldn't pick up those calls; however, the number had her area code, and her phone usually would indicate "scam likely" if it was anything other than an actual human trying to call her. When the person spoke, she could tell it was a male on the line, but perhaps it was just a wrong number?

Then he introduced himself and asked if it was her, sounding just as unsure as she had felt answering, and Irene found herself speechless for several moments. It was stupid. He had asked an easy question, one she could confirm with one short word, but she couldn't believe that Nate had called her, despite having given him her number.

She swallowed thickly, realizing a few seconds had gone by without her saying something. "Hey, Nate. This is Irene. I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to call, but it's a nice surprise. How are you?" she asked, grateful that her voice came out somewhat normal.
 
There was a long pause. He pulled the phone away to look at the screen. Nope, they were still connected. Returning he listened, then wondered if she'd heard him. He was about to repeat what had had said, like they did on the radios out on mission, when she finally spoke. He looked down at the picture in his hand and smiled back at the image, seeing the face that went with that voice.

"Irene..." he looked out the little window in his room at the training fields. It was starting to get dark, but they'd have almost another hour until true evening. "I'm doing fine. I'm sorry to call you so late, but I saw your letter when I got in today and noticed that tomorrow is your surgery." He paused again, drawing in a breath. It felt too intrusive, too intimate to talk about such a thing with a voice he'd just met.

"I didn't want you to go in tomorrow without knowing that I was thinking about you. Praying for you and your doctors." He sat on his bed and leaned forward, resting a hand on one knee.

"How are you feeling?"
 
The redhead sat back on her couch, lifting her free hand that held the remote to turn off the television completely before depositing it on the cushion beside her. Bringing her feet up and back under the blanket with her, she listened to what Nate had to say. It was still dawning on her that she was actually speaking with him, that it was his voice currently on her phone; it made him seem more real, not that she didn't think Nate was a fake person. She had a picture and letters to prove that, but as lovely as having those things were, she was struck by how different actually holding a conversation with their sender was.

"Is it late?" she questioned, shifting to glance over her shoulder at the sky through the window. It wasn't pitch black out yet. "It doesn't appear to be. You don't have to apologize. I'm awake, and I wasn't doing anything all that important. In fact, I'm happy you called. It's good to hear that you're doing well." She was smiling, now. "And thank you for the kind thoughts. I appreciate them."

When he asked how she was, she considered it a moment. Should she answer honestly? Burdening him with the truth didn't seem fair, but up to this point, she had been pretty candid in her letters.

Exhaling softly, the curve to her lips still present but not as prominent, she replied, "Physically, I feel fine. Wouldn't even think I had cancer, honestly. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dreading tomorrow. I know it'll turn out okay. However, knowing that doesn't seem to help calm the nerves." She fiddled with the tassels at the end of the blanket. "It's normal, though, and so far, distracting myself seems to work. For a little while, at least."

"How's flight school? Are you enjoying it?" she asked, wanting to switch to, hopefully, a lighter topic.
 
He chuckled. "It's late if you're getting up at 3AM." But he was grateful when she said she was happy he called. It made him feel like he'd made the right impulsive decision to do so, rather than send her a letter that might takes days to reach her.

"It's normal, though, and so far, distracting myself seems to work. For a little while, at least." He smiled again at that. No one looked forward to any kind of surgery, even if it's just a little cavity. This was much more than a cavity. "Well, I'm glad to be one of your distractions then."

She switched the topic and he let her. "Flight school is different from boot camp or combat school. There's still some PT but it's mostly book learning and lots of memorization. You practically have to know how to build one of these things before they put you in the simulator!" He laughed again. "Most of my classmates have spent thousands of hours on video games, though - seems to give them plenty of simulator time, but very little rotor experience." He leaned back on his bed, laying across it as he talked to her. "They're alright. It's odd to think that some of them who were just playing high school football last year will be flying into combat zones by the time they're twenty."

He sighed. "The food's decent but nothing like Pop's cooking. I have my own room and a nice view of the drill field, and we're busy six days a week in classes or studying, but I like it. I wished I had done this right out of high school; given myself more structure and meaning, instead of what I did. But..." His voice lifted positively, "I'm here now. And it's not as humid as Georgia, and aside from the chiggers in the grass, it's much better than my last post."

He smiled again and it translated in his breath against the phone. "Hey, you ever been to the Atlanta Aquarium?"
 
Immediately, Irene felt a little guilty for assuming he was going to be getting up as late as she was. "Ah. I'm sorry about that. 3 AM? Wow." She probably shouldn't have been as surprised as she was to hear about his early start. Flight school was still training for the military, so it only made sense that they would enforce similar rules and standards.

As she listened to what he had to say about his schooling and new peers, she folded a leg up on the cushions to rest her chin on its knee. Hearing his laugh made her laugh, too. "Unfortunately, I think most fields of study have that element to them." It had been the same with medical school. You had to learn the ins and outs of the body, even the smallest structures, before they would even let you near patients.

When Nate first mentioned his classmates, she teased lightly, recalling his words from the last letter he sent her before arriving on U.S. soil. "Are they having fun with the old guy?" Fortunately, he deemed them as "alright" despite being as young as they were. She couldn't imagine going into combat or really doing anything that so deeply affected the lives of others at that young of an age, but Tom had done it. A lot of people from her high school had done it. Regardless, she was certain it had to have a profound impact on those who went through such rigorous training and danger. Hell, it affected grown men and women, and they were still just teenagers at eighteen and nineteen.

It seemed like Nate was enjoying it, despite the long hours and hard work it required. She was glad. "That's right. You're doing it, now, and honestly, that's all that matters. It's tough making lifelong decisions during high school. You're really still just a kid at that age." She had major respect for anyone that knew what they wanted from the get-go but also felt it was a lot of pressure to put on someone that didn't know much about the world or themselves yet.

At the mention of the aquarium, her grin widened as she lifted her head a bit. "No. I'm afraid I haven't. It was on my list of places to see the last time I went to Atlanta, but I never got around to it. Have you been?"
 
"Yeah, I have." He smiled at the memory. It was bittersweet, a trip they'd taken on their honeymoon, but things had been good then. "There's this huge tunnel where you stand there and the conveyor belt takes you under the tank, and massive, uh..schools? - of manta rays swim over you. Sharks and schools of other fish too, but those rays, man... they were something else. It was the most relaxing thing I had seen in my entire life. They didn't worry about anything, you know? They just swam, and stayed close together, and it made me wonder if they missed the ocean or if they were just living in that moment."

He sighed happily. "It was a great place. It's not the largest aquarium in the world anymore, but it's pretty impressive. It's worth scheduling a day there the next time you go." It was good to think about 'next times'. Hope heals.

"Where would you go, if you could go do anything you wanted in the world?"
 
As Irene listened to him recount his experience at the aquarium with such nostalgia, she wondered, for a moment, if he had gone there with Michelle. Maybe she was reading into it too much, but his voice sounded a bit different when he described his thoughts regarding the manta rays. To ask would be prying, and she didn't want to bring up something that might be hard for him to discuss. Instead, she began to picture what he was talking about, not finding it very hard at all; Nate was good at description.

"Rays were always my favorite at the aquariums. When I was little, they were the first tanks I would go see, and this one aquarium I went to had a bunch of sting rays in a shallow tank. You were allowed to touch them, and my Ma had to drag me away. I wouldn't leave," she recalled the memory fondly, despite the fact her mother hadn't been all too pleased with her. "I'll definitely have to go. It's been too long since I've last gone to a place like that, and I bet the manta rays are a sight."

His question made her pause for a moment, leaning back onto the couch cushions. "I don't know. That's a tough question." She considered it a couple of seconds more before deciding to go with the place that just kept popping up. "Ever hear of Newport, Rhode Island? It's a beautiful city. I've never been, but my friend went there with her husband recently, and she came back with pictures. It's gorgeous. I mean, the mansions are enormous--" She stretched out her free arm as if he was there and it somehow conveyed just how gigantic these structures were "--and the architecture is just breathtaking. It's hard to imagine the amount of work that has gone into building and preserving such homes. But what really grabbed my attention was just how lovely the landscape is. They have a cliff walk, and you can look out and see ocean for miles and miles. At sunset, it's like a painting. I'd go for a walk there, if I could do anything."

"What about you?" she questioned, realizing she might have rambled on for too long. She was also genuinely curious. "Where would you go if you could? What would you do there?"
 
He could imagine her as a girl, little pigtails dancing in the summer light, her eyes widening at the sight of a tank of rays you could actually touch. What a wondrous image, and he saw that same wide smile as she squealed at the wonder of touching something so marvelous, with her tiny child fingertips. He'd always wanted kids. They seemed to make everything new again, and to see the world through their young, untainted eyes was something that he suddenly felt a strong yearning to experience. He could imagine her Ma pulling her daughter away; the mother tired and ready for rest, the child wanting to stay there until she fell asleep stroking the rubbery skin of the mantas.

Though Nate had heard of Newport, he'd never considered it as an actual place where people would go. He felt the expressions in Irene's voice as she described the huge mansions, the architecture and landscape, and as he stared up at his white ceilings he imagined the scenery. The cliff walk sounded romantic and dangerous, but like a place that had to be put on his to-do list one day. He imagined Irene walking in a red tank top and tan shorts, her hands in her pockets as she gazed out at the sunset. And Tom, walking up behind her to steal a kiss... them laughing together, perhaps on their own honeymoon. It made him smile, but the smile was tinged. He was happy for her; she said she'd told him about the cancer, but he knew that his own time with her was going to end sometime soon so she could focus on her own future.

"What about you?" she questioned. "Where would you go if you could? What would you do there?"

It wouldn't be appropriate to say 'I'd go to Newport and watch you smiling at the sunset over the ocean,' would it? And why was he thinking those things anyway? She wasn't his to desire, not even a little bit.

He 'hmm'd' and thought about it. "I don't know where it would be, but I'd like to go try out snorkeling, where the water's clear and the sands are white. You know, I'd never left Georgia before I joined the Army; never thought about leaving. I guess I'm more of a homebody, honestly. I like to have a place to come home to, people to come home to. I don't mind traveling but I wouldn't want to do too much of it." He smiled into the phone. "Besides, I always imagined myself having a dog a cat, and a couple of kids, and they do better when you're there to feed them every day," he laughed. "I couldn't see myself putting them in a kennel every time I wanted to go somewhere." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "People might get upset about the kids in there, you know."
 
She could picture him with a couple of kids. A girl and a boy maybe. They'd argue over who got to sit on his shoulders because to a small kid, it was the closest you could get to flying. Nate seemed like a sweet guy, so whoever didn't get their way would have their hand engulfed by his instead. It was his pouting daughter, who pretended to be upset, but was having a rough time of it because her father wouldn't stop trying to get her to laugh. Eventually, he'd have her and her brother giggling, and she'd forget that she wasn't on his shoulders because she got to hold her daddy's hand. It was a cute scene, with the beach behind them, snorkeling gear still on his son's face. Irene couldn't picture their mother, but they looked like Nate, anyway, with chestnut colored hair and light eyes.

At his joke about the kids, she chuckled, shaking her head.

"You'd be a good dad," she said as if it were an irrefutable fact, her laughter subsiding. "And there's nothing wrong with being a homebody." In actuality, when she pictured herself in Newport, she had kids of her own with her. Maybe another on the way. "I feel the same way," she murmured, letting her head fall back against the cushions. "I've always wanted a big family, since I was little. I actually asked my parents for a brother, and they gave me two. They were the bane of my existence for a long time, but I love them a lot. I want my kids to have that, too." Her smile faded some as she realized that she'd probably have to wait. Tom would likely not change his mind, and when he finally did marry her, she didn't know how long he would like to wait before trying for a baby. They hadn't really talked about kids, but they were expected, too, not that Irene really minded. "Honestly, I was hoping to have my first kid before I was thirty. The easiest time to have kids as a doctor is during your residency, but I don't think that's going to happen now."
 
"Yeah," he said wistfully, "family's everything." He thought about Pops and the way he took him in when Nathanial needed him. His own kids had grown and had small kids of their own; they didn't need an almost-teenager to feed and to influence their own brood. But Pops... he always had room for the strays of the world. It was only recently, after his last dog Max had died, that Pops stopped keeping animals. He said that he didn't want to have some dog left without a home if he were to pass away, so he figured he'd let someone else adopt them while they were still cute. It hurt to hear that. Seeing Pops without some lovable mutt at his side seemed foreign and unnatural.

"I'm really glad you have your family there for you tomorrow." He didn't mean to bring down the mood - it just came out. "Maybe when you're better you can all go to Newport to celebrate. Maybe for the Fourth of July... I'd imagine they'd have amazing fireworks over the ocean in a place like that."

"What are your brother's names? They anything like you?" He wondered if they used to give her grief when she was little, then remembered that she didn't mention them in her recount of the aquarium, so either they had been old enough to have been wandering the park alone or they were much younger.
 
It really was. Irene could remember, growing up, how easy it was to fall back on them, even her extended relatives. When her father had gotten into a car accident and broke his leg, everyone did their part to help out where the could. Some nights, when her mother went to visit him in the hospital, she'd stay with Ben and Blake, entertaining them and making them boxed mac n' cheese. Despite the fact, as they got older, her brothers became more rambunctious and mischievous, they were still there for her when they walked to school together and some mean classmates of hers would taunt her about her braces. They were still young then, the twins; they couldn't do anything other than squeeze her hands as they continued to walk. And her parents had always done their best to provide for them, going far enough to save for most of their college education.

Irene couldn't complain about them; she was very fortunate to have the family she did.

"I am, too, and I'm really grateful to you for convincing me to finally tell them," she replied softly, letting the fact they would be there for her before and after the surgery be a positive over the negative of the situation. "Maybe, but my parents always have a big Fourth of July barbeque. It's kind of a tradition in our neighborhood, so I doubt they'd give it up, even for a year." She chuckled, picturing the chaos that occurred every year. Her mother, weeks before the actual date, would have fits about how she will never be ready and the amount of people coming. In the end, she always pulled it together.

"My brothers are Ben and Blake. They're identical twins, so you can imagine the amount of trouble they caused. I don't really know if they're like me. They are six years younger than me, so, at twenty, they're still growing up a bit," she said with a little laugh. "I would suppose we look alike. People could always tell we're siblings, but they are much more outgoing than I ever was. At college, they go out all the time, and have tons of friends."
 
"Huh, twenty," which made Irene 26, less than 2 years younger than him. He'd married at twenty, but he doubted Ben and Blake were even close to that stage of their lives. They were probably enjoying college, hanging out with friends, doing all those things twenty-year-olds were supposed to do at that stage of life. "That's pretty young. I'm glad they're following your lead and going to school."

He chuckled at the thought of the three of them walking along, possibly looking like triplets. All of them, possibly, having that same wide, inviting smile.

"I can't imagine that you wouldn't have a lot of friends, Irene. Hopefully you also have one or two close ones who you can count on." He smiled into the phone. He could hear others walking in the barrack hallways, coming back from chow, and glanced at the time - 19:47. Had it really been over an hour and a half since he'd called? It didn't feel like that much time had passed, but there it was in black and white.

He bent his arm and rested his fist on his forehead, not wanting the call to end. He had to, though, or he'd be suffering in the morning. "I can't tell you how good it is to hear your voice. It's the best thing that's happened this week."

Oh shit, he thought, do I sound like a creeper now? Damn.

He had to cut it short before he said another stupid thing. "I hope you'll give me a call or text when you're able. Would it be alright if I still wrote you though? I've kind of gotten used to it." He chuckled softly. "I guess I'm a little old-fashioned that way."

Nate listened to her voice until it was time to go, and reluctantly let her off the phone with a "Yeah, it is getting late. I'm glad you said hello. Good luck tomorrow, Irene. Good night."

Then he laid there across his bed staring at the ceiling for another ten minutes before turning out the light and turning in, dreaming of a wide smile strolling along an ocean walk, and a little pig-tailed girl laughing as she touched the manta rays swimming by.
 
She laughed softly, lifting her free hand to push back some hair that had escaped the bun on top of her head. "I do have a couple of close friends, but they have each other for that. They prefer having a large group of friends that they just go out with." Neither of them had brought home a girlfriend yet, either, much to their mother's chagrin. A lot of times, she'd compare them to her, which Irene never condoned; they'd find a boyfriend or girlfriend in their own time, and if they didn't want one in the end, that was fine, too.

As for his remark about getting to hear her voice, she was more flattered than anything. Didn't even consider some might think it weird for him to say. "Aw, thanks, Nate. I enjoyed finally putting a voice to the face. It was definitely a wonderful surprise." The fact that he was turning the conversation this way made her realize that he was probably trying to wrap things up. She glanced at the clock on the cable box, noticing the time. It was probably close or even past the time he should be going to bed for a 3 AM wake-up. Still, she found herself wanting to keep him on the phone, as selfish as that was.

"Of course. I don't know what state I'll be in tomorrow after the surgery, but I'll definitely send a text or phone call your way as soon as I can." Her smile widened when he mentioned still wanting to exchange letters. In truth, during their phone call, she had wondered if this meant that their time as pen pals was over. "I always look forward to your letters, so I'm completely fine with continuing that."

"I guess I should let you go, though. It's almost eight o'clock, and you're going to have to be up early," she said with a sigh, her hesitance with doing so a little bit obvious in her tone of voice. She really didn't want the conversation to end, but they could always continue another time. "Thank you, Nate. I do appreciate that. I hope you have a good night as well."

They hung up after that, and Irene was left again with the lonely silence of her house. It was funny how she hadn't minded that one bit earlier; in fact, she had purposely chosen to spend the night by herself in her own home. Knowing sleep would be elusive if she tried to go lay down now, she let her feet slide from the couch to the floor, using them to help her lean forward and grab the television remote. The paused move showed up on the screen a moment later, but even after she hit play, her mind was still on the conversation she had with Nate, a small grin lingering on her lips.
 
The next day, between classes and studying and eating, Nate wrote bits and pieces of a letter to Irene. By the next morning it was on its way viva USPS, three days later it arrived.

05/18/2020

Dear Irene,

I don't have a lot of fun things to tell you about, so I figured I'd write you about my day as I go through it. Sort of a walking diary. I just realized this is the first time I'm writing you without being worried that I should send it before I leave for my next task so that it will get to you; I guess Pops has rubbed off on me! :)

So morning is pretty early, but that's really my choice. We don't report in for anything until 5am. Before that I have a few things I like to get done, and then it's inspection, PT (today was a quick 3 mile run and some on-going conditioning), and then breakfast. It's good they feed us after PT, though. Some of the guys and gals here have a hard time running with anything in their bellies. I'm having breakfast now - eggs, potatoes, bread and sausages or bacon, with all the OJ and coffee you can drink. They feed their pilots well.

My first class had to do with how the rotors work and what he most common reasons are that a helicopter has issues. It scared the bejeebers out of one classmate. We heard that he decided to voluntarily drop out after the lecture. Too bad - he was a solid kid. Maybe he'll just straight enlist and try again later.

We had a couple of guest speakers today. One of the pilots flew in WWII. Can you believe that? He was a funny bastard too - the best parts of his talk was sharing some of his stories about near-misses during his years in the service and afterwards. He reminds me of my Pops, but a little more leathery and rough around the edges. Still, it's hard to argue with all the awards and commendations he earned. His was a unique generation. Remind me to tell you some of them when we see each other. Some of those stories wouldn't transfer unless I could imitate some of his expressions. He was a hoot.

Lunch was an introduction to MREs (Meals Ready to Eat). Some of the kids in class had never seen one. They pack a lot of calories in them, and though they're not always the best in flavor I have some favorites. I showed them how to make 'Cowboy Coffee' with the package, though in boot camp we just mixed the coffee crystals, sugar and creamer together, added enough water to make a paste, and ate it. I think I'm the only one in my class whose seen combat. We have a couple of two and three stripers who have been stateside their entire career, so I don't feel like the oldest in class.

Another class this evening - history of flying. I don't know why we need to know, but okay. It's interesting overall. So many theories. If we'd started to really pursue flying back when Leonardo DeVinci thought of it imagine where we would be now. Flying cars? Common use of individual rocket packs? Imagine the drivers' ed classes for those, ha! High schoolers flying through the air. No thank you!

I hope you had a decent day, Irene. I know that you're probably still highly medicated so I'm not expecting to hear from you today, but you've been on my mind every hour. I'll keep you updated on the escapades at Flight School. I really wish you could have heard the old pilot today; he was the highlight of the day.

Take care of yourself,
Nate
​


~ * ~ * ~​

This desert was different than the other one, which had been out in the middle of hundreds of miles of nothing. This base camp sat near a gulf, and the sands ended where moisture was enough to allow salt-loving scrub to grow. A few oasis-like tufts of green dotted the nearly hills, and tan tents were set along neat rows, intermixed with shower and rest facilities for the troops.

This mission was different; train the locals, reconnaissance, and don't get killed. Fairly simple. For Captain Thomas A. Williams, it was a change of pace that took away the occasional high-adrenaline mission and replaced it with the drudgery of day-to-day matters of keeping a little city afloat. At first it was a relief, then it slowly grew into a kind of penance, and the stress of doing what he felt was 'nothing' weighed heavily on his mind. Gone, also, was the easy supply of pain killers that had taken the edge off his hidden injury. A new assignment meant new people, and he didn't have a Gutierrez in this camp.

It was during one of those long, painful afternoons that Tom took some time to sit under and awning and write to Irene. Their last contact had been the phone call about a week prior, and it hadn't ended in a way that he felt was resolved. So, sipping on a soda and watching the seagulls circle the bay, he wrote, though his hands shook slightly and he was jonesing for another little white pill to take the edge off.

May 19, 2020]

Dear Irene,

I hope this finds you well. I'm in my new assignment, and the views are definitely better. I can see water, which is a rare treat in this part of the world. Our team has settled in, and we're getting used to the daily grind. It's different though, I used to spend more time running squads and doing the 'hands on' stuff, but I've been reminded that I'm more of a manager now. That's definitely different; sending men out to do dangerous things, and sitting here at command just listening to whatever I can pick up on the radio. Kind of feels more like playing soldier than being one.

I've picked up a correspondence course with all my 'free' time and studying for the LSAT. It's a dream, but it'll never come true if I don't pursue it. To tell you the truth, I kind of worried about telling you about it, because my dad always figured that I would come back and join him on the beat, and I figured that everyone else thought so too. Especially you. I guess the fear of what would happen was worse than reality.

With that in mind, I want to tell you something, and don't tell your mom. I don't want my parents to know. I twisted up my back a few months ago, and as a result, got addicted to oxy. I'm getting treatment - for both the injury and the addiction, but that was one reason that I was moved to this assignment. It's less combative; less risk if I relapse or my judgement's off because of it. It's one thing that I appreciate about the military; they'll protect their own if they can. This is a 'new improved military' too, so I'm lucky. If this had happened thirty years ago who knows what their response would have been.

I might be able to get more face time with you too. We'll see. One of the fields here has the capability to send encrypted messages, so if I do get a chance to see you I'll let you know. It might be last-minute though. Maybe I can get you on the phone.

I hope that your surgery went well. I wish I was there with you, babe. The offer still stands. I know that we're meant to be together eventually, and maybe now is as good as any.

I love you,
Tom​
 
Irene hadn't slept too well the night before her surgery, so it was tough getting up in the morning. Her parents had picked her up from her house along with her packed duffle bag and drove her to Memorial Health University Hospital, her place of work that was now going to be responsible for her own care. The ride there was mostly silent, her mom sipping away at coffee--not at all used to being up this early--and her father listening to the news through the radio of his pick-up. Once they had arrived, he went to park the car while Irene and her mother checked into the surgical suite.

The surgery was scheduled for eight in the morning, but as with most of these procedures, the doctors told their patients to be about an hour early to expedite the pre-op process. Because Irene had picked the earliest time slot, there was hardly any wait time. By the time her father had found them, they were calling her name, asking her to come back to a pre-op room, where she was told to take everything off and put on a gown. One nurse then started asking her admission questions while another inserted an IV. Afterwards, Dr. Rosen stopped by with the anesthesiologist to get consents. And before she knew it, Irene was being rolled back into the operating room, her heart pounding so loud in her chest that she was surprised no one else had heard it.

Whether it was from nerves or all the activity that occurred right before the anesthesia was given that caused the slight amnesia Irene had when she woke, she didn't know. She didn't remember much of what had happened in the operating room before losing consciousness, but when she opened her eyes again, it was almost as if nothing had occurred. Her brain was in such a fog, she barely registered the PACU nurse greeting her and asking if she was experiencing any pain. The answer was "no" but all she could do was shake her head at the moment. Her throat felt incredibly dry and it hurt when she swallowed--likely from the intubation.

But, as with most cases, Irene became more awake as time went on. She was able to drink some water and keep down a couple of crackers. At one point, her parents came in. Her mother, rushing to her side and grabbing her hand from beneath the warm blankets, while her father hung back, his hands in his pockets. The older man looked relieved, though, and he was wearing a slight smile beneath his mustache.

Soon Irene was brought up to the oncology floor, where she was given a meal. At this point, twelve hours had passed since her last meal, and she was starved. The food helped the slight nausea she felt, surprisingly, but the pain started to kick in. Irene tried to wait it out, not wanting to take medication unless she really required it, but her mother saw her wince as she moved to sit up. Her father insisted she take something, and Irene, at this point, had no energy to argue. They gave her something intravenously, a narcotic, and she started feeling quite sleepy after that. She went to bed early that night, waking up only to use the bathroom or to ask for something for pain.

The next morning, while Irene was cleaning herself up, she finally took a look at what they had done. Her chest was wrapped in a dressing, and the right side, which had the mastectomy, had two drains hanging from it. It was a bit odd to look at, but she had done enough research to prepare herself for the sight. Her chest didn't look the least bit pretty, the skin discolored around the gauze, and a part of her was relieved Tom wasn't home to see her like this. One look in the mirror, taking in her appearance as well as the dark circles under her eyes and messy hair, was enough to make her want to crawl back into bed and hide.

She felt like she had been hit by a truck on top of looking like she had been. There was no energy to do much of anything besides the necessary things like eat and use the bathroom. She did brush her teeth and wash her face, and the patient care technician was kind enough to assist her in a sponge bath of sorts. Later on, her mother came to visit and brushed out her hair. It was afterwards, when her mother left for some lunch that Irene sent a text to Nate.

[Irene]: Hey. Just wanted to let you know that the surgery went well. Hope everything is still good by you! :)

She didn't end up going home until three days post-op, and while there was some relief that came with the success of the surgery and progress of recovery, the fact that the lymph node biopsy they had done hadn't come back with results yet hung over her like a dark cloud. Irene tried to go about her day, though, back at home with her parents. The day after she had settled into her childhood room, they took her for a drive by her house, picking up the mail as well as some other things she had forgotten to pack. Fortunately, her father had been the one to get the mail, and he didn't ask who Nathaniel Davis was or why he was writing her. It was while she was alone, in bed that night, that she opened the letter from Nate. It was a bit hard to read with the dim lamp on her nightstand as her only source of light, but she managed, smiling to herself and only wincing slightly when her drain tugged, not following her onto her side.

Irene wrote to him the next day and asked her father to place it in the mailbox for her. Again, no questions were asked, and she was more than grateful for it.

May 22, 2020

Dear Nate,

I honestly enjoyed reading about your day, so feel free to write me about it any time. I don't know much about what goes on in the military or flight school, for that matter. My father, uncles, and both my grandfathers are veterans, and while my grandfathers could go on for days about WWII, my father is pretty tight lipped about the Gulf War and his experience during it. Tom talked about his first tour a bit when he came home, but again, there was a lot he didn't want to talk about or couldn't. I understand, but I'm also curious. And I'm pretty certain things are different now than they were back in the 40s.

Reading about your experience listening to the WWII pilot reminded me of my Popop (my mother's father). He flew during WWII, too, and he was only 18, at the time. He and my grandfather on my father's side talk a lot about their experiences, despite fighting for different countries. My Grandpa (he insisted we didn't call him any funny-sounding names) fought for the British, and he was much older. He lost his younger brother in Italy, so I think my Popop kind of fills that role for him. They're the entertainment at most of my family gatherings, when both sides are present; it's with my Popop that my Grandpa really ever laughs, so we try to get them together every once in a while. You'll have to meet them one day. I think they'd like you, especially my Popop.

I would love to hear those stories! I'll definitely remind you. It would have been amazing to see in person, but I'm sure you can do a great retelling. :)

Your classes all sound interesting, and I'm sure they all have their purpose, even the history class. Sometimes the best teacher is the past, so who knows what people draw from it? As for flying cars? No thank you. I think the test for regular cars is far too easy to pass. Although, I guess I really shouldn't be talking. I failed the first time for missing a stop sign. Oops. I can't imagine flying something when controlling something on the ground can be pretty dangerous, which is why I've always admired pilots.

I am curious, though. What are your favorite MREs? The Cowboy Coffee sounds...odd. I can't imagine what that would be like to eat or drink? Do you eat it or drink it?

Thank you for thinking about me. I wish I could have texted you sooner, but that day was pretty rough, mostly due to the medications. I'm doing much better, now, though. The only thing weighing on me heavily are the results of the lymph biopsy. That will tell me whether or not I need chemotherapy or radiation.

I'm glad to hear that they're taking care of you guys there and that you definitely seem happier. Believe it or not, I can tell by reading your letters. If I compared this one that I'm responding to now to one of the ones you wrote before you came back to the states, there is a huge difference. I don't know if I'm right, but that's just the impression I'm getting. It's nice to read (not that your earlier letters weren't). I like hearing about your Pops and your obvious passion for what you're doing.

I look forward to your next letter.

Take care of yourself, too,

Irene​
 
"Hey Grandpa, you want to ride out to town with us?" A couple of the young nuts from class stopped by Friday night, their faces eager to get off base and break a few beers open, flirt with the townies, and find an excuse to stay up late. Some of them were too young to buy alcohol, but they were military and this was Alabama. Unless you were in a dry county or it was between 11pm Saturday and 8am Monday, you could buy beer if you could reach the counter. One of the perks where almost every truck you passed had Old Glory flying from it's bed, or stickers of the flag plastered somewhere on the tailgate.

"Nah, you guys drink one for me," Nate waved them off. "This old brain needs to study."

"Alright, man. Your loss," they teased, before moving to the next doorway and extending the same offer.

It wasn't a lie - he did need to study. They had one more week of Phase 1 before moving to ten weeks of flight training and 60 glorious hours in the TH-67 Creek training helicopter. He didn't want to chance missing out on that simply because he didn't spend enough time in the books. This was too important. He had felt it when the thought to apply first came to him, and ever since, every step made him more certain that this was the path he needed to take. He was tempted to turn on his phone and check on Irene, but his class had been counseled to set aside the outside world and focus on their mission. Learn. Spend every hour of every day learning - if something was happening that they needed to know about, they'd get word. The only way to succeed was to be 'all in'.

Finally Sunday arrived. The first day of the week, and his only day not completely engrossed in school. It was his day to check in with the outside world and remember why he was training. Nate woke early, keeping his sleep consistent, and after a brief run and a shower removed his phone from the drawer to turn it on. He'd call Pops after breakfast and catch up with him, hopefully get to share a few of the old vet's tales as well, while they were still fresh in his mind. The first thing he saw was the message alert, and the first thing he did was smile.

He quickly texted Irene back before dialing Pop's number:


That's the best news of the week! (y) How are you doing today? Home with the parents still?

Pops picked up on the second ring. "They let you fly yet?" Not 'hello' or 'hey, Nate, how are you?'

Nate grinned. That gravely voice could be blunt with him any day of the week. He loved it. "Not for a few more weeks, Pops. Soon. How are you? Did you take your morning meds?"

"Bah! Those things are worse than what they're 'supposedly' treating me for!" He took a slurp of coffee. "But yes, I took my morning drugs," he sounded like a petulant child in the body of a 70-year old. "You get the letter?"

They both knew which letter he meant. Pops was nothing if not direct. "I did, thank you." Nate sipped his coffee as well and imagined Pops sitting on the front porch watching the birds flying overhead to the Richards' pond. "I gave her my address here, but if any others come would you send them?"

Pops chuckled. "This pen pal of yours, she doesn't live far from us, you know. Not as far as when you were playing in the sandbox."

"Yeah, I know," he chuckled back at the innuendo. Not the most subtle of men...

"I mean, if you decide you want to swing out to the Atlantic during your Christmas break, this old geezer will understand."

"Oh..." he calculated miles and days, and shook his head. "I don't think that would be a good idea. I don't have a lot of time, and it's important for me to see you." Besides, she has a fiancee, and that would be awkward. And forward. And she's just a friend.

"The future's just as important as the past, son." He looked down at his near-empty mug. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, Pops. I'm doing great. You were right - I belong here."

"What did you say?" Pops grinned to himself. "I couldn't hear that."

"I said you were right. I belong here." He spoke more slowly and louder, thinking that the reception was bad.

"Damn right I am," Pops agreed. "I was right then and I'm right now. You need to visit your pen pal. You got time enough to drive out and see me, spend a night, drive out and see her, spend a night, and get back in time for turkey and pie, before you gotta be back at camp."

He let out a laugh. "You got this whole thing figured out, don't you?"

"You don't get to be my age by being an idiot. Unless you're a politician," he drank the last of his coffee. "I love you, Nate. You keep making us proud, boy."

"I love you too, Pops." He smiled as they hung up and looked at the phone. That old man sure had a lot of time on his hands to be plotting out his life like that, but he had to be grateful for Joe's insight. He had been right about flight school, and he certainly knew Nate better than anyone else. Joe Burnett could read people as well as he read the weather, and Nate had never known him to be wrong about the weather.
 
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