Dear Soldier Boy (18 page)

“I’m sorry. I’m not here to counsel you. I brought you a holiday bag.” Vivian walked closer to the soldier in the bed and offered her the bag.

“Is there any chocolate?”

Vivian smiled. “A jar of Nutella.”

Paige’s eyes filled with tears. “I haven’t had Nutella since I was a kid.”

Vivian placed the bag on her bed. “I normally can’t keep Nutella at my house, because I have no self-control with it.”

They both laughed.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” Vivian swallowed hard. She hoped she wouldn’t ask her if she knew why she was there, or that JCI Logistics did know, and that they didn’t care about this soldier or any of them. Vivian didn’t want to answer that question, not out loud. She feared the idea of those words falling from her mouth in front of a soldier. Not that this woman would know she had worked for JCI Logistics, but the fear still pulsed in her veins.

“Will you feed me some of the Nutella?”

Tears filled in Vivian’s eyes. This woman couldn’t feed herself. She nodded.

“I used to be right handed. I’m still learning how to use my left. I’ll get there, but it’s hard.”

Vivian rifled through the bag and took out the jar of Nutella and scooped a nice size dollop of the chocolate deliciousness into Paige’s mouth.

Her lips closed and her jaw moved, obviously enjoying the taste. She swallowed and met Vivian’s eyes. “Thank you.” Paige’s eyes left Vivian’s face. She needed space. This was obvious. The taste of chocolate was good, but not enough to undue the pain in her body and her mind. To deal with this. All of it. War and loss of limbs.

Vivian nodded and left the room. She made her way down the hallway. In and out of the rooms, she met with the soldiers, and offered up the holiday bags. Some were happy, others were unable to make eye contact. Vivian did her best to be patient and kind, regardless of the reception. This was her attempt at redemption. It was small. It would never be enough, but it was a step.

At the end of the hall, she had two rooms left. She knocked on the second to last door. She no longer needed the cart with the tray because she could carry the final two bags in her hands.

“May I come in?”

“Sure, I have no plans. I’m stuck here. Stuck.”

Vivian entered the room and took in the sight of a man covered in bandages from head to toe. His arms were wrapped in white and his legs were raised above the bed. They were elevated and his face was covered in lines. Red lines from being injured. Vivian swallowed and held back her gasp. She was not going to act shocked. She had to be strong. Two rooms left. Two more soldiers, and then she could cry. God, how she would cry.

“Hi, I’m Vivian.”

“Great, whatcha got? Peppermint sticks? I really like peppermint sticks.”

Vivian’s eyebrows squinted. “I’m sorry, I put Nutella in for everyone.”

“Humph, well I guess that will do. Can you give me a scoop? I’m a bit confined at the moment.”

“Sure.” Vivian opened the jar and fed the soldier. He nodded to her for another scoop, and another. After several more, he signaled he was through and for her to leave.

Vivian hit the wall on the outside of his room. Her back was braced up against it. She breathed heavy as the hallway spun. She had to get a grip. One more room. She could do it. One more, and she could go. She wasn’t confined to a hospital bed like all of these soldiers. She was free, and it burned inside. She took in slow steady breaths as she made her way to the front of the final door.

The nurse stopped her hand. “Honey, you don’t want to go in there. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”

Vivian retracted her hand and she nodded. The nurse left her in the hall, and Vivian’s insides shattered into little tiny pieces. Was it possible that someone wasn’t talking because of her? How many of these soldiers were here because of her company—her former company—and their careless, callous ways? She sank against the wall and a tear fell from her eye. He was gone because of her.
No. Don’t think about him now. Not here. Anywhere but here.
She had to stop thinking about him. He was gone.

Chapter Forty-One

Vivian turned around and faced the door. The last door. She had to do it. She had to give her last bag. Vivian gave her custom knock, knock. It was slightly open, but a light blue curtain was covering the view of where the soldier lay in the hospital bed.

“May I come in?”

“Why?” A deep man’s voice inquired. It was stern and seemed bothered. Granted, the voice belonged to a soldier in a hospital, but Vivian was there to try and bring some form of happiness. Her chest tightened. With each room, the guilt swept the air from her lungs.

“Um, I have a holiday bag to give you.”
Vivian pushed the door further open. “I can leave it on the chair if you prefer.”

“No, you can come in.”

Vivian made her way around the curtain to the other side of the soldier’s bed. Underneath his thick, sandy-colored beard, his tan face was covered in scratches that seemed to be healing. The white hospital gown had little blue dots, and somehow, they seemed to make his eyes clearer. One of them. The other was different. It wasn’t the same as the right eye. The right eye was a crystal blue. She traced her eyes over his body. His chest was large and rippled with muscles, and his hands were scarred. Down his body her eyes traveled until she met his legs. His leg. One was missing. It was covered in white gauze. He had lost a leg. Most likely because of her. Vivian’s former company and their money saving practices. Vivian swallowed hard. She was not going to be sick. Not in front of him. In front of him, she would be brave and focus on his face. He sat tall in his wheel chair. She could be brave.

“
Hi, I'm Vivian.”

His eyes seemed cooler as he took in Vivian, like an attempt to inspect her conscience and motive for being there.
“Vivian, is it?”

In all her visits, no one had mentioned her name. And that was okay. No one needed to say her name. She was there for them, not her own emotions. This was not a charity act for her own soul. This was not an attempt to lighten the load of guilt on her heart, but an unexpected gift to someone else. It wasn’t meant to be an exchange. This was supposed to be one-sided.

She wanted to be better than herself and not be selfish. If no one wanted to be nice back, that was okay. Vivian was there to try and bring smiles to them. Something, anything, to give them a tiny bit of happiness after all her company had taken away.

The man’s eyes were so familiar. They made her want to fall into his ocean. Something about the color. The lightness of it. It wasn’t Matthew. Vivian had to stop projecting. Annoyed with herself, she flipped her hair over her should and faced the soldier.

A warm smile crossed her face. Despite being there for her own atonement, she did truly want to make these soldiers happier. The pain she experienced was nothing to what they and their families had been through—the fear, the worry, and the self-doubt. And all she had to offer was a care bag. Thankfully, this was the last one.

“Yes, I'm just bringing…well, I made these bags.” She reached over his bed and handed him the bag.
Not sure what else to do. Vivian stepped backward. This was not her comfort zone, being so close to another person. The only person—well, living thing—she had been near in the last five months was Duke. Even feeding the other soldiers had seemed distant. Removed. The heat from this soldier’s body radiated against hers and they hadn’t even touched. The handle left her fingers and met his palm with no physical exchange.

“
May I?” The soldier raised his eyebrow at her and peeked into the bag.

“Of course, it's all yours.”

The soldier lifted the chap sticks out of the bag and a smile crossed his weathered face. His beard was thick and rough, but the lines of his smile could still be seen.

“I read that lips get really dry in hospitals.”

“That they do.” The soldier laughed and reached for the next item. A small puzzle. Five hundred and one pieces. Vivian would give anything to have the missing piece of her life back. She needed to leave this room before she cried. She couldn’t let tears fall from her eyes in front of this man. This wounded soldier. He didn’t deserve that. With as much courage as she could give, she opted to project happiness into the room.

“I like puzzles and thought it would help to pass the time.”

“You do seem like a puzzle kind of girl.” He reached in and pulled out a jar of Nutella.

“I had made caramels, but then I read you can’t have any food that isn’t sealed. For the safety of the soldiers.”

“Yes, the safety of the soldiers.” He grunted and placed the jar on the table. He rifled through the bag and pulled out a snowflake, then held it up, inspecting it.

“Did you make this?’

“Yes, I’ve always liked snowflakes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they remind us to forget our imperfections and embrace our uniqueness.” She swallowed. “When the snow melts, the water evaporates back into the sky and provides a new opportunity to reinvent itself when it falls again.”

“That’s nice, Vivian, thank you.” The way he said her name was so smooth and familiar. Like he had recited it a thousand times before into her ear. It was almost magical. But not. She was weary and distraught from all the visits with every single soldier on this floor. He was the last one. She needed to stay in the moment and not drift away into a daydream of hopes and despair.

Vivian swallowed. “It’s really nothing, thank you for your service.”

The soldier nodded and brushed his thumb and forefinger over his jaw.

“So, do you have big plans for the holiday?”

Vivian’s cheeks flashed a crimson shade. "No, this was it."

"This is it? Passing out care packages on Christmas Eve?"

A small laugh escaped from her mouth. "Pretty much." And she brushed her hair off her face. “I wanted to put some caramels in the bags. But the hospital staff said no, so I'll probably go home and stuff my face. 'Tis the season for a jelly belly, right?"

He laughed a hearty chuckle and their eyes met. It was one of those moments of silence that pass between two people which speaks volumes. With as much strength as she could muster, she broke their stare and glanced at the floor. His eyes were so intense, like he was able to read deep into her soul, like he knew all of her secrets and insecurities. It couldn’t be Matthew. If it were Matthew, he would say something. He had a zillion photos of her. He would recognize her, at the very least, and acknowledge her. No matter how much he hated her, surely he would say something? It wasn’t Matthew, this was not her Soldier Boy. Despite the knowing look in his eyes and the physical warmth of his body, it couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. She had only seen a few photos of him, and this man was not Matthew.  As much as she wanted it to be him, it just wasn’t.

“What about you?”

He glanced at the bed. “Given the leg, I'm pretty much on lockdown.”

Vivian’s eyes squeezed together and she nodded. “
I'm sorry.” A large lump formed in the back of her throat and she swallowed. “I guess I should go...and let you get some rest.”

“Yes. I definitely need rest.”

The curtain was soft on her fingers, like a moment in time, paused and expectant, but returning nothing but a cool breeze of what could have been. Her body squeezed through the doorway as the soldier cleared his throat.

“Don't leave, Civilian Girl."

Vivian’s heart fell to the floor as tears filled her eyes. Three months, and nothing. An entire year of getting to know this man, and zero contact. Shut out. Shut down. Gone. Everything seemed to be over. All hope had been lost. She had been delivered his death letter. His goodbye. His
closure
. Could this even be possible? Was it really him? Was she dreaming, or did she mishear him? The man in the bed. The injured soldier. Was she projecting? Was her longing crossing over into her perceived reality? Making her hear things that weren’t said?

She pushed past the curtain and faced Matthew, knowing it had to be him. There was something about his eyes and his voice, even though she had never heard it before. It was him. It had to be. He was the only person who would ever call her Civilian Girl.

Chapter Forty-Two

"Leaving already Civilian Girl?”

Vivian’s head shot up. Her eyes widened,
hazel eyes, just like she said, but different. She hadn't mentioned the gold
flecks that made them glow. The pictures
didn’t show that or the pink that crept up her neck when she blushed. Oh God,
she was beautiful, more so than any of her pictures had captured. Tightness spread
across his chest. It was hard to breathe. She sucked the air from his lungs,
just like in his dreams. But he wasn’t dreaming. This wasn’t another morphine
fantasy like on the rescue chopper. He was on fire like the dream, and
he couldn’t breath—so much pressure on his chest, it ached. But his mind could
never conjure her beauty. She was perfect. She was too much for his feeble
mind to imagine on its own. She was here. Oh, God, she was here. She was
real.