Always and Forever (4 page)

Take care, sweet lady. I'll call you on New Year's Eve. A special gift for both of us. You're always in my thoughts.

Kyle

December 24, 1976

Dearest Kyle,
I'm going to miss getting your weekly letters. To be honest, your letters and phone calls have helped me stay centered during this awful period. You don't see that, though, do you? That's one of the reasons why I could face Mike's parents and stay with them. It was a cathartic experience, but I think, in some ways, healing for all of us.

Well, here's my Letter #52! Last one. I'm surprised you
haven't fallen asleep over them yet! What a masochist you are at heart!

Right now, I'm living on base at Travis. The base housing here is like it is everywhere: you can hear your neighbors through the walls. I'm surrounded by families on both sides of me and I really like that. Often, when I don't have duty at night, I'll baby-sit for Susan, who has three small children ranging in age from one through four, or Jackie, who has two, ages seven and ten.

I really enjoy the children. They give me so much hope. When I hear them laugh, I remember back to the good times when I laughed like that as a kid—or even as a grown-up. I especially remember laughing at something you had in every one of your letters. You have been wonderful in giving humor as a gift to me on days when I felt lower than a snake's belly, to use Susan's words. (She's from Texas, can you tell.)

This fall, I planted daffodils out front. The soil here is really bad, but I've tried to prepare it properly so I'll have at least three dozen plants poking their heads up in early March. It's nice to have something of home that you can bring along with you, isn't it? That's why I knitted you the sweater. To tell you the truth, that sweater was knitted during baby-sitting time. I'm surprised you didn't find a dab of jelly, a gob of sticky caramel or some other unidentifiable stain on it! The younger children especially loved to sit with me while I was knitting. And they love to touch things at their age. I ended up using a lot more yarn than it should have taken because they loved playing with it so much! Rather than them handling your burgeoning sweater, I let them play with the extra skeins I kept in my basket.

The kids have been good for me in a lot of ways. Nights are usually filled with helping Susan or Jackie (because both their husbands are SAC pilots who fly B-52s and are
away more than they're home—sound familiar?). I've become Auntie Gale to the children, and I rather enjoy my status. There's something about a child's smile when it's given to you, or the touch of a child's hand that just can't be duplicated anywhere else in life. Do you like children, Kyle? I know you were an only child and never had the pleasure of sibling company. Let me know. I'm curious.

Take care. And you're right: enclosed is a huge bottle of vitamin C! You'd better be over your sniffles by the time the New Year call rolls around or you're in deep you-know-what. As always, you're in my heart and thoughts.

Your friend, Gale

December 20, 1977

Dearest Gale,
Another Christmas. Life goes on, doesn't it, whether we want it to or not? This letter will reach you down in Sedona. I'm sure Mike's folks are delighted you're there again for them. I don't see how you do it. You've got a hell of a lot more courage and internal fortitude than I would under your circumstances. Just your being there has got to lift their spirits. If you were here at Griffiss AFB, which is near Buffalo, New York, I'd give you a big hug and kiss for what you've done for them. You're one hell of a lady in my book.

Well, I'm finally settled into my new base—I have more responsibility, less flying time. I don't like that. If I wanted to fly a desk, I wouldn't have joined the Air Force.

Buffalo is—well, let's put it this way: it's not the most exciting place for a bachelor. We've already got a ton of snow. Hell of a change from my Florida base. I guess I live a life of extremes. I wear the sweater you knitted for me a lot nowadays when I'm off duty.

Until you told me, I often wondered what your favorite flower was. A daffodil. I pictured you like spring flowers, so I was close. Fall is my favorite time of year. I like the riot of color. Makes me think of some invisible painter who's gone wild with a palette of colors, slap dashing them here and there. I like the smells, too. Funny, since I've known you, you've put me more in touch with my senses. I never used to notice subtle shadings or pay attention to smells in general.

You're right: pilots are put in a little box, certain skills they possess brought out and honed to a fine degree, but everything else just sort of sits there, ignored and untended. You're a hell of a gardener, lady. I like being cultivated by you. I like seeing life through your eyes. It's made me see my world differently. Better.

Because of my transfer to Griffiss, I can't be home for Christmas with my parents. Too bad, I'd promised them I'd make it this year. I know you'll drop by and see them for me, you're that kind of lady. Don't tell my mother that I'm unhappy here. Lie. She tends to worry too much. I think she got all her gray hair while I was over at Udorn flying missions over Hanoi. I don't want to be responsible for any more gray hairs on her head. Worst of all, I can't be there while you're there. If nothing else, I could have offered you fortitude with Mike's parents and been there in case you needed a shoulder to cry on.

Hi...this is a supplement. A KC-135 tanker just slid off the end of the runway during an ice storm and I had to go help. Not much for me to do, but as one of the few officers left on base during Christmas, everyone becomes more important or integral than usual. Luckily, the crew is fine. The 135 is going to need some major structural work, but it could have been worse. Much worse.

God, it's freezing cold here compared to Florida. I think
my blood's thinned too much. It's dark and gloomy here in the office. I really didn't want any lights on, I guess. It's 1600 and the dusk is coming up rapidly. I was sitting here in my new office, leaning back in my chair, my feet propped up on the desk, a warm cup of coffee in hand, and I got to thinking about you. It was a good, warm feeling, Gale.

You've taken the last few years with so much grace. You haven't faltered at work, and you've gone on without Mike. Hanging in limbo must be a special hell for you. It's got to be. And yet, you survive. The last year's worth of letters from you has explained so much to me about you, how you work, think and feel. Reading about your world has affected how I see mine. I've got the best end of the deal, I think.

Maybe I'm feeling guilty...feeling something, that's for sure...hell, I don't know
what
it is. Maybe it's the holiday blues that strike the military people who can't be with the people they love at special times like this. I think I'm feeling sorry for myself because you're home with people I love and I'm not there to share it with you. So, don't get alarmed at my wallowing. I'm just sharing my wallowing with you for the first time.

We've shared a lot of ground with one another, haven't we? That's the good thing about our friendship. I've never had a woman as a friend. (Don't comment on
that!
) I guess I want to say while I'm in this philosophical mood, that these past few years have been the best of my life. I never had a relationship with a woman that ever got to this depth or that I allowed to get past my jock facade. It's not so bad. In fact, it's damn good. Just thinking of you, of what we've shared these years, makes my heart feel like it's exploding in my chest. If you feel one-tenth as lucky as I do, I'll be happy.

Give my folks and Mike's folks a big hug for me, will you? Tell them I'll make it next Christmas or else, okay? And give yourself a big hug from me.

Warmly, Kyle

December 26, 1977

Dearest Kyle,
I'm here in the guest room at Mike's parent's home. Your last letter touched me so deeply, that I cried. Oh, I know, you didn't intend on making me do that, but I couldn't help it. Loneliness is something I know well, and so do you, in another kind of way.

More than anything, I wanted to meet you here so we could have celebrated a Christmas together. Wouldn't that have been nice? We both could have drunk a toast to Mike and been here to help support his parents. They still are suffering so badly, I just don't know what to say or do. I talk a lot with Mom about this, and I think it helps to alleviate some of her fears. This year, she really unloaded and revealed a lot more to me than last year. I think she's really beginning to trust me. After all, I was a stranger who walked in, married her son and then left town. I really like her, but she's gotten so many gray hairs worrying.

Mike's dad has internalized the whole thing. His ulcer (which he got after Mike was M.I.A.) tends to act up at this time of year, according to Mom. I spend time with him down at Oak Creek. You know how he loves to fish. I just sit there on one of those smooth red sandstone rocks and let him do the talking, if he feels like it. For the first time, he spoke about Mike. About the possibility that he was dead, not alive. It hurt to hear him feel that way.

I guess men are more pessimistic than women by nature. I hold out hope he's alive. Dad has not. But Mom has. I
really wished you had been here. It got pretty emotional for me with each one of them unloading on me. They didn't mean to, but who else could they talk to? I went for a hike on Christmas Day and wished you were here. I know that I could have cried in your arms and it would have been okay. I didn't dare cry in front of Mom and Dad. They were feeling miserable enough.

Oh, Kyle, I just hope this is over soon. What's wearing me down isn't myself as much as those I love, like Mike's parents. It hurts me to see the pain they carry with them daily. With your help, I've been able to put my pain into a perspective of sorts. I don't know what I'd have done without your care and help through all these years. I'm thankful for your support. And, like you, I love where our friendship is going. It's a privilege to know the
real
Kyle Anderson, 'cause he's a far better guy than that jock facade he wears.

I'd better go. I hear Mom downstairs. I woke up early and wanted to get this letter off to you today. I can hardly wait to hear from you on New Year's Eve! Your parents and Mike's can hardly wait, either. How I wish you could come home for Christmas. Any Christmas! You're dear to my heart, my best friend.... Gale

December 24, 1978
Travis Air Force Base, California

A
ny minute now, Major Kyle Anderson was going to walk through the doors of Operations. Gale fidgeted nervously behind the meteorology desk, the only meteorologist on duty Christmas Eve. Her heart speeded up, as it always did whenever she got a letter or received a call from Kyle. How long had it been since she'd last seen him? Five years. Five of the most hellish years of her life. But his letters and later, his frequent phone calls had helped ease her suffering.

Licking her lower lip, Gale moved to the forecaster's desk and sat down. In the other room, twelve Teletype machines noisily clattered away, printing out weather information from around the world. Her mind and heart focused on the fact that within seventy-two hours she would know one way or another whether Mike was alive or dead.

Rubbing her aching brow, Gale closed her eyes, the tears coming. She fought them back, refusing to cry.

Sniffing, she took a tissue, dabbed her eyes and tried to
focus on the wall of weather maps. Operations was ghostly quiet. Across the way, one airman was on duty at the aircontrol desk. Everyone else was with family on this Christmas Eve. Everyone had someone to spend the holidays with.

Two days ago, the Pentagon had informed her that Mike's dog tags had been supplied by Hanoi as belonging to a POW. The North Vietnamese were releasing some POWs and the remains of other servicemen as a goodwill gesture. As to Mike's fate, sometime between December 25 and 28, the Pentagon would know and Gale would be contacted. Unable to stand the suspense alone, she had called Kyle.

More tears came and she wiped them away. He was supposed to go home for Christmas this year. She'd hesitated calling him. She knew how badly his folks wanted to see him and how much he needed to be home. But the pain of waiting alone had driven her to the phone to ask him to come and wait with her instead.

Kyle hadn't sounded as if he wanted to be anywhere but at her side when the news came from the Pentagon. She felt guilty about taking him from his folks and hoped that they would forgive her moment of weakness.

Gale got up and went to the Teleype room where there was a modicum of privacy. She didn't want the airman across the way to see her like this. Even now, Mike's parents waited, having also been notified. They had looked to her for solace over the past few years, especially since they had both come to fear Mike was dead. But they'd never openly admitted that to her.

Kyle was coming to be with her. He'd always kept up her hope, her belief that Mike was still alive.

“How am I going to handle this?” she muttered, burying her face in her hands.
“How?”

Right now, her emotions were little more than taut butterfly's wings ready to shatter at the slightest movement. Kyle, flying in from Griffiss AFB, was supposed to land momentarily. A part of her was so weak after the years of terrible waiting and wondering, of being in limbo about Mike, that she ached to simply be held by Kyle. Gale knew she'd feel safe and protected from a world gone mad. The peace she'd felt in his arms five years ago when she'd burned her hand would be there, too. Her emotions were playing tricks on her. Gale thought she had heard longing in Kyle's voice when she'd made that phone call, but that was impossible.

She began to absently tear off and collect the Teletype paper, gathering it from each machine and then clipping it to posting boards. Some of the sheets would be used in plotting the midnight weather map an hour from now. Walking out into the main office, Gale put the weather information on the desk where a clean sheet of map paper lay. Working kept her from thinking. Working kept her from feeling.