Letters from War (10 page)

His mother came flanked by Emily and Britt to attach the blue braid to the right lapel so that it encircled his shoulder.

Proud tears filled her eyes.

“Where did my boy go?” she asked him.

He smiled at her but didn't reply. He helped her attach the cord, bending his knees so she could easily do it. After it was on, they posed for several pictures, then she gave him a big hug.

“He's smiling down on you, James,” she whispered in his ear.

He almost let the tears come, but he fought them off.

A sergeant came up to congratulate James. He smiled at his mom, charming her with an air of civility James hadn't seen for fourteen weeks.

“They were good boys,” the sergeant said. “When they get home, they'll know how to clean their rooms and make their beds.”

It was strange to have forgotten the simplicities of life. Going out to dinner and laughing about familiar incidents and people. The evening gave James the luxury
of being with Britt and his mom and sister. Graduation would be tomorrow.

The small things mattered in a big way. He could say that now after getting through this first part and seeing the world in a new light. Small things like eating at Red Lobster and scarfing down six warm cheddar biscuits before his steak and lobster came. Small things like sitting next to Britt in the booth and feeling her body always touching his, even when they got their food. Small things like joking with Emily about the guy she was dating and still finding a way to push all her buttons.

His sides hurt from laughing and his mouth was sore from smiling.

It was nice to get a little break and celebrate.

After saying good-bye to Britt and Emily, Beth followed him back away from the car so she could talk with him. It was colder and windy and her light jacket didn't seem warm enough.

“You better get back in the car,” he said.

“I will. I just need to say something.”

“Oh, no. Here it comes.”

“Stop,” she said playfully. “I just want you to know something. And I could wait but I know better than to wait on things like this. You should say them in the moment. I learned that the hard way when it came to your father.”

He stood waiting for his mother to continue. He could see the tears in her eyes even though it was dark out and the faint light from the streetlamp was the only thing that allowed them to see.

She continued. “I want you to know how proud I am to see you in that uniform. Not because your father was in that uniform. That delights me and I know it delights your father too. But I want you to know something Richard once told me with unabashed pride. He said that only about one percent of the U.S. population ever gets to wear the military uniform. That means you are in that rare one percent and you will always be, whatever happens from this day forward.”

James wasn't sure what to say, so he answered with a nod.

“You're still my baby and you always will be, you understand? That no matter
what
uniform you're wearing, you're my little boy. So that means you need to take care of yourself, understand that? You need to come home safe.”

“Of course.”

She gave him a hug and then told him to get a good night's rest. They would see him tomorrow at graduation and the subsequent parties to follow.

James watched his mother get swallowed by the darkness as she went to the parking lot. He stood and
thought about her words and then thought about the day.

It had been an exceptional day.

But his story—
this
story—had just begun.

DECEMBER 24, 2006

He held her hand in silence, the drive from her parents' house a short fifteen minutes. Yet the silence made the passing miles feel longer.

“You okay?” Britt asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Then what's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Where'd you go? After opening presents?”

“Nowhere.”

Britt usually would leave things alone but she didn't seem as if she was going to tonight. Maybe because it was Christmas Eve and this was one of those times when his reticence simply didn't belong.

“What's going on, James?”

“Nothing. Really.”

“You've been distant all night.”

“I've been here.”

“But your mind is somewhere else. You seem worried. Is it because you're leaving soon?”

“No.” His answer was a bit too abrupt, and he squeezed her hand right after uttering it. “I'm sorry. But that's not it.”

“It would be okay if it was.”

“But it's not. Really.”

He knew what was coming and he knew it shouldn't be preceded by an argument. That was the last thing he wanted. But his mind and his gut and his heart all stormed inside.

There's no training for this. None at all.

He looked over at her in the dim light of the truck.

She's so beautiful. I don't want to leave her, even though I'm going to very soon.

“James?”

“Yeah.”

“Why is it so much easier for you to write what you feel rather than say it in person?”

“I don't know. It just is.”

“You can say anything to me. You don't have to worry.”

“I'm not worried.”

“Then what is it?”

“The words sound different spoken out loud.”

“But they aren't.”

“Yeah, maybe they aren't. But they just lose their meaning a bit. At least to me, when I say them. And I don't want to do that. I told you how I feel.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Britt, come on.”

“Nobody's around. Not now. You can tell me anything.”

“I know.”

“You don't have to be distant. You don't—you don't have time to be distant.”

“I know that.”

“James?”

“Just wait until we get home.”

“But then your mother and Emily will be there.”

“They will leave us alone. I promise.”

“You don't know that.”

“I asked.”

“You're scaring me,” Britt said.

“Why?”

“Because. Because it's almost like—I don't know. It's like you're going to break up with me or something.”

Girls,
he thought as he shook his head.
Some things really don't make any sense in this world.

“Why would you be spending the night at our house if I wanted to break up?”

“I don't know.”

“That would make for a really awkward Christmas morning, wouldn't it?”

“But then I don't get—”

He interrupted her with a “Shhhhh.”

Even though they were almost back to his house, the few minutes still felt too long.

Too long and not long enough.

The fire crackled and glowed as the scent of Christmas filled the room. James and Britt had turned off the television and they sat on the couch under a blanket.

“I want to give you your present tonight,” he said.

She looked at him with genuine surprise. “I thought that's why I was going to spend the night—so we could open them with your mom and sister in the morning.”

“I know. This is just something you'll like.”

“Really?”

“Oh, don't give me that look,” he said. “It's just a letter.”

“I like letters,” she told him.

But the glow on her face lessened a bit.

“You said it yourself—I say things better in letter form. Maybe I get that from my dad, I don't know. So I wrote you this.”

“Are you still going to write to me when you're in Iraq?”

“Mom already made me promise to write to her.”

“You can't write both?”

He laughed and nudged her. “Go on, read it.”

Her face was lit up in a way no camera or spotlight
could ever effect. She smiled and looked so innocent and cute and adorable and charming and sexy all at the same time.

He would never tell her all of that, at least not yet, but he couldn't help thinking it as he turned on a lamp next to them and she began reading his letter.

Britt stopped reading and hugged him, the tears glistening on her face.

“Did you finish it?” James asked.

“No, not yet, but I just wanted to—”

He kissed her for what felt like a second and an eternity, then he whispered for her to keep reading.

As she put down the letter and looked at him, James wiped the tears off her cheeks.

“I disappeared tonight because I let your father read that letter.”

Britt laughed and continued to wipe the tears away. “What did he say?”

“Believe it or not, he even shed a tear.”

“Yes, James. Yes.”

“You believe me?”

“I will stand by your side whatever happens and wherever you go. Yes. Yes.”

He moved and pulled a little box from underneath the couch.

“In that case, you might want to see this. It's just a little something I picked up. It's nothing much.”

One of the things Britt said she liked about him was his sarcasm. Especially in this case.