Unpredictable Love (4 page)

“
Marla at the post office
says.”

“
Marla should keep her nose out of my
business. So, are you gonna cut me a deal?”

“
Not for the finches, but anything for
our boys in the military. I’ll take five bucks off.”

“
It’s not much, but I’ll take
it.”

“
Hope you’re gonna show that boy a
good time when he gets home.” George winked at her. His eyes glowed
with salacious mischief.

“
George, aren’t you a bit old for that
kind of thing?”

“
Never too old to use what God gave
you.” He snickered, walking to the register.

Jory chuckled and shook her
head.
The man’s over seventy and still
getting it up?

George hauled the big sack of seed to her
car and loaded it in the trunk, along with three plastic feeders,
and an Audubon guide. Jory left work early to set up her little
avian fast food eatery. She placed them where they’d be visible
from her window on the second floor as well as the living room. She
dusted off an old pair of binoculars that had belonged to her
father then made a pot of tea to take upstairs.

It wasn’t long before the colorful, small
creatures found the food. She watched the chickadees and
goldfinches peck at the seeds as the sky mellowed to a warm pink.
Leafing through the book she’d bought, Jory identified each one
dining at her feeder. She wrote down their names. Their tiny beauty
intrigued her. She marveled at the different kinds that landed on
her perches to grow fat on sunflower seeds.

Chickadees, nut hatches, and goldfinches
were her favorites. Watching them eat brought peace to Jory and an
almost palpable connection to her soldier. She wrote to Trent about
her new feathered friends. He shared his stories and doodled
drawings of small birds from memory. She tucked his little pencil
scribblings into glassine envelopes to preserve them.

His next letter inched closer to her
heart.

Dear Jory,

Do you have dreams? When I was a kid, I
wanted to be a fireman. In high school, I took a bunch of computer
graphics classes. It was fun, but not an easy road for a career. At
eighteen, I decided to follow my dad’s example and be a Marine. We
moved around a lot, but Mom and Dad were happy. So I didn’t
complain too much.

I hope to be stateside permanently, someday.
A little house, with that standard, white picket fence, 2.3 kids,
and a beautiful wife sound damn good. Sometimes, I see that when I
close my eyes. Helps me sleep. Who do I picture as the beautiful
wife?

Why you, of course. Tell me your dreams.
Gotta go. Lights out.

Love,

Trent.

It was the first time he had signed “love,”
and it took her breath away. Did she love him back? No way, not
yet, couldn’t be. He wasn’t her type. But, oh, he was so sweet! She
pushed the idea out of her mind, smoothed a piece of stationery on
her lap desk, and clicked a pen to begin.

Dear Trent,

You asked about dreams. I used to have all
kinds. But not for a long time. My only dream has become making it
through each day. I’m sad to admit I don’t dream anymore. But I
used to. And in huge, colorful scenes.

When I was little, I
wanted to be a princess and dreamt about a handsome Prince. As I
got older, I realized that was silly. After all, you either had to
be born royalty or marry a prince. And how was a prince going to
find little Jory Walker, tucked into a cramped apartment on
77
^th
Street in Manhattan, amidst all the much prettier
girls?

By thirteen, I had abandoned that dream.
Then, my dreams involved pro athletes, movie stars, and rock stars.
I had a crush on about a dozen hunky guys. Even a few on our
football team, I’m embarrassed to admit!

I pictured living in a townhouse in
Manhattan with a rich man. Having four kids. Sending them to
private school. Having a cook and maid. When I dream, I dream big!
Lol.

By the time I was sixteen, my dream had
changed to a nice house, two kids, a job writing, and Mike Longley,
our quarterback, as the husband. But the next year, my parents
died. Mike went to college, and my dreams came to an end. I’m sorry
to be such a downer, but you asked.

It’s getting late, and I’ve an early
deadline tomorrow. Sleep well. Be safe and come home to me.

Hugs,

Jory

She wiped her eyes, tucked the letter in the
matching envelope, and sealed it. Her revelation to Trent dug up
old feelings. Carefree days when she’d simply lived without
worrying about money, cooking meals, and her sister’s behavior,
seemed so far away.

“
No sense going back there. Nothing is
the same. Move on,” she said to herself as she switched out the
light.

Every week, she deposited four letters with
Nan and retrieved four from the mailbox. She marveled at how he
managed to find the time to write. Sometimes, his were only a few
lines. Even the shortest note said she was on his mind. He treated
her as if she was special, a new experience for Jory. Her lengthy
responses surprised even her, as she had never been talkative.

After a month, she felt comfortable enough
to write about her parents and the traumatic events of their
death.

Dear Trent,

I don’t talk much about my parents. Their
death seems so long ago, but I doubt I’ll ever get over that day. I
even remember the sound of the doorbell when the police came. Up
until then, it had been just an ordinary day. I came home from high
school, thinking about my bio test and which homework I should do
first. Life was so simple. After that visit, nothing has been the
same.

Things got complicated, damn complicated. I
had my little sister to think about. I grew up about ten years’
worth in a month. Even now, I miss them. There are still times I
wish I could ask their advice. They were great parents.

At least I have my aunt Nan. She’s pretty
good, but she’s not them. You’d think by 32, I’d be over that crap.
Nope. Sorry to get so maudlin. Didn’t mean to be negative.
Otherwise, life here is good. How are you getting along?

Please keep your head down, and don’t forget
to write.

Warm regards,

Jory

Trent’s reply came faster than most. She
wondered what his response was to her sob story. Her fingers itched
to rip it open and drink in his words right there. There was no way
she could wait until bedtime. Passing the envelope from hand to
hand and back again, she decided to read it now. Jory slipped the
letter in a pocket and headed for the door.

“
I’m going for a walk.”

“
Dinner’s almost ready,” Nan said, her
hands on her hips.

“
Okay, okay. I’ll be back soon, real
soon.”

Jory headed out the back door of their
modest house to the woods. She had a “sad place,” as she used to
call it. About a hundred yards in was a fallen tree. Jory had piled
up stones to make a small wall. She’d sit on the log and mope on
days when being an orphan got to her. Nan knew about it and left
her alone.

When she reached the spot, she was
relieved to see an opening in the trees, allowing afternoon sun in.
How else could she read his letter in such a dark place? She sat on
the trunk, her back against a large pine, and ripped open the
envelope.
Hmm. Two pages.

Dear Jory,

Wow. Your letter blew me away. How did you
do all that stuff? You weren’t even eighteen yet. You took care of
your sister, managed to move in with your aunt, and get along with
her? That’s a pretty sad story. You must be strong to go through
that and survive.

I lost my parents too. But I was much older.
I was 26 when they died. Dad first, from cancer, then mom, a year
later, from grief. I’m an only child, so I didn’t have to look out
for a sibling. How did you do it?

My uncle came for me. He helped me sell the
house, pay off their debts, and find a room to rent. I lived there
until I was deployed and ended up here. I get how you miss them. I
still want to ask mine stuff too.

Especially my dad. He was military too. It’s
been seven years, but I don’t think that ever goes away.

If I was there, I’d find a way to make you
forget. Heh heh. There I go, getting dirty again. You’ll have to
straighten me out when I get back. Or maybe make my dreams come
true.

Hey, this letter is supposed to be about
you! I wish I could wave a magic wand and make you smile. Suck the
sadness from your heart. I’m sending you one, monster bear hug to
make you forget. Us orphans have to stick together.

I’m impressed you made it without going
nuts. That shit isn’t easy. I think you must be an amazing lady. I
can’t wait to meet you.

Yours,

Trent

Jory couldn’t believe how similar their
stories were. As she read his letter, he seemed to be sitting right
next to her. In her mind, she heard a voice she imagined as his,
reading it aloud. His words were comforting.

She touched the paper then brought it to her
lips. So many people had said they knew what she was going through,
but no one really did. That was the other hard part—the loneliness.
Nan had been a good listener, but she’d grown up in an intact
family. Although she tried hard, she couldn’t quite get the
emptiness engulfing Jory.

This was the first time she’d felt a
connection with anyone about her loss. Deep down inside, something
from Trent touched her through this letter. It was a game changer.
No longer could she shrug him off as some stranger she had nothing
in common with. Now, she had something so basic, so essential, so
down-to-her-core the same with him, she trembled at the thought. He
got her. Through the mail, he got her, got who she was, how hard
her life had been.

Tears flooded her eyes. She returned his
missive to her pocket to keep it dry as she searched for a tissue.
Jory had given up hoping to find someone who’d understand that part
of her life. She’d closed it off, put it on the shelf to gather
dust, to forget the fear, the sadness, and the uncertainty she had
faced at seventeen.

Now, she had opened it up for SSGT Trent
Stevens. She had put aside her fear of seeming childish or stupid
and shared her feelings. He didn’t disappoint. He hadn’t made fun,
or ignored it, or pretended it wasn’t important or serious. He had
done the right thing. His understanding lifted the darkness from
her heart, even if only temporarily. She smiled as she wiped her
eyes and blew her nose.

Maybe her mom had sent Trent to
comfort her. Then, she shook her head at the notion.
Don’t get all mystical. Take it for what it is. A
great guy who gets you.

Jory pulled it out and read it again.
She loved his support, until it got to the part about meeting. Her
blood ran cold. That would be the day when this attachment would
break. Her heart slowed and depression closed in around her, like a
dark cloud.
So? We meet. He hates me. We
part. So what? Nothing ventured, nothing lost.

But she didn’t believe her own bullshit.
Anticipating his correspondence, putting life on hold to write
back, kept Jory on a high. Love? She shivered at the thought.
Friendship was more like it. One thing was set in stone—it was much
too late to call it off.

Sometimes, she got nauseous when she thought
about the day of reckoning. He’d signed up for three years and only
half of that had passed—she had plenty of time to figure it
out.

This new letter` had changed the stakes. The
writing that had started out as a lark, with Jory picking up the
pieces of another Amber mess, had progressed way beyond. Trent had
become much more than a pen pal, and it was time to admit the
truth.

* * * *

Days without letters were
disappointing. She noticed a sluggishness about her gait when the
mailbox was empty.
I’m not falling in love
with him. He’s just a friend. A good friend.

“
Do you know that your appetite is
less when you don’t get a letter from Trent?” Nan said, putting a
mac and cheese casserole on the table.

“
That can’t be true.”

“
It is. You’re falling for him, aren’t
you?” Nan pulled out her chair.

“
Nonsense.” Jory added a healthy
portion to her plate. “Where’s Amber?”

“
Out with Troy. Fast food for them
tonight.”

“
She shouldn’t eat that
stuff.”

“
She’s thin enough. It won’t kill her.
When are you going out with Archie again?”

Jory’s stomach got queasy at the thought. “I
don’t know. If I get lucky, never.” She shoved the spoon in her
mouth.

“
Never? You’re finished with him? I
thought you two were an item.”

“
No one says that anymore. And no, we
never were. Never will be.”

“
He struts around town like he owns
you.”

“
Amber says he complains to everyone
that I won’t sleep with him.”

Nan choked on her food. Jory handed her a
glass of water and patted her on the back.

“
Do you have to tell me that when I’m
eating?” Nan said, when she regained her breath.

“
Sorry.”

“
What are you going to do? One man
here you don’t like, the other over there you do, but he doesn’t
know it’s you.”

Nan’s succinct spelling out of her dilemma
brought tears to Jory’s eyes. “I don’t know, Nan. I just don’t
know.”

Her aunt put her arm around the young
woman’s shoulders. Jory cried, hiding her face behind her
napkin.